Death and Desperation

With the fresh scent of death clinging to his back, Maxwell Stevens, known vagabond, wandered into the quiet ol’ town of Willow Creek. Perhaps this wholesome town owed its silence to being nestled amidst the Blue Ridge Mountains right on the border of Virginia and North Carolina. Free from the dramas of big city living, it had a lot to offer the right person. Like most places though, it had its own secrets buried beneath the surface away from prying eyes.

Those who knew Maxwell Stevens would all testify to the fact that he was a dirty scoundrel. A soulless man who avoided serving his country in the War of Northern Aggression. He only cared for one thing in this world and one thing alone, himself. With a single outfit and cloak to his name that was as black as his reputation, he drifted from town to town, state to state, looking to prey upon the innocent and the weak. He had this insatiable appetite that just seemed to never get filled.

Riding gallantly down the mud paved streets of town on an Old Canadian horse, his blue eyes searched for a place to stop.His hound like nose sought out the variety of smells in the air. Pipe smoke tickled at his nose hairs. Was there a brothel around maybe? Somewhere he could take off his boots and have some much-needed fun. From the looks of it, this place would be too good to have one of those. There was the High Times Hotel which had a huge wrap around porch that made the place stand out, the Willow Creek Courthouse with its’ magnificent steps, Elliott’s Tavern that always helped bring out the best in people and then the local jail where you’d find a room for the night if you misbehaved at the tavern. Sightseeing might come later if he managed his time wisely.

Different folks who were busy out and about stopped to watch as Maxwell passed them by. Men and women of all ages. They watched him carefully with suspicious eyes. A stranger was in their midst. Maxwell, despite being the creep that he was, just so happened to be a good-looking guy with a certain amount of charm. With his brown curly hair which he squirreled away under his top hat and his sky blue eyes, he often found himself with whatever women he desired. This here, no different. The vagabond tilted his top hat and flashed a smile with teeth as white as a string of pearls. Folks in return knew they had to smile back. All suspicions cast themselves aside like Moses who parted the Red Sea.

Finally, one building in particular stuck out to him. The sign out front, wooden and simple read: William Evans, Apothecary. The building itself was a modest structure with fine windows which held various bottles and dried herbs that were laid out on display. The door was large and red with a prominent handle. Maxwell eyed the building for a moment and then dismounted from his horse and tied it to a hitching post out front.

A bell cried out overhead as the door opened to reveal the interior of the shop. From the look of it, it wasn’t a complex place. There was nothing overly elaborate about it. The entire place smelled of fragrant herbs and spices. Honestly, it was quite intoxicating. The walls were blue and decked out with shelves which contained jar after jar of different items which all had labels. As he walked further into the shop, the vagabond began to scope the place out. He ran his hands over different pieces of furniture such as tables and chairs. He picked up some of the jars and other items reading their labels: CALENDULA.  ALLSPICE. OREGANO. SKULLCAP. BETONY. VALERIAN ROOT. YARROW. So many jars! All of them served their own purpose too. Whether you used them on their own or mixed with something else; there was always an ailment in need of a good fix.

An older gentleman entered from a back room quickly. He carried a large wooden chest full of vials containing unknown liquids. The little hair that still grew on his head appeared to be white. He wore a white linen shirt and brown trousers. He headed straight for a table to the far right of the room where he dropped the chest. The shop keeper then adjusted the gold rimmed glasses on his face and unloaded the contents onto the table. One by one he pulled them out- whistling a fine tune to himself as he did so. Meanwhile, Maxwell stood quietly and waited to be noticed. Soon he caught on to the tune that the shop keeper entertained himself with. He waited patiently. Once he realized this was going nowhere fast, he cleared his throat.

“Boy, I tell ya, that Stephen Foster was a genius, huh?”

Practically jumping out of his skin, the older gentleman whipped around. The look on his face said it all, he had no idea that anyone was there. The poor soul.

“Well, hello!” the shopkeeper said laughing. ‘You gave me quite the scare. I hope my whistling wasn’t too awful. I had no idea you were standing there.”

“No problem at all friend. I was just passing through town. I found myself in need of a quick fix for something.” Maxwell said.

Leaving his chest of vials, the shopkeeper brushed off his white apron. He made his way over to the sales counter and took a rag to it; swirling it around in circular motions.
“You must forgive me. You have caught me in the midst of a little spring cleaning. My name is William Evans. What is it that troubles you son?” he said as he gave him his full attention.

The vagabond with hat in hand walked over to the sales counter. He looked the apothecary over well. No words were offered. No pleasantries. Just cold hard stares. William started to feel a little uncomfortable. He looked at the young man standing before him and realized he was very troubled. His demeanor just seemed off. Perhaps it was his eyes? Two blue abysses that pulled you inside their murky waters the moment they captured your gaze. Evil lurked beneath their surface- waiting to come out.

“Son, I’ll ask again- what is it that troubles you?”

“I’m afraid it is rather hard to explain. I need, oh what would ya call it, a pick me up?”

“A pick me up? What a strange turn of phrase. Could you elaborate?”

“I am search of an herb or elixir of some sort to lift my spirits,” Maxwell said as placed his hat back on his head and rested both his hands firmly on the counter top.

“Your spirits? Surely you must have seen Elliott’s Tavern on your way in?”

“A tavern is all well and good but I need more than just a good drink and a wild woman.  Follow me?” He winked at William playfully but with an heir of entitlement.

William Evans, the apothecary of Willow Creek, the man who had been helping folks tend to their ailments now for the better part of twenty years didn’t let his feelings get the better of him. What would people say if he questioned every stranger that walked in off the streets? He had a reputation to up hold.

“Well, my friend. Let us see what we can come up with. Tell me more about you. Where are you visiting from? Have you traveled far? How do your muscles feel? Sleeping well? Poorly? The more I know the better because it will allow me to make the proper recommendations for your pick me up.”

Maxwell’s eyebrows rose into a V formation like two geese about to take flight, “How about ya stop asking so many questions and give me a few different options? My time is just as precious as the next man who walks in here.” He pulled his hands away from the counter and proceeded to walk around the shop.

A dreary silence now filled the apothecary’s ears as he turned away and quickly ran through different vials on the shelves behind him. The sounds of his own breath mixed with the silence in his now attentive ears. Unease had washed over him. He allowed his fingers to roll over every jar, every label, trying to find what he thought would be best to potentially sell to this stranger looking to feel better about himself. As if he needed that. William grabbed a few jars: Valerian Root, Lavender and Ginseng. The jars were lifted carefully and placed onto the sales counter with soft thuds.

“I tell you what mister, throw some ratsbane up there too if you got any. Never know when I might have to use it,” Maxwell said. He had managed to find himself at a chocolate display on a table nearby with cacao beans galore. Behold the power of chocolate! Not giving two hoots what anyone else thought, he helped himself to a few pieces.

“I am afraid I cannot sell you rats bane. That is not to be used for lifting any spirits. If you would be so kind now as to look over these options I have selected for you. I think the valerian root here would be a suitable choice for a young man such as yourself…”

Maxwell swallowed his last bit of chocolate and bit down on his tongue hard. He grinded his teeth. Obviously he did not like what he was just told. He stared down at the floor of the shop for a moment. The tension that was in the room was getting thicker and thicker by the moment. The apothecary stood nervously behind the counter waiting for a response.

Looking down at the floor still, “You’re a businessman are you not?” the vagabond asked.

“Yes. I am a businessman. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Don’t ya fix people up around here with herbs and whatever the hell else that they need? That’s your job is it not? Refusing my sale don’t make much sense to me.” He lifted his gaze at William and it was unwavering.

“I do not mean any offense sir. I simply do not feel comfortable selling you such a deadly poison. I’m sure you can understand why. Now, back to valerian root. You will find it a very good choice…”

“I will take the goddamn rats bane and the valerian root. Comprende hombre?”

“Unless you are killing rats, sir, I am not selling you that poison. You can buy the valerian and leave.”

Out from his black cloak which clung to his body like a small child, Maxwell pulled a grayish colt army model revolver and pointed it straight at the doctor’s head. Upon the cocking of the gun, William threw his hands up in the air. This was getting serious very fast. This guy meant business. He walked all the way up to the counter; gun still on the apothecary and then yanked him over the counter throwing him onto the floor. William, despite being older, tried to crawl away as the loner with his gun strolled behind him taking his time. The sounds of heavy boot steps echoed in his ears and the many scents of his own shop made their way into his lungs.

“Just stop right there, will ya? Enough with this horseshit. How about we strike a deal? Hmm?”

“State your terms cutthroat,” William said as he rolled over to face Maxwell.

“Plain and simple: I’ll take both of the herbs and you get to keep your life.”

“That’s never going to happen. Do what you have to do.”

“Look at the set of balls on you. I try to be a fair man and ya spit right in my face! You want me to do what I have to do? I've killed men for far less.”

Aiming the gun right at William Evan’s chest, the handsome vagabond pulled the trigger. The poor apothecary, a revered member of the Willow Creek community closed his eyes as his body went limp. Maxwell felt compelled to glance down at his handy work. Superb. He then crossed himself like any good Catholic raised son would as he dragged Evans to the backroom of the shop.
As he entered the backroom, the bell over the front door rang much like it had earlier when he first entered. The gentle patter of feet could be heard as someone walked across the floor. All was quiet as he listened intently and with bated breath.

Mrs. Harrison, a middle-aged woman and head mistress at the elementary school had come in for her monthly supply of chamomile flowers right on schedule. Her timing was always impeccable, no matter where she was going. Tardiness was simply just unacceptable to her. She entered the shop slowly, carrying her dark green brocade bag by its circular handle. If one looked closely at her bag, they could see the hundreds and hundreds of rainbow-colored abalone shells that were crocheted into it so very carefully.

"Mr. Evans?" Mrs. Harrison yelled out. She looked all around the store; noticing how particularly dead it was.

Maxwell stood in the back room of the shop surrounded by a bunch of supplies and pieces of furniture.  It was really a storage room more than anything and that's what it had always been used for. Poor William Evans laid in the floor lifeless and in a slump. With his back against the wall inside of the door frame; the revolver against his chest and his finger on the trigger; the vagabond with no address found his breath as shallow as a pauper’s grave. He didn't know who this woman was, but he needed her to leave. She could ruin everything.

The head mistress was not backing down though. She could sense something was off. Mr. Evans would not just abandon his shop in the middle of business hours. She walked all the way up to the sales counter; placing her bag upon it. Her radiant blonde hair shimmered in the abundance of natural light that came in through the windows of the shop.

"Hello? Mr. Evans! Are you there? It's Elizabeth Harrison." she said quite loudly.

With his back still against the wall, Maxwell tried to slow his breathing. The itch to shoot this woman overwhelmed him. He decided it would be best to gather his composure. An epiphany suddenly struck his brain like a fierce bolt of lightning. Before the situation had any time to worsen, he had swapped clothes with the apothecary and ditched his hat. To complete the ensemble, he snatched up an apron and tied it on. The revolver could simply hide in the back of his trousers. As he rounded the corner to head back up front, he came face to face with a shocked Mrs. Harrison who was about to come behind the sales counter.

"Well, hello there, Mrs. Harrison. How are you today?" Maxwell said putting on a cheery facade.

"I beg your pardon. Are we acquainted?"

"Alas, I am afraid not. My name is Rupert. Mr. Evans is my uncle. I help him out from time to time, and he happened to mention that you would be popping in today."

"Oh! I see. I wasn't aware that William had a nephew. It's lovely to meet you."

A nervous smile came across his face. He waited eagerly for what Mrs. Harrison would say next; hoping that she would get off the subject. Those eyes of hers, as beautiful and as green as they were, needed more to substantiate the absence of the apothecary. Maxwell felt it. She laughed rather abruptly which broke the awkwardness of the situation.

"You must forgive me. While, I have known William for some years now, I just realized he barely talks about his family. Here I was thinking I knew the man."

"Well, I suppose we all have things that we keep to ourselves. Things that we keep secret for some reason.

"Secrets! What is life but one big secret?!

"Indeed! You madam are far wiser than you appear. Now, what it is that I can do for you? My uncle is away on an important errand in town."

Maxwell dove behind the sales counter where he grabbed a rag. He wiped off the counter in an attempt to look natural. Rub the rag in circles, he thought. He stared at the different grains in the wood to take his mind off the situation. Mrs. Harrison came back around to stand in front of the counter. She took hold of her bag and pulled from it a small black pouch with gold trim that she took some cash from.

"I will take my usual." she said.

Those last set of words rang in Maxwell's ears. Her usual. He had no idea what the hell that could be. He finished wiping off the counter; taking his time. Then he looked at her and smiled.
"Your usual you say? Let me see what we have here." he said.

Turning his back to the sales counter he began to rifle through several jars in a chest on a mahogany table. Absolutely nothing jumped out at him. All the labels were checked thoroughly while he prayed that one might have had the lovely Mrs. Harrison’s name on it. Rolls of sweat now crept out from his hairline and ran down his face. Anxiety stood in the stall of his mind like a pissed off horse before a race.

“Did your uncle not tell you? It’s sixteen ounces of chamomile flowers. I get the same thing everything month. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping.”  She said as if embarrassed.

Spotting the chamomile jar, Maxwell grabbed it and turned around to hand it to the head mistress. “Well, there is nothing like a little chamomile to hit the spot. It truly goes a long way when fighting off insomnia,” he said as he pretended to know what he had just said.

She handed Maxwell the wad of cash which she held in her hand calmly. Smiling at him, she looked him over carefully. Maxwell could not tell for sure but it seemed as if she found him to be attractive. He took the money and acted sheepishly about it; avoiding her gaze.

“Thank you, Rupert. Tell your uncle I miss him and will see him again soon.” She said starting to leave.

Without really saying anything, Maxwell waved to Mrs. Harrison as she made her way for the front door of the shop; bag in hand. As she put her back to him he realized- she wasn’t half bad looking for her age.  Right as she got up to the door she stopped and looked over her shoulder slowly tossing a smirk at him. She knew he was watching.

Maxwell, a young man of great agility, leapt over the sales counter and ran for Mrs. Harrison. She was rather alarmed by this but it soon dissipated as he took her into his arms and began to kiss her passionately. Their tongues met and danced together as the heat from their bodies radiated between them. Maxwell ran his hands over Mrs. Harrison’s slender frame and worshiped every single beautiful inch of her body.

“Oh, Mrs. Harrison, what a ravishing beauty you are,” Maxwell said.

“Please call me Betty,” she said.

Grunting now like a savage beast, Maxwell picked Elizabeth up and pushed her against the wall by the door. He didn’t know why he was about to do this but it felt right. He needed to do this. The lady’s bag fell to the floor by her side and she willingly put each of her hands up against the wall. Maxwell came up from behind and pressed into her. Leaning in, he placed small kisses along the sides of her neck; not forgetting to nibble on her ear lobes. Her breathing increased as she became more excited by him. Continuing to kiss her; he took his hands and hiked up her light green gown with golden tassels around her hips. Elizabeth slid her impatient right hand down to Maxwell’s trousers where he smacked her away. She giggled as he positioned her hand back on the wall.

Before you know it, he had her completely helpless and moaning in ecstasy. Every part of his body was put to good use. 

A horrible sound erupted from the back room and a terrible commotion ensued. Maxwell was drenched in sweat, gritting his teeth and grunting like a wild boar; too busy to notice. His prize caught up in her Earth shattering bliss glanced to the side and shrieked.

It was Mr. Evans! He was still alive. Maxwell turned his head horrified at the discovery. He released the head mistress and fixed his trousers. Meanwhile, Elizabeth screamed at the top of her lungs repeatedly. She would not stop. The screams could cut a man they were so sharp.

“Help me, someone. Please. Help me,” Mr. Evans begged as he struggled to move across the floor toward them. His clothes were saturated with his own blood.

“Well, that was unexpected. It looks like we have come to an impasse dear Betty. Thanks for the ride. You are truly one of a kind. It’s a shame I have to kill you,” Maxwell said as he withdrew the revolver and shot Elizabeth in the side of the head before she even had the chance to protest.

Elizabeth’s lifeless body fell to the floor at the front door. She was definitely dead. Maxwell was sure about that. No one comes back from a head shot. Leaving her at the door he walked over to William who had stopped moving. He was in a lot of pain. His eyes twitched as he looked at Maxwell closely.

“Please. Take whatever you want and go. You have done enough damage. Leave us be. Please,” he begged.

“Begging is not very becoming of you, Evans. Hell, it’s not becoming of any man. I shot you and you somehow managed to survive. That is divine intervention right there. Most people would count their damn blessings and move on. Not you! I find that a little odd. Allow me to finish what I started?”

The smoking revolver that still rested in his hand elevated in the air and fired off one last final shot. The shot was directly at William Evan’s face. He died instantly upon impact.
This time, Maxwell allowed himself to be content with a disastrous situation. In most cases, it would not have gone down like this. How many people could say they had killed a man and fucked one of his customer’s to find out that he wasn’t actually dead? So you go and kill the woman and then finish the man a second time round? Unbelievable. The only word in the English language that fit the bill. He admired both kills, shook his head and tucked his gun in the back of his trousers once again.

"Let’s get us a few treats, shall we?” he said gleefully aloud rubbing his hands together.

As he ransacked a few jars searching for what he needed, he began to hum Camptown Races that he caught the apothecary humming a little while before everything transpired. It was a catchy tune after all. Valerian Root and Rats bane were clear in sight; he found two brown bags and placed the entire jars in them.

Someone entered from the backroom which caught Maxwell off guard. “Who the hell are you?” a deep male voice asked as he cocked a gun at Maxwell’s head.

Maxwell instantly stopped what he was doing. This day just seemed to get better and better for him. He readied his hand to reach for his revolver as the mysterious person noticed it.

“Whoa! I see that hand cannon sticking out the back of your trousers. Do not fucking move. You hear me? Put your hands up. Hands up goddamn it!”

The vagabond threw his hands in the air with no other choices left before him. This guy was good whoever he was. He came in at the right time and got the drop on him.     “My name is Caleb Montgomery. I came in to get a few things to find out the place had been robbed.”

The man stepped further into the room and spun Maxwell around, so he could get a better look at him. He was much bigger than he was. He stood at a staggering six-foot four and weighed a good two hundred-fifty pounds to boot. With hair as brown as coffee beans and eyes as black as the night sky, he was one intimidating man.

“I know you boy. Your face is on wanted posters all over the place.”

Maxwell grinned, “You got me all wrong captain. I’m a good boy. Never done a bad thing in my life. I swear. Just ask my Mama.”

“Wanted dead or alive for murder in ole Williamsburg. They're offering a thousand dollar reward, I believe.”

“Nah, it wasn’t me. Probably some other poor sap running around out there as we speak.”

“It’s you.” He put the gun to Maxwell’s forehead which caused him to slink backwards a little. The cold nickel plated steel of it chilled his flesh.  “You killed your uncle and fled town. Then you decided, Oh I think I will just saunter over to Willow Creek. Those nice folks won’t mind if I turn their lives upside down.”

He took one look around that chaotic scene painted before him and his rage damn near hit the roof. The gun pressed harder into Maxwell’s skull. As for Maxwell, well, he had nowhere to run now and he knew it.

Maxwell tried his best to talk him down, “Hey pal, I don’t know where you come from or how you were raised but accusing people of murder is rather crazy. Don’t ya think? I mean, steady there big fella….”

The stranger hauled off and kicked Maxwell in the balls which sent him flying backwards. Poor Maxwell reached for his tender bits and moaned with pain. His assailant moved in closer.

 “This is for my uncle,” he said coolly as he fired off a shot into Maxwell’s left shoulder.

Maxwell fell to the floor completely. “Jesus fucking Christ! He does have a nephew.”

His determined assailant shot him again. This time in the right shoulder. “That is for taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

Maxwell screamed out, “Okay, okay, okay. I apologize. But that really hurts like hell. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know he was your uncle. Nice guy if I am being honest. He was a nice guy, right until the end.

 “It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Well, shit. You can’t blame a man for trying.”

 “Maxwell Stevens! I remember now. You can’t forget a name like that.”

 “Fuccccckkkkkk,” Maxwell let out as sort of long sigh. He noticed his gun on the floor. It must have fallen out when he fell. He reached for it slowly; wincing in pain. The stranger shot him in the left leg.

 “I can do this all day and guess what? I am well within my rights. You’re a known murderer.”

 Crying out, “What do you want from me?”

 “I want you to feel serious pain.”

“Well, guess what friend? You surely succeeded. What’s your name?” Maxwell said as he attempted to move further away by dragging himself across the floor.

“Roger, not that it really makes a difference.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“The wanted posters said dead or alive. You won’t be living to tell this tale.”

No sooner the last word left his lips, Roger fired off the last three bullets that remained in the chamber of his revolver letting them loose in Maxwell Steven’s face. The look in the vagabond’s eyes said it all, after all this time death was finally coming for him. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Desperation can take down the best of men.

Roger Evans laid his gun on the sales counter and then grabbed Maxwell by his feet. Time to collect that reward money, he thought. He dragged his prize toward the backroom while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Mainly one question kept replaying over and over again, how would he tell the story of what happened?

The way Maxwell Stevens’ corpse slid across the floor made a loud hissing sound and made Roger feel like he had just stepped out of a pit of snakes. The once handsome vagabond who people loved to hate would soon be food for the worms. Good riddance.

As William Evan’s actual nephew entered the backroom of the apothecary shop, he sang a catchy little tune he picked up, “Camptown ladies sing a song, doo dah, doo dah. Camptown racetrack five miles long, oh the doo dah day….” He paused as a sudden realization hit him like an unmanned horse and carriage. “Goddamn, I hate that fucking song.”