CHAPTER 5 - THE DISAPPOINTMENT

“Get down!” I pulled the fat dummy down and behind a parked carriage just barely before he got a head full of lead.

“Guess he wasn’t up for any negotiations,” said Bob, breathing heavy and wide-eyed from his close date with death. He couldn’t take his eyes off the part of the carriage that had just been blown off. “Whoever’s wagon this is, I could kiss’em.”

“Save your one-sided love for some other time,” said James, cocking the hammer to his six-shooter.

He popped out to the side, but instead of firing a shot, James swung himself back behind the carriage just before another spread of pellets pounded the ground next to him, leaving a plume of dust to rise from the spot.

James turned to me. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“It looked like you could use a hand.”

He turned to Bob and narrowed his eyes. “What’d I tell you?”

Bob put up a hand. “Nope. I ain’t getting blamed for this. William chose to come even when I told him not to. Not my fault he’s too dense to realize he can’t aim for nothing now.”

“Yeah?” I slapped him on the head. “I can still shoot better than you. Just watch.”

I was going to unholster my gun, but James put a hand on top. “Stop, William.”

Instead of doing as he said, I pushed his hand away and gripped my revolver with my left hand.

“Just sit back and watch.”

“I’m telling you to stop. That’s an order.”

Before I could move out from behind the carriage, Bob held me back with an arm. “Stop being a stubborn idiot and listen to the man. You can’t even shoot a bunch of bottles lined up on a fence. What makes you think you can get the guy with the shotgun?”

“I told you before. I hit a bottle earlier!” I shrugged his arm off. “What do you want me to do? Stay twiddling my thumbs forever? I’m the best shot in town.”

“Were.” I turned to see James, now furrowing his eyes at me. “You were the best shot in town. Now stop being a damn fool. Take the safe play and let me and Bob handle this.”

“No.”

I dashed out from cover before any of them could stop me. I dove down as pellets pelted the spot behind me.

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On the ground, I turned and instinctively aimed my revolver.

Without much delay, I pulled the trigger.

Instead of hearing a body drop, I heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked once more.

I was done for. By the time I got up and ran, I’d be painted red.

“Now!”

The yell momentarily distracted the shotgun-wielding bank robber as he turned to see James and Bob fire off their six-shooters.

The robbery was stopped, and the only role I played was an unintentional decoy.

“You stupid boy!” James yanked me up by the collar. “What did you think were going to do? Suddenly save the day? Brute-force your way back to good aim? Get an accurate shot with your off-hand on the ground of all places? Please, explain, because I, for the life of me, cannot think of a good reason why you would do something so goddamn stupid!”

His words were angry, but there was only one thing I could see in his eyes.

Disappointment.

I didn’t have anything to say, and he probably knew.

“You’re off duty for now. Go home.” He let go of my collar and walked back to the front of the bank. “Bob and I will take care of the scene.”

“When can I come back on duty?”

“Till I say so. Don’t worry about it,” he said without even turning back to look at me. “Just go home.”

A part of me wanted to disobey and stay. But every time I thought of doing so, I could see his eyes again. Just staring at me as if they were telling me I was useless.

That I was broken.

On my way home, I couldn’t stop looking at my right hand.

It’s your fault.

Why couldn’t you just heal back up already? Why couldn’t you feel alive again?

It was because of that gun. It burned my hand.

But I had to shoot it or else… James would’ve died.

James.

I saved your life, and what’s my reward?

Getting benched.

Losing the feeling in my best hand.

Losing the only thing I had going for me.

Before I knew it, I was back home and sitting on the corner of my bed, just staring at my mirror.

I was truly useless now.

Looking at myself in the eyes through the reflection, I shouted at the top of my lungs, “I hate you!”

Without much thought, I shoved my right hand through the mirror, shattering it.

My hand was bloodied, leaking drips of red down to the floor, decorating the wooden planks with splotches of what kept me alive.

My right hand bled.

Are you trying to tell me you still live? That you still work?

Then, why could I not feel your pain?

Glancing down at the shards, I sighed.

That was my only mirror.

You’re an idiot, William.