The Verticord: (Turner of Hearts)

By R.J. Cycle

Why do some individuals never learn lessons in life? Whether
not instructed or nothing to them matters, there always comes a
time to reckon. In this off-beat, off track, Mystery/Western, that
is just a little far out from right or left, is Frane, a tireless, fearless,
gunman, who lives like no one else could, to show his hand to those
whose trouble won't go away till they change their ways. From a
lost room with nothing in it; an incredibly astute woman laden in
knowledge that keeps her in fear; another lady from a long time ago
in a curiosity that gives her courage-- all in dire hope of uncovering
why this man, Frane, holds on next to this room, that was never
opened till now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 16, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453583012

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by R.J.CYLE. 67104-DEDA

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010912686

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4535-6470-7

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4535-6471-4

ISBN: Ebook 978-1-4535-8301-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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To Ann, whose kind mind remembers,

Everyone should have a heart like this.

Contents

PRICES

WISH IT WERE LOVE

WISH I WERE YOU

THE VERTICORD

WISH I WERE GONE

PRICES

Though there’s things in life I see, I know nothing of,

There is no place that I can not reach, without love,

Only after a life of pure disgrace,

Now that my heart is in its place,

For when in love, how good we are,

You must have seen my heart ajar,

The cost in life, for a lesson taught,

Is worth the prices, if not forgot,

The loss in life is never greater,

Than what love regrets, many later,

You can know love, what your heart supplies,

Would joy be enough? to your surprise!

No value in love you see, it’s just a crisis,

No importance you see in love, it’s just hate prices,

Perhaps,.. for you to give,.. is to throw it all away,

Then,.. what price you ask?... to have love pay!

R. J. CYLE

EVERYTHING COMES ITS TIME. "I just wish it was not now. Not this way. I let him get me. I saw him without even looking at him.

          The floor itself, became his friend, he was levelled out on, face down, feeling in his mind that his enemy will not bother with him again. It was no matter to him, with a red spot expanding on his back, that he was faster with a gun than any that would care to find out.

          This is 1885, in a lost-water town called, Kelemon, where everyone is alone ‘cause they choose to be. I guess that makes them all alike, in a place that makes you wonder who lives there and what for. I was seated at this ever large saloon when this man walked in with direct purpose in his step. I barely latched on to his gaze of grim determination and yet at the same time there was a sense of calm around him, that you could tell, by the way he moved his eyes. He feigned no role. When I saw the intense beauty of green color on his wonderfully-formed stone gun handle, I felt he was as real as that green and that he belonged to it. I remember at a very young age, Billy, would spout out and say, the only real people are the crazy ones. It wasn’t till years later I saw his truth. If dark in daylight were real, it would show itself in one of these. Out of all the strangers I would ever want to meet, I sure was made to think about what this one meant. No sooner than I looked up and over to him again, he had come within my sphere, a small shock of sound (I thought I thought I heard) pushed through the air. He caught a fireshot in the side of his back, crumbled and crumpled, then dropping slowly by my front sight. He was turning his head and peered at me, not in askance, but rather like you knew he wanted to say something. No one in here moved or spoke. If anyone had the floor, so to speak, it was him. He was the only one gandering about himself and spewing short sentences. I was about to meet who I wanted to and hear what’s inside of him. My name is R.J. Cyle, newspaperman, and I hastened myself to begin writing on the wooden table any words I could hear from him. That is why I am here now. Seeing afterwards is to see backwards. This story is like this. Seeing something that is not there (no one saw his enemy?) doesn’t mean it is not there (true).

BORN FOR THE HELL OF IT. Anyone of hard-bent nature that met him one time, even knew, he was godless, and when so, for no good reason at all, he became practically fearless. But now as he gathered himself like an earthworm on the floor, I saw a sick fright take his air and he began to show tears the sweat could not tide over.

He said, There were upper losses.

          He sounded sulky. Even so, I thought, there must be some hidden significance to his cryptic talk. I was rushing now to see what he would finally say by hurriedly splattering questions to him - Why did you let him go? Why would you change your mind? Though no time (to get abstract, abstruse, or absurd by asking a metaphysical question), I still went ahead and asked, What do you think you think you were doing? I don’t get any of you, Mister, I am deeply pained for you. You say you do not want it to end like this and yet you could have stopped it for another way. You could have gave it to him good, you didn’t have this coming, not in the back. I know that. You know that. Tell me what you want, I’ll get this out for you.

Yeah... I wanted to die right, another way... giving my twenty-five cent life for someone, instead of someone taking it for nothing. No..I didn’t care what that awful fool wanted and nor what I wanted.

          Sounds like you lost a woman, Mister.

          Nope, it’s not what she wanted either.

          Alright, someone dead on you, then? You know, for someone who don’t care about makin’ this life, you could be makin’ it through, Mister?

          "No..no one before. It’s whaat...

His jaunty features on his face unfurled like a curtain togged slowly, smoothing as he was about to pass out.

          He still had time to talk. I do not know if it was delirium or if he was like this all the time. I found out later that he was a man of many minds, with an impulse and power to go with it, to massively propound an altogether hyperphysical effect. What impelled him from the gate