The High Noon Symphony
By
Taryn Kimel and Joshua Trujillo

Primary author for this part;
Taryn Kimel

Part 2.0

The boy coming out of the saloon did not have the look of a 
gunfighter. He was not a person to instill fear in the hearts of 
others. If anything, Shane Ivanson looked nervous. His hand curled 
around the gun at his side in a manner that did not correspond to 
his prim, if slightly dirtied, attire, but the feel of it beneath his 
fingers was so familiar that it surprised him.

His dark blue eyes glanced uneasily up and down the streets and 
found them deserted, natural given the sound of gunfire to the 
north that still persisted. His gaze fell uneasily in the noisy 
direction and he finally crossed the street, beginning to make his 
way closer to the bandits. If he could find some cover, he might 
just be able to take out a few of them and then get his butt 
somewhere else, /fast/. Hopefully before he died.

The harsh sound of gunfire continually increased as he drew closer 
to its origin, pressed into the shadows the buildings provided. He 
squinted, getting his first look at the brownish blobs in the 
distance, starting to count--

It was then when the explosion happened. Shane could nearly feel 
the town shudder, and he felt himself rocked back by the impact.

'Dynamite?!' he thought incredulously. 'Those idiots brought 
/dynamite/ into the town?!' As if he wasn't scared enough already, 
the thought of the buildings around him collapsing, crushing him 
to his death...He couldn't decide whether he liked the idea or not.

'Deep breath. Stop and /breathe/,' he told himself silently, brushing 
down his windswept hair as he tried to calm his racing heart. He 
needed a plan. Even if he could find no probable way of saving 
himself, it would at least make his panic subside somewhat.

Taking everything into his mind, considering it, he could at last 
hear the reassuring thoughts of reason forming in his head. He 
could see the forms of the bandits more clearly, now that the dust 
from the explosion had settled. Maybe if he could make it to the 
fountain... His glance snapped over to the object in question, 
judging. Yes, he could. Shoot as many times as he could and run 
like hell for that fountain before they shot back, and then he should 
have enough cover from their retaliation to make it over to the 
other side of the street. The boy guessed that there would be 
enough confusion that he /should/ be able to make it to that wagon 
next to the General Store, and then...well, then was then. This was 
now.

"Fine." There was a deep, shaky breath, and Shane swallowed. "On 
three, then. One..." He tightened his grip on Big Momma, 
removing it from its holster. "Two..." His free hand wound tightly 
around the other to stop its shaking. Only after he could hold the 
gun steadily did he remove it. "Three!"

He scrambled to a sprint, heading straight for the fountain, Big 
Momma raised. He heard himself fire twice and then the world 
erupted into white.

***

Shane awoke, his eyes opening to an unfamiliar ceiling. The room 
around him was bare, lacking any furniture but the bed he was in 
and a chair next to it. There was a pitcher of water on the floor by a 
window, a bowl and towel next to it. The walls were austere and 
gave off a generally sterile feeling, but they had a sickeningly 
greenish tint that the boy found disagreeable. The bed he was in 
was simple, with an iron headboard and clean white linens that 
should have been comforting to him but for his situation.

His situation.

What /was/ his situation? Laying there, thinking, he realized he 
didn't quite know.  Diffused light filtered through the soft curtains 
that covered the window, playing through the water in the pitcher 
and reflecting off the light in the bowl like a colorless rainbow 
fractured by a prism. The boy watched that delicate light for what 
might have been an eternity or a moment. He was distantly aware 
of some sound carried into the room by a soft breeze, although it 
took his mind a while to recognize it as the muffled thud of horses’ 
hooves mingling with nearly inaudible voices.

And the smell. Faint, yet so very obvious in its alien nature to 
Shane. The boy was used to the aroma of the high-class: the whiff 
of perfume on the ladies, the fragrance of lilac soap and washed 
clothing, people who actually bathed... These smells of sweat and 
dirt were entirely foreign to him.

It was daytime. Daytime, and his head hurt. Ignoring this as best he 
could, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood. His pants were 
at the end of the bed and he put them on, letting the suspenders 
dangle. Shane bent to the bowl then, dipping his hand in to scoop 
the water to his face. Wiping himself dry with the towel, he 
brought down the worn cloth to find it splotched with blood. For 
some reason, although he was not quite sure how, he knew it was 
not his own.

Setting the towel down very gently, he looked out the window.

***

Trinity had been dealt a heavy blow. Two of the larger buildings 
were found to be completely destroyed, only piles of broken wood 
and shattered glass, with many more damaged. The wreckage was 
strewn in piles near its origins and randomly throughout the streets. 
Crews were working to shore up the General Store as others 
removed the debris from wherever they could find it. Sweat and 
dust were the prevailing scents in the air.

Ruth pulled yet another mass of timber from the fountain, 
examining it for a brief moment. Molly approached and plopped 
herself down on the edge of the fountain, pulling out a skin of 
water as she glanced to the other woman.

"Quite a little firecracker, isn't he?" the blonde asked, almost in 
amusement, as she finally disposed of the wood.

"More than that," Molly responded. "We've never faced anything 
of this magnitude before..."

"Worried?"

The sheriff looked over to the other, the discomfort evident on her 
face. "Aren't you? The uglies seem to be coming more and more..."

"More the price for freedom." Ruth seemed to shrug off this price 
quite easily, her own manner unflustered and composed. She held 
out her hand towards the water skin in a questioning gesture, and 
Molly passed it to her distractedly.

"So...How is he?" The purple-haired woman asked, watching the 
other drink.

"He's fine," she assured her. "He just got hit hard when the second 
house went up."

"You don't think it'll be..." Molly's tone was markedly worried for 
the boy. "...permanent?"

"Nah, he seems pretty tough. He's had a rough couple of days." 
She handed the skin back to the sheriff, who recapped it with a 
sigh.

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid that it's gonna get worse before it gets 
better."

Ruth gave a snort of laughter. "Doesn't it always?"

***

"How is she?"

The white-haired man looked up as Ruth entered the room. He was 
seated in a chair next to Raye’s bed, and presently looked back 
down to his patient, a frown dressing his features.

"She should be up in about..." He chewed over a thought for a few 
moments. "...three weeks, maybe. Maybe."

She brushed a wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes, which focused 
on the albino girl. "He might want her before then."

The man’s expression darkened. "He’ll send his son out to die 
before her. Three weeks."

There was a moment of silence, both of them acknowledging the 
truth in his words. Ruth was the first to speak again.

"Will Shane be staying with him?"

He looked over at her doubtfully. "I think they both find it more 
natural to live apart."

"And unnatural to live together?" questioned the woman smoothly.

"I wouldn’t worry," he said, standing, knowing full well she 
wasn’t. "I’m sure Mr. Hunt will ask around for an empty room."

***

"What the hell're you talkin' about, Mark?"

The man in question looked up from addressing Shane, surprised 
to see the anger his statement had caused. "Uh...I said that Mr. 
Harrison said he has an extra room above his store where--"

"What're you talkin' about, an /extra room/?" Molly snapped back, 
eyes flashing as she watched the man. He wasn't remarkable, 
standing about even with her height if not a bit shorter. He had 
shortly cropped brown hair and wore a pair of spectacles solidly on 
the bridge of his nose, framing his brown eyes. His clothes were 
decently smoothed, characterized by the slightly dirtied appearance 
that accompanied most people of the country.

This unfortunate Mark Hunt fidgeted a bit, averting his eyes from 
the enraged sheriff. "Well, he needs a place to stay, and I just 
thought--"

"Then why doesn't he stay with /father/?"

He stared at her as if she had spoken the greatest heresy possible. 
There was a moment of silence as he searched for a response, but 
was rescued by a new voice.

"It's alright. I'll be fine there." Shane hadn't lifted his gaze from the 
dusty roadway, and the very tone of his voice was so conceding 
that Molly felt a wave of sympathy for him. She frowned at the 
boy. It seemed that living with Grant was out of the question, and 
she certainly wasn't going to let him live by himself...

"How'd ya like to come live with me, Shane?"

He looked up at her in surprise, a horrified blush forming across 
his cheeks at the thought of what he obviously found to be a very 
improper arrangement. "With...you, ma'am?"

She put on a bright smile. "Sure! It's a small place, over on the 
outskirts, but it's nice enough. And it sure beats livin' by yourself."

"But...I..."

"Great!" exclaimed the woman with a grin, clapping his back 
heartily. "I'm sure you'll love it."

"I..." He stuttered at her for a moment before polite reflex saved 
him. "I'm...I'm sure I will, Miss Kim--"

"Molly."

"Miss Molly," he attempted. "Thank you...very much." Shane 
attempted a hesitant smile of gratitude.

"Think nothin’ of it. I just don't like the idea of you livin' all by 
yourself.” She removed her hat, running a hand through her hair 
with a grin before replacing it. “C'mon, let's get goin'. We have to 
get back before sunset."

She led them out of the building and they unhitched the horses. 
Shane wasn't the best rider, having had only a small amount of 
experience, but he mounted without difficulty. Looking over, he 
caught sight of the effortless manner in which Molly handled her 
own horse. She had a perfect seat, almost becoming melded with 
the saddle as she settled. The horse accepted her, too. Alpine, he 
thought she had called him. While Shane's own mount was nervous 
and uncertain beneath him, recognizing his lack of riding ability, 
her horse seemed perfectly comfortable. There was something very 
natural between them, a mutual respect between horse and rider. 
From his own high society living, he realized he had never seen 
such this type of aptitude before. He was from a social order where 
horses were simply accepted as beasts of burden. Molly understood 
how to develop a relationship in which the horse would be pleased 
with accepting her. Horses were, in essence, part of survival in the 
West.

"Molly Kimberly! What the /hell/ are you doin'?!" Hearing the 
voice of Ruth Anderson in such an angered tone thoroughly 
shocked Shane, who had only ever seen the woman entirely 
composed. It was enough to surprise Molly, but the sheriff only 
stiffened at the shout.

"I'm takin' Shane home," the woman answered smoothly.

"With /you/?!"

"Yes, with /me/. Is there a problem, /Miss Anderson/?" Molly 
looked down at the blonde warily. There was a moment of profuse 
tension, a marked feeling of opposition that sparked in the air as 
the two women's gazes locked. Shane felt as if he should say 
something to break the lengthening silence, but had nothing he 
/could/ say. Though he knew he was not the object of accusation, 
he felt that he was most likely the cause of it.

It was then that he was saved as Molly broke out into a wide grin. 
"Aw, lighten up, Ruth. I'm just givin' the boy a place to stay, 
alright? I don't like the idea of him stayin' by himself in someone's 
extra room. It's not healthy for a boy his age to be stayin' all by 
himself."

"You have no idea how to take care of a child, Molly," Ruth 
accused with a tone that very clearly suggested that /she/ did. "It's 
not your concern." The arguments having no visible effect on the 
other woman, she finally added, "Grant's going to hear about this."

The result of her last words was the cause of more satisfaction: 
Molly's grip on her reins tightened and she jerked her gaze to 
Ruth's. The moment was short-lived, however, as she stood taller 
in her saddle. "The protection of the people of this town, including 
Shane, /is/ my concern, And you can go to hell if you want to say 
otherwise."

Ruth only stood a moment longer, trying to take control of her 
anger, before turning in a flurry of skirts and stalking off.

The boy watched her exit for a moment. "Miss Molly...?"

"Forget it, Shane. It's nothing."

They rode, and Shane watched. They had passed the most damaged 
section of the city, and the buildings now looked quaint and 
comfortable. Although most of the citizens were tucked safely in 
their homes with the approaching twilight, they passed a woman 
still out on her porch. She stopped, her door half open, looking 
over at them and eyeing Shane curiously before smiling and 
waving to the familiar form of Molly. The sheriff returned the 
gesture, tipping her hat, and, after glancing at Shane curiously once 
more, the woman retreated into her home.

"C'mon, Shane! If you don't hurry up we'll miss it!" Molly had 
pulled the head of her horse around and was watching him with a 
wide grin, as if she had some exciting secret that she was about to 
divulge. "This way!" She turned Alpine back, spurring her steed 
onward at a quicker pace.

By the time they were on the far side of the city, Shane was eyeing 
each house nervously. He hadn’t thought she meant /this/ far on the 
outskirts. It almost seemed like they weren’t going to her house at 
all. By the time they left the last house behind, he was /certain/ 
they were not going to her house.

“Um...Miss Molly? Where are we going?”

She looked over at him with an enigmatic smile. “Somewhere 
good,” promised the sheriff. The boy soon found himself picking 
his way uneasily through a thin cliffside trail. He chanced a single, 
envious glance up at his lead, who was leading her mount through 
with amazing ease.

“Miss Molly--“

“Almost there, Shane. This is the last rise.”

Her promise was fulfilled as their horses soon stepped up onto the 
top of the cliff. Molly’s grin had spread to a wide look of excited 
anticipation and she dismounted, motioning him to do likewise. 
They stepped up to the edge of the cliff together.

“Just in time,” she announced, removing her hat and shading her 
eyes as she took in the view. The entirety of Trinity lay before 
them, the colored streaks of sunset playing across the streets and 
buildings. From this height, the city looked peaceful, the residents 
small pieces of a serene Utopia. Everything was perfect, 
everything was ideal, everything was unspoiled. He had done 
nothing wrong. His soul was clean for a moment.

Then, all at once, the city caught the warm flush of the sun, 
holding it in its clutches in a soft moment of beauty that colored 
the city with brightness before it faded away once more into 
normalcy. Shane stood there, eyes wide at this glimpse of 
something he could only categorize as a moment of holiness sent 
by God.

All at once the boy was once again aware of the dark sin 
condemning his heart, the blood of men's lives on his hands. While 
the tranquillity of before was enough to wash his transgressions 
from his mind, so the instant of inhuman splendor had reminded 
him of his own mortality.  "I am penitent," he murmured 
chokingly, not knowing what else he might say.

“Quite a sight, ain’t it?” Molly wondered with a surprisingly 
reverent tone, not hearing his comment.

Shane swallowed and nodded. “It’s…beautiful.” The word seemed 
far too inadequate, but he had no other. “Thank you, Miss Molly.”

She patted his shoulder gently. “I should be thanking you, Shane. 
You saved this city. Trinity. A border town, the last of the law, 
protection against an unruly West.” She smiled just a bit at her 
own words before squeezing his shoulder. "C'mon, Shane. Let's go 
home."

***

The
High
Noon
Symphony

2:0 - Alien Twilight

***

The house was one they had passed, a small dwelling set on the 
farthest reaches of the city from where Shane had entered. Thus, 
the buildings out on this side had retained no damage whatsoever, 
their owners and residents safe from the threat the bandits had 
posed.

A small abode, constructed of wood as nearly all of the other 
buildings in the town, with a porch in front spanning the width of 
the structure, which wasn’t much, and a second story to make up 
for the house’s slimness. There were four windows in the front, the 
light glittering off their glass surfaces. It wasn’t the nicest house in 
Trinity, but it certainly wasn’t the worst, either.

“Not much,” Molly admitted as they led their horses around to the 
stalls on the side. “But it’s a nice place. Cozy.”

“It’s very nice,” the boy responded politely, helping to feed and 
water the horses after removing their saddles and bridles.

They took some time to settle the horses in before walking back 
around to the front of the house. "It may be a bit messy," Molly 
took the time to warn him, grinning a bit ashamedly as she opened 
the door, peering into the shady interior, "but we'll just make due, 
huh?"

Shane followed the elder into the house and quite nearly 
swallowed his tongue.

To Shane's mind, bred within the impeccable sanitation off the 
upper class, his immediate reaction was that he could not live here. 
He was immediately assaulted with the thick stench of alcohol that 
seemed to seep from the very walls of the building. Or floors, 
which were, throughout the house, littered with empty beer bottles. 
He looked over at Molly discreetly, wondering once again how this 
woman, seemingly entirely unaffected by the sight of her own 
home in such a state, could be the same as the one in the photo 
from before. In all honesty, the fact that she /was/ a woman made it 
all the more implausible to him.

He swallowed, attempting not to stare, and continued to follow her. 
Whatever his thoughts were, he was either unable or unwilling to 
voice them aloud, for he remained silent as she took him in a 
quick, informal tour of the premises, pointing out where his room 
would be on the second story. They were coming back down the 
stairs when she announced there was one last thing to show him.

"It's right out back. I'm sure you'll be happy to see it," she 
commented with a grin. She opened the back door that led out to 
the yard and stood proudly at the sight of what sat there.

It seemed, for all effects, to be a goodly-sized metal box on stilts. 
Shane resisted the urge to tilt his head, trying to figure out what it 
was or what it was used for, but did chance a look of confusion to 
Molly.

"It's what the bell came in when we ordered it. The one in the bell-
tower, I mean. I helped a bit in scrounging up the money for it, so 
they let me keep the box."

Despite this proud explanation from the sheriff, the boy could still 
not grasp the importance of the item. "Ah...what do you use it for?"

She grinned widely, resting her hands on her hips and pausing, as 
if anticipating the excitement of his response. "A bath! We've got it 
propped up so you can stoke a fire beneath it. It takes a few trips to 
fill up, but it's worth it if you really wanna feel clean.
I had Mr. Hunt ask Jamie Samuelson to have his boy Timothy fill 
it up. He's a good kid." She nodded appreciatively to emphasize 
this fact. "I keep the firewood out here next to the house if you 
like."

The thought of a bath was extremely beguiling to Shane as he 
followed her pointing to the large pile of lumber that sat against the 
house. In fact, it was the first attractive proposition he had received 
since his arrival. "I...I'd like that very much. Thank you, Miss 
Molly."

She smiled in response, patting his shoulder and nodding. "Don't 
mention it. They cleaned your clothes, but I'll go look around 
tomorrow for some more for ya, kay? Those're awful nice for dirty 
country like this. Any case, I'll just go back inside now an' leave ya 
to yerself. Baths're good for cleanin' out yer head, too. Enjoy it."

After some difficulty in lighting the fire, an act Shane was not 
familiar with, he was able to get the bath heated with some help 
from Molly. He wouldn't have any soap, he knew, but it was better 
than staying filthy.

He stripped down to his skin after a quick glance around the yard 
and walked to the edge of the bath. He was just about to pull 
himself in when--

"AAAAAH! MISS MOLLY!" He sprinted to the back door and 
tore it open. "Miss Molly!" he shouted as he shot down the 
hallway, finally finding her rushing down the stairs at his screams. 
"There's a...a..." His speech was inhibited both in fact to his utter 
shock and the fact that he was trying to catch his breath. 
"There's...there's...a /penguin in the bath/!"

The woman blinked at him for a few moments before 
comprehending. "Ohhh..." She laughed a bit. "Don't worry about 
him. That's just Pen-Pen."

"...P...Pen-Pen?"

"He's a warm-water penguin from a circus that passed by once. 
Weren't treatin' him right an' all. Long story."

He stared at her incredulously as she shrugged off the fact that she 
had a penguin sharing her household. He was only interrupted as 
she coughed a bit prudently, if amusedly, making him suddenly 
aware of his own state of nudity. His face turned a brilliant shade 
of crimson as he immediately did his best to cover his extremities, 
utterly appalled with himself, and immediately flew back down the 
hallway and back out to the yard.

Just in time to watch Pen-Pen walk past him disdainfully, 
obviously annoyed at his shouting, and back into the house.

After a few long moments, Shane eventually made his way back 
into the bath, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the 
heated liquid. It was like an immediate relaxation of his muscles 
and mind, his past panic forgotten for the moment. It was in that 
relaxation that his inner demons arose, as they always did when he 
was left without distraction.

"I hate thinking," he whispered to himself, wishing more 
distractions would appear once more in the growing silence. 
Anything to keep thoughts from forming in his head.

"It always happens. I start thinking. About him, and..."

His speech paused as he thought.

"That girl...Raye..."

***

Shane got off the two shots as planned and slammed into the 
fountain, making himself as small as possible behind his cover. He 
wasn't sure if his shots had hit, but it didn't seem to matter now.

He couldn't move.

He could feel his heart pounding in his ribcage, feeling as if it was 
going to simply stop from overexhaustion at any moment. All of 
his muscles were trembling in their tightness, and he could not 
move one of them.

He could hear the shots coming closer. He could feel his heart 
pounding harder. There was a heavy humming in his ears, ringing 
out with his increased blood pressure. He could feel the adrenaline 
rushing through him, the irony thick with energy he could not use.

"They sent me out to murder... I can't do this. I can't kill someone. 
I can't ignore God's law. I can't...I can't..."

The boy only wished he could disappear. From life, from 
existence. He was going to die, but it was better than this. Better 
than life.

A shot ricocheted off the side of the fountain, sounding so close 
that Shane's body seemed to fling itself down to the ground of its 
own accord. He opened his eyes slowly, turning his head against 
the ground and lifting his gaze. The black cross of the fountain 
stood in stark contrast to the blazingly bright sky, seeming to block 
out the very light of the sun with its harsh darkness.

"Father..."

To say Shane lost control of himself then would be a 
misinterpretation of his actions. Shane did not lose control of 
himself. He lost himself. He was, in fact, not even aware of 
himself. For a brief moment in time, Shane was dead within his 
living body.

He moved. Slowly as he stood, his body unsteady at first, then with 
a far greater speed. He was racing toward the bandits, bullets 
flying, each shot ringing true within a body as it hit.

Legends were a common part of life within the desolate country of 
the West. They were some type of protection to cling to for the 
citizens trying to get by. For bandits, they were something laughed 
at while hidden in the dark recesses of the mind as a thing to be 
respected and feared.

That day, the bandits at Trinity saw all the legends they had heard, 
all the myths and folklore that had passed through their hearing, 
personified in one boy. The child who could not miss and who they 
could not hit. He was Death run rampant, and they could not 
escape.

It was over soon. Each bandit lay sprawled on the ground, pouring 
blood, a bullet lodged somewhere in his body. Shane woke in a 
way, not as from a dream that one is aware of, however distantly, 
but as from a visionless sleep, his actions entirely unknown to him. 
He looked around slowly.

Ten corpses.

Ten bodies lay in a grisly circle around a shaking boy, staining the 
dirt of the road crimson with death. The boy was breathing heavily, 
his slouching shoulders rising and falling with each ravenous 
intake of air. Eyes wide and fearing, he looked down to the gun 
clutched in his trembling hands. He opened the first chamber and 
found it empty. He opened the second to find one bullet missing.

 Ten bullets.

He stood there for a moment, not even breathing, as his mind 
slowly worked through what he had seen. There were ten men dead 
around him. And there were ten bullets missing from his own gun.

Shane Ivanson dropped the gun and screamed.

***

"Shane? Can I come in?"

Molly opened the door slowly, looking into the darkness. The 
candle she held dimly illuminated the contours of some objects of 
the room, but she already knew what was there. Her eyes were 
focused on the softly outlined bed on the far side of the wall, 
hardly able to make out the boy who lay there, curled with his back 
to the door and to the world.

"Shane... You've done something very brave, Shane. You should 
be proud of yourself."

She watched him as he didn't answer. Any movement he might 
have made then was lost to her in the faint light. Molly stood there 
in what seemed to both of them to be a long moment, the woman 
wishing his reply and the boy wishing her departure. Her fingers 
tightened around the handle of the candleholder.

"Good night, Shane."