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The man had lost all track of time, but he still trudged on. He kept the high rocks to his right and forced himself to place one foot in front of the other, all without any hope that he would reach somewhere before his strength gave out.
The low sun was throwing out his long and diffuse shadow before him when the tracks he was following led to a house. The sight lightened his step and he rubbed his forehead, as if by rubbing he might force himself to remember something about a past that remained as blank as the featureless plains to his left.
The action only made his head throb again, but with the pain being less debilitating than it had been when he’d woken up, he located the sorest spot as being on the back of his head. Here matted and damp hair covered a bump that was too sore to withstand anything other than a light touch.
He had followed his horse’s tracks assuming he would fetch up in the place he’d left. His pounding head, his battered limbs and his confused state caused by his failure to recall even simple facts such as his own name meant that his progress had been slow, and he judged that he’d covered only three miles.
The house was familiar, although he could summon up no memories other than a vague sense that he knew the place. The barn in particular felt like somewhere he’d visited before and he moved on, speeding up to a trot now that answers to his many questions could be imminent.
When he reached the barn, he ran his fingers along the wooden wall, hoping the rough texture would rekindle a memory. It didn’t and he shuffled along the wall to the open double-doors. Beyond was only a darkened interior.
“So you returned,” a man said behind him.
He turned, and the sudden action made his vision swirl forcing him to grip the barn door with both hands. When he was able to focus, the speaker was standing in the doorway to the house.
This man was as familiar as the barn and house were and yet, like those buildings, he had no idea why he was familiar. The confusion made him sway. Then nausea burned his throat, but there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit so this time he fought down the feeling with a determined gulp.
“I had nowhere else to go,” he said.
“That’s not a good enough answer.”
The man took a deep breath to gather his strength before he set off for the house. At the door he stomped to a halt and stood hunched over. The owner’s features were no more familiar than before so he dropped to his knees.
“Who am I?” he beseeched.
The owner frowned. “So you still claim you can’t remember nothing?”
Despite the disappointing answer, the man smiled, pleased that at least he’d returned to the right place and hopefully to someone who could help him.
“I can’t remember nothing, not my name, not this place, not my reason for being here, nothing.” The man placed his hands together in an attitude of prayer. “Tell me, please, who I am.”
“I won’t tell you. You need to remember it for yourself and, if your need is great enough, you will.” His tone was strained, as if they’d had this conversation before. “Otherwise, you’ll live the rest of your life without a past not knowing whether you’re a decent man or an outlaw. So think, and think harder than you’ve ever thought before.”
The man closed his eyes and delved into the black hole of his past that contained only his journey away from the dead horse and the dead men. Then, from somewhere, a name slipped into his mind.
“Delano Metz?” he said, opening his eyes.
This suggestion gathered a frown followed by an encouraging smile.
“So you’ve finally remembered my name. That’s a start.” He came forward and drew the man to his feet. “Now let’s see what else you can remember.”
“Nothing, other than that two dead men are lying out there,” the man said, pointing.
“Who are they?” Delano said.
The man shook his head, an action he regretted when it made his forehead throb.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you remember killing them?”
“I told you. I can’t remember nothing.” The man shrugged. “I don’t reckon I’m the kind of man who could have done it.”
Having made the declaration, his heart thudded with assurance and he walked into the house, hoping his confidence would help him to remember more. It failed and he turned to find that Delano had followed him and he was standing up close.
Anger had contorted Delano’s face so the man hurried outside, but Delano advanced on him forcing the man to quicken. His foot turned on a rock making him stumble and Delano unbalanced him by pushing his chest.
He landed on his rump where he sat with his head aching while Delano stood over him. Then he had to turn away as the light from the setting sun burned into his eyes.
“Look at me,” Delano said, his fists clenching. “Tell me the names of those two men.”
“You can’t force me to remember with threats. All I can remember is I was lying trapped beneath a dead horse and two dead men were nearby. They’d been shot and I didn’t have a gun.” The man raised his eyes for as far as he could while still avoiding the sun. “You’re wearing a six-shooter.”
Delano snorted with anger and dragged the man to his feet.
“You can’t avoid the truth with insinuations. Remember, damn you.”
The man turned to the barn, but the sudden movement disorientated him. When his vision had stopped swirling, he still didn’t feel guilty.
“I can’t, but I do know one thing. I didn’t kill those men.”
“Someone did,” Delano said. Then he thudded a low punch into the man’s stomach that made him drop to his knees.
The man dragged in harsh breaths that failed to relieve the pain forcing him to rock forward until his forehead touched the ground.
“Why did you do that?” he bleated.
“Because I know the truth about what you’ve done,” Delano roared, “and no brother of mine can escape justice by forgetting his past!”
The man raised his head, finding that he stood in Delano’s shadow. His vision was blurred and his head felt like it was about to split in two, but he’d heard Delano’s mistake.
“You just told me something,” he gasped. “I’m your brother.”
Delano slapped a hand to his forehead, confirming that revealing this detail had been a mistake.
“You are, so remember the rest.”
The man closed his eyes and he considered names, searching for one that sounded as if it should accompany his given name of Metz. He smiled and opened his eyes.
“Corbin Metz?” he said.
Delano held out his hand to help the man to his feet.
“That’s your name,” he declared.
“I’m Corbin Metz!” the man shouted happy beyond all reason to have dragged another piece of his hidden past into his uncertain present.
Delano scowled. Then he punched him on the nose sending him reeling before he tumbled over to lie on his side. Delano loomed over him and tapped the toe of his boot on the ground with an insistent rhythm.
“So now that you know who you are, you can pay the price for your crimes,” he said with relish.
Then Delano kicked him in the stomach.