Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc opened his eyes. He did not know where he was. Miasma. That was the feeling. Smoke and smell and misery were overwhelming. Pressing down on him. He remembered. Opium.

He sat up. The pallet next to him was empty. Wild Bill must have left. What time was it? How long had he been there?

Doc got up and put together his belongings. It took three tries to get his arm in the shoulder of his jacket. He stumbled to the door that opened into the alley. Even in the dank crowded space between the buildings he had to cover his eyes so as not to go blind. He shielded his eyes until his pupils could return to normal. Or as normal as they could get after the damage he did to his body.

He walked to the main thoroughfare. It seemed to be twilight. Doc stopped a passerby. “Excuse me sir but what day is it?” The farmer looked at him with a mixture of disgust and apprehension and said “Why it is Wednesday Mister.” Damn. He had lost a whole day.

Doc continued on until he got to the hotel. The clerk looked up as he entered the lobby. He looked faintly amused but tried to hide it. He took the key from the slot behind the desk and pushed it over to him. “Deputy Williams was by earlier Mr. Holliday. He wanted to speak to you.” “Thank you kindly. I will be sure to look him up directly.”

Doc walked slowly up the stairs with a heavy thread. He was carrying a heavier burden than usual. It was bad enough that he was far away from hearth and home. He had left his family in Georgia after his romance had faltered on the rocks of family disapproval. His sickness gave him an excuse to move to a more salubrious climate for his lungs. It was his heart that was sick. Now he felt even worse. He felt that in his weakness he had betrayed his love’s good opinion. Heart sick. Lung sick. He didn’t know which was worse. No that was not true. Heart sick was much worse.

Doc stripped down to his britches and hung up his clothes on pegs on the wall. He filled the basin from a jug on the dresser. Scooped up some water on to face and hair. He tried to rub the shame off but it stuck to him. He dried himself with the dirty towel and sat down on the bed. Propped on a pillow he picked up his notebook and tried to pen a letter.

My dearest Mattie,

I wonder if you ever think of me as you pray to your God. I know I think of you every day. Those days when I was in school and all the world seemed young and gay. When we took a picnic basket with fried chicken and cornbread that Mama Bertha would make for us when we asked. The way the sun looked in your hair. The way your lips looked before I kissed them. Do you ever think about that when you kneel before your jealous God?

Forgive me for my impertinence but I must hold on to the memories of better days. My time here is short but I still long for permanence and grace. The grace that you seemed to have found in your habit and your beads. I long for such a sweet solace for my soul.

I have made a great friend and boon companion in the famous Wild Bill. He is a man of appetite and experience and I must endeavor to be his friend without following him in his less estimable pursuits. I aim to try but I am a weak vessel that cannot stand the temptation that he offers to my baser desires.

Please pray for me in your devotions as that is my only hope as I try to be a better man. It is only my memories of you that have kept me from despair and it is only my determination to maintain your approbation that restrains me from the deepest pit of melancholia and despair.

Please know that you remain my one hope for salvation in this vale of tears.

With fondest regards,

Your dearest cousin,

John 

Doc put down his pencil and book and rested his chin on his chest. Perhaps he might not send this missive. It was much too dark for his love to read. He didn’t want to frighten her. More than that he didn’t want to disgust her. 

 

There was a knock at his door. Doc got up and took his Colt from the holster and stood to the side of the door. “Hello?” “It’s me Doc. Mike Williams. Wild Bill sent me to check on you.” Doc opened the door and saw the deputy standing in the hallway cradling a shotgun. 

“I tolerable Mike. Tell Wild Bill that I will be in to see him tonight.” “That’s fine Doc. He will most likely will be in the Bullshead. You know Bill. He likes to poke the bear. I'll tell him that you are fine and will be looking him up when you are ready.” “Fair enough see you then.”

Doc closed the door and went to lay down. He needed to rest. He coughed and took a handkerchief from the nightstand and put it over his mouth. He had a moderately severe bout. When he took away the cloth he looked at it as he always did.  

There was a spot of blood.