Resurrection: Chapter Five

Resurrection
Pairing: Jack/Ennis AU
Rating: NC-17 for the story
Summary: This picks up right at the moment in the canon that Ennis receives that infamous post card informing him of Jack's death ... but this is not a Jack!Dead story. This idea is not completely original, but I believe that my interpretation of it is something fresh, uncliche-ed, and enjoyable. Please feel free to leave fair and honest feedback.
Disclaimer: Inspiration for this story and all characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Author's Note: Sadly, this fic is unfinished, and will most likely remain that way. I started this story without knowing where I was going with it--never a good idea. I lost my inspiration for writing it, and couldn't motivate myself to take the time to finish it. Sorry, readers, you'll have to imagine your own ending for this Jack and Ennis.
 
Chapter Five

Three days had passed since Jack had left Lureen alone in their bed at two-thirty in the morning, and nothing had changed.  The police had taken Jack’s attackers in for questioning, but released them on the pretext that they didn’t have adequate evidence to hold or accuse them.  Lureen knew that this was bullshit, but had been expecting the lack of proper attention to Jack’s case.  She was depending on Tom for help here, but he continued to be passive.  And Jack was just as miserable and distant as ever.

Lureen had known Tom for nearly as long as she had known Jack.  He was the legal representative for the Newsome company, had been for the past ten years.  He and Lureen had always gotten along well.  Lureen liked him for his down-to-earth, no-nonsense nature.  He got things done quickly, efficiently, and discreetly.  He was sneaky too: when a client had a serious complaint or even an accusation, Tom dealt with the situation in a manner that rarely required anyone to enter a courtroom.

Lureen believed that the man was good at keeping secrets until she had walked into his office one afternoon and caught him humping a woman on his desk who was not his wife.  Tom had begged her not to tell anyone.  He swore he loved his wife, that he couldn’t bear it if she learned what he had done.  He also implored her to think of his children, what having their family torn apart would do to them.  And he had his professional reputation to consider as well: people liked to joke about how sleazy lawyers could be, but most people would not like to find out that their lawyer was an adulterer.  Both he and Lureen knew that L.D. Newsome was one of those people.

Lureen had little sympathy for cheaters.  She believed that Tom’s wife at least had a right to know so that she could decide for herself what to do about the situation.

“Who knows?” she had said.  “She may not throw you out, Tom.  She may not even tell anyone.”

But he assured Lureen that his wife would, indeed, want a divorce the moment she learned of his unfaithfulness.  So finally, Lureen agreed to keep his secret, but only after having Tom agree to do something for her in return.  At the time, she had been unsure of what she wanted from Tom—she was not in need of any favors at that time.  But when Jack was attacked, she knew exactly what she needed of Tom.

He had originally assured her that in the likely event of the police doing little to punish the people who had attacked Jack, he would find a way to make sure that they paid for what they had done.  He had told Lureen that there were ways of making it legally impossible for the police to ignore this case.  She trusted Tom; she knew how good he was at his job, and believed that he had every means to make sure these men paid.

However, now that it was clear that the police were doing little to punish Jack’s attackers, Lureen was not pleased to see that Tom was being just as unhelpful.

On Monday, she took her lunch an hour earlier than usual and drove five minutes to Tom’s law firm.  The secretary told him Tom was unoccupied and she could go right in.  This was what she usually said to any Newsome who wished to speak with Tom.

Lureen walked straight into his office without knocking.  Tom was seated at his desk, reading from a file folder.  “I see you’re alone today, Tom,” she said.

He did not appear to be surprised by her appearance.  “I sure am,” he said.  “Take a seat, tell me what I can do for you.”

She sat down across from him and fixed him with a glare.  “You can do what you told me you’d do nearly two months ago.  Joe Stevens and Frank Mills are free men and it ain’t right.”

“Well, Lureen, it’s like the police said: there isn’t enough evidence to prove those men had anything to do with Jack’s accident.”

“Fuck that!  How ’bout Jack saying, clear as day, that he knows it was them that did it to him.”

“Your husband suffered a head injury, Lureen.  What he says about what happened that night can’t be trusted, and his claim is the only evidence against Joe and Frank.”

“Tom, you know it was them.”

“I don’t know anything, Lureen.”

“You said you would help me!”

“Don’t know what you expect me to do.  It’s too bad, but I got other things to worry about.  Cases I actually get paid for.”

Lureen clenched her fists until she was sure her long nails would draw blood from the palms of her hands.  “Well, if that’s what you want to do, maybe I’ll take your wife out to lunch tomorrow.  Got a couple of things I’d like to tell her.”

Tom shrugged.  “It’s nothing she don’t already know.”

Lureen held her breath.  “What’re you talking about?”

“I took your advice and decided to be honest with her.  After seeing what you forgave your husband for, my heart was warmed, hoping my wife would be just as kind.  And she was.”

“Fuck you,” Lureen muttered.  She hated his cocky, mocking voice.  She hated Tom’s wife for being like her, and hated her for having a husband who actually loved her, despite his cheating.

“Lureen, I didn’t attack your husband, don’t be angry with me.  Truth is, I don’t have time to deal with this, and don’t think I could do anything about it if I tried.  It’s true: there just isn’t enough evidence to accuse those men of anything.”

“And what the hell am I supposed to do?  They’re walking free, probably proud of what they’ve done, and my husband is a mess.  It ain’t fucking right!”

Tom met her eyes.  “This is just a thought, but maybe what those guys did isn’t the only thing Jack is messed up over.  Maybe finding out his lover of twenty years is dead is what’s got him really fucked up.  And who did that to him?”

Lureen seized a pad of Post-It notes from Tom’s desk and threw it at him.  She stood up.  “How dare you!”

Tom, as exasperatingly calm as ever, removed the Post-It notes from his lap, where they had landed, and fixed his gaze on her again.  “Just telling the truth.”

“The truth, Tom?  Is the truth that I’m a monster because I’ve stopped him from seeing the man he’s been cheating on me with for our whole marriage?”

“Considering how long he’s known this Ennis fellow, maybe it isn’t you who’s being cheated on.  Maybe it’s him.”

Lureen, angrier than she had ever been in her life, slammed her purse down on Tom’s desk, knocking over a glass of water onto the file he had been looking at.  Tom swore and scooped up the papers.  He tried to dry the water with tissue, but it wasn’t doing much.  Lureen watched him.  “All you fucking cheaters, you all think you’re right.  You’re all fucking scum.”

Tom did not look up from what he was doing.  “The truth is, Lureen, I was sick of being your little lap dog.  I helped you set the ball rolling to destroy your husband’s life, I ain’t doing anything more for you.  Now get the fuck out of my office.”

Lureen complied only because she had nothing else to say to Tom and thought that if she spent another moment with him, she might kill him.  How dare he! she thought.  How dare he accuse me of hurting Jack.  How dare he say that it was Ennis who was being cheated on, that Jack was more his than he was hers!  Fucking scum.

Lureen fumed as she drove back to her office, thinking about how much she hated that fucking Ennis for doing this to them.  Jack was hers, damn it.

But even with Jack believing Ennis was dead, he was still leaving their bed in the middle of the night.  Even when Jack was sitting right next to her, Lureen knew he wasn’t really there.

She pulled into her parking spot, took her purse from the passenger seat, and locked the car door.  As she slammed it shut, she thought that maybe Ennis wasn’t the whole problem.  A damn big part of the problem, but no, maybe he wasn’t completely to blame.  But … maybe her idea to lie to Jack was not the best.  She didn’t stop hating him or being angry, but she knew that she had underestimated what Ennis was to Jack.  She had known her lie would hurt Jack, but she had not been expecting this level of grief she was witnessing him suffer.

Lureen didn’t talk to anyone as she moved down the hallway to her office.  She sat down behind her desk heavily.  She had always enjoyed a challenge.  Problems nearly always had solutions if you thought hard enough.  She had tried with all she had in her to solve this problem.  She had done everything she believed she could to save Jack and save their marriage.  But she couldn’t get the image of Jack’s eyes out of her mind: once so bright and expressive, now dim and empty.  She wanted to go to sleep.  She wanted to rewind, to have done something for Jack that did not break him.  She wanted everything she could not have.

*          *            *

Ennis knew he didn’t have much, but was a little surprised when all of his belongings fit into two small boxes.  He didn’t need to take any furniture with him, but he had little of that anyhow.  He threw a few things out: some food, a radio that had been broken for years, a terra cotta pot that had once held a plant but had long since been empty.  When he pulled the stack of postcards out of the drawer of his bedside table, he seriously considered throwing it out.  What would hanging on to these stupid postcards do anyways?  They barely even said anything; all of them were filled with messages like “I’ll be there,” and “See you on the fifteenth.  It’s going to be cold!” and “Looking forward to it. Been desperate to get out and so some fishing lately bud.”

But as his arm extended toward the black garbage bag, postcards clutched in hand, he couldn’t do it.  He needed these, stupid or not.  Jack was gone—he knew that—but he didn’t see any need to try to forget by throwing out that small piece of his friend he had always been able to keep with him.  When Jack was living and Ennis was missing him, he would sometimes pull out a postcard or two and be able to feel like Jack was there with him.  He didn’t see any reason why that should change now.  The postcards would go with him.  They would always stay with him.

Ennis had learned enough about grief in the past weeks to know that if he dwelt on these things too long, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do anything, so he shoved the postcards into one of the boxes and finished packing.  His most important cargo would be pulled along behind him in a trailer.

He left early in the morning and didn’t look back.  He’d said good-bye to his girls two days earlier, had them over for dinner.  It hadn’t been easy to part from them, but they’d both been supportive of his decision, saying how it was good he was getting a better job and a change of scenery.  His promise that he’d be back when the work was done was a comfort to all of them.

He drove for two days, stopping only a few times to eat, and once at the ranch of one of Levinson’s friends to sleep and let his horses graze.  He crossed a state line and, for the first time in his life, an international border.  He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but found he was surprised to see that Canada didn’t look all that different from his native country.  At least, not just north of the Montana-Alberta border.  He passed through a small town where he saw folks dressed more or less as they did back home, even saw a few men wearing hats like his own.  The mountains were nearby, visible to the west, and when he left the town, he drove past ranches that were indistinguishable from the ones he had been passing for the past two days.

The Renolds Ranch was modest and simple.  A gravel drive brought him up next to a two-story house with a porch in the front.  Ennis could tell that the house had been painted recently by the clean brightness of its white.  The porch sagged a little in the middle and a new-looking swing hung just right of the door.

Before getting out of his truck, Ennis looked out over the property.  Just in front of the truck, only a few feet away, was a small grain silo.  An also recently painted white barn stood a few yards to the northwest of the house.  The side door was open and a pile of loose hay sat against the wall.  Beside it was a tractor that Ennis figured was at least ten years old, judging by the model, dark blue and showing a few rust spots.  To the left of the barn was a fenced-in field where two brown Quarter Horses grazed.  In the distance were more pastures where cattle grazed and Ennis could make out the figure of a man, circling the perimeter of one of the pastures and another bent low by a fence, likely mending it.  Past the barn were two fields where something was growing, hay or grain, Ennis guessed, as was usually the case for ranch crops.  He could see another ranch far to the east, just barely visible along the flat land.  To the west, the planes carried on for miles until they met the magnificent mountains, green and gray and monstrous above the dusty land.

The spread seemed to be in good enough shape, but Ennis could see the evidence of its previously run-down state behind the newly glossed exterior.  The whole place had a kind of tiredness about it: he could see it in the dip in the front porch, the slight lean in the silo, and the missing shingles from the barn’s roof.  Even from this distance, Ennis could tell that the two grazing horses were not exactly in prime condition: they were on the skinny side and moved slowly.  Well, Ennis thought, I ain’t exactly got a jump in my step either these days.  I’m tired too.

But seeing the poor creatures reminded him of his own two studs, certain to be impatient to get out of the trailer.  Ennis roused himself and walked around to the back of the trailer.  He led Heathcliff and Hareton (names suggested by Junior, after characters in some book she’d read) out and towards the pasture.  Hareton was a Quarter Horse like the other two, but he stood out because of his light brown, nearly blond color and dark brown tail and mane.  He was an even-tempered, hard-working, and reliable stud, as most Quarters were.  Heathcliff was an Appaloosa, striking because of his white spray of spots on his reddish, light brown hide.  He was a sturdy riding horse, but tended to be a little wild and untrusting of anyone other than Ennis.

After observing that the four horses had no quarrel with one another, Ennis left his two to graze with their new companions.  Watching them for a moment, he saw that the two new horses were as he had observed from his truck: a little skinny, but not under-nourished; slow moving, but he could see that with some work, there was potential.  The dark brown one seemed more relaxed with Heathcliff and Hareton, but a weakness Ennis detected in his back right leg worried him.  The lighter brown one seemed a little nervous about the newcomers and steered clear of them, but it seemed to jolt some energy in him, and this was encouraging.

The sun was dimming as the blue sky began to clutter gradually with clouds.  The landscape darkened, turned gray, and Ennis suddenly felt his optimism about the horses dribble away as it was replaced with another, heavier feeling he couldn’t place.  He shifted his gaze from the horses to sweep the property again.  In the distant pastures, he saw that one man had gone to the one kneeling by the fence and bent down to him.  The one who had been standing pointed in Ennis’s general direction.  He saw them both straighten and, he thought, look at him.  From this distance, he could make out nothing of their features or the expressions on their faces.  They could be scowling or grinning, Ennis couldn’t tell the difference.  The thought of them standing there, so far away, staring at him deepened that heavy feeling he had, mixed something like fear with it.  Nerves, maybe.  He considered waving, but kept his arms at his side.  If they worked here, they’d meet him soon enough.  He had to go meet the boss man at the main house, as he’d been instructed to do.

A man who didn’t shy away from doing what needed to be done, no matter how little the idea appealed to him, Ennis walked toward the house, head bent and shoulders hunched, but determined.  The wooden steps protested under Ennis’s weight and the porch creaked as well.  Before he had a chance to ring the bell, he heard the rumbling growl, and then the bark, of a big dog.  Ennis didn’t own a watch, but he knew it was only about two hours past noon.  What was a dog doing indoors on a ranch in the middle of the afternoon?  He didn’t get a chance to consider this further, though, as the inner door opened and the noisy beast himself appeared before Ennis, visible through the mesh of the screen door.  He was a bloodhound, all big eyes and droopy jowls.  Ennis raised his eyes to whomever had opened the door, presumably the owner, a man who somewhat resembled the dog with his sleek dark hair, tired big eyes, and droopy jowls to boot.  The biggest difference, though, was in the grin the man wore, big and proud, as though he’d just been crowned King of the World.

“Don’t mind Maggie, she’s all bark and no bite,” he said, leaning over Maggie and pushing the screen door open.  “Come in, come in.”

Ennis took off his hat and entered, a little uncertain about crossing the threshold of a man’s home before he’d even said a word to him.

But the man in question seemed eager to change that as he thrust a hand toward Ennis.  “Cal Renolds.  And you must be Ennis Del Mar.”

Ennis took Renolds’s hand.  “I am, sir … but, uh, how’d you know?”

“I’ve been expecting you, Ennis!  I saw you pull up with your trailer and bring out your horses—”

“Hope that’s all right, sir, I just—”

“Of course it’s OK!  That’s what you’re here for, right?  For the horses?”

Ennis nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’  I’m Cal.”

“Oh.”

“Allrighty, come meet my wife, Brenda.  And I’ll call the guys in to meet you too.”

Ennis followed Cal through a living room with hardwood floors, white walls, and two green couches, into a large kitchen that smelled of fresh bread.  A slim woman with sandy blonde hair in a ponytail, wearing a white tank top and cut-off jean shorts, stood at the island cutting an onion.  She wiped tears out of her eyes and grinned at Ennis.

“Hi, Ennis.  I’m Brenda.”

Ennis nodded.  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

They waited as Cal used a walkie-talkie to call in the other two men who worked on the ranch.  Then, Ennis stood in the kitchen for what felt like a long time, but was really only ten minutes, making conversation.  For Ennis, making conversation was about as easy as making a mountain, so he was relieved when a newcomer came in through the back door that led into the kitchen.  Ennis was eager to meet them so he could guess what his days might be like on the Renolds Ranch.  He hoped they’d be the hard-working type who minded their own business and didn’t talk about things that didn’t have to do with the job.  He’d worked with some of those, and they had made his life easier.  But he’d worked with the other type too: the ones who worked because they wanted the money, but had nothing to give.  They did as little work as possible and the little work they did was half-assed.  They always had plenty to say, though.  They wanted to talk about who they’d fucked or who they’d punched the night before.  And Ennis could have tolerated that if they’d kept him out of it.  But there was no luck to be had there: they always wanted to hear Ennis’s story, wanted him to divulge the secrets of his life.  Is it true you and that sweet little thing who waitresses at the bar are an item, Ennis?  How is she in the sack?  Or: Saw the number you did on Allen Johnson’s face last night, Ennis.  Christ, what’d he say to you?  If these guys were going to be pains in the ass like that, Ennis didn’t know if he could stand six months here.

The man who walked in the door was older than Ennis, but younger than sixty.  He was bald on top, graying on the sides and had a full beard.  He nodded at Ennis and shook his hand.

Cal patted the man on the shoulder.  “This is Marc Lapont.  He’s my right-hand man, takes care of everything I can’t.  Where’s Shane?”

“Takin’ ’is time, as usual.”

Marc spoke with an accent Ennis had never heard before, but it sounded familiar.  He had to listen close to understand what he was saying, but he didn’t seem to say much.  Ennis liked him already.

“Shane’s only been around for about a year,” Cal was saying.  “He’s our only ranch hand.  He does a lot of the heavy lifting around here—you’ll be bunking with him.”  Cal paused, looked at Marc, then back at Ennis.  “As you can see, this place doesn’t exactly match up to Gary Levinson’s spread.  Money’s always been tight.  There aren’t many of us, so we all have to pull our weight.  Now, Gary tells me you’re a hard worker.”

“Yes, sir, I believe I am.”

“It’s Cal, Ennis.  Glad to hear it, though.  I guess he told you, I came into some money since my father died?  Well, I’m making some changes to improve things around here, but it won’t work if any member of my team isn’t giving 100 per cent.  Can you give me that, Ennis?

Ennis started to nod his head, but was interrupted by the door opening again.  The man who strolled in was tall and slim.  His shaggy brown hair fell across his forehead and he pushed it back as he walked in the door.  His face was stubbly and one look at his hands told Ennis he was a workingman, had been for a long time.  He looked to be in his mid-thirties.  As he stepped into the kitchen, he looked suddenly straight at Ennis, meeting his eyes.  The ones he stared back at were dark, but had a brightness deep within them, like a fire glowing in a dark room.  Ennis couldn’t identify the feeling he had then, but it seemed familiar.  Exhilarating at first, but then it made him queasy.  He shifted his eyes to the floor.

“I’m Shane,” the man said, sticking his hands in his front pockets.

Ennis nodded.  “Ennis.”

“Show Ennis where he’ll be sleeping, Shane.  Maggie and I will be over in a bit and we can get started, Ennis.”

Shane silently turned back to the door and Ennis followed him outside.  They walked toward the barn, but veered left and walked around it.  On the west side of the barn, which hadn’t been visible to Ennis from his truck, was a small, white, one-story house, slightly shorter than the barn.  Shane led him straight in through the front door.  From the inside, Ennis could see it could hardly be called a house.  The entire place was two rooms: the one large room they’d walked into with two single beds and a nightstand and dresser each, and a smaller room in the corner of the larger one.  Ennis could see through the open door it was the bathroom.  It was clean and simple, which suited Ennis fine.  He wished he didn’t have to share a room, but he wasn’t going to complain about free room and board.

Shane pointed to the bed on the right side of the room.  “That one’s yours.  I don’t like messes, so keep things clean.  We eat at the house.  Breakfast is at five, lunch at noon, dinner at six.  You miss a meal, you find your own food.”

Ennis nodded.  “Fair enough.”

“I usually keep a couple of cans of beans under my bed, just in case.  We can make a fire out back to heat them up.”

Ennis nodded again, but refrained from saying he wouldn’t be eating no beans with no other guy.  He could keep some soup or chili around though.  But he wasn’t planning on missing the regular meals, anyways.

Shane sat down on his bed and looked up at Ennis, those dark eyes catching him again.  “So, are you going to unpack?”

Ennis frowned.  “Don’t you have work to do?”

Shane shrugged.  “Sure, I’ll get to it.  I’m just taking a breather.”

Ennis grunted and was just going to go to his truck to get his few belongings, when Cal poked his head in the door, Maggie at his feet.  “You guys settled?”

“Yeah, boss,” Shane said.  He stood up and started toward the door, but then glanced back at Ennis.  “See you around.”

Ennis watched him, feeling suddenly angry, but he didn’t know why.  Cal stepped into the room and Maggie followed.  “I’ll let you unpack, then do you want to meet me by the barn in about twenty minutes?”  He patted Maggie’s head.  “Maggie and I have some work to do before the day is done.”

Ennis nodded.  “How ’bout ten minutes?”

Cal smiled.  “Sounds fine.  See you then.”

Ennis pulled his boxes out of his truck and didn’t spend long unpacking.  Clothing in the dresser, postcards in the nightstand drawer.  His tack was in the trailer, but he’d deal with that later.  He got to the barn before Cal, who came with Maggie in tow a few minutes later.  Ennis was beginning to wonder if he’d ever see that man without his dog.

The tour of the barn was quick—it was nothing Ennis hadn’t seen before.  Cal pointed out the main areas of the ranch, then led him to where the four horses were grazing.  He had just purchased the two Quarter Horses and wanted Ennis’s opinion on them.  Ennis said they weren’t in the best shape now, but that they had potential.  Cal explained that he wanted to buy two more horses and let Ennis know how much he wanted to spend.  He told Ennis about his plan for his little side-business, charging people by the hour to take the horses for guided tours around the property.  He wanted Ennis to get the horses ready for that.

Ennis wasn’t too daunted by the task: the horses didn’t have to be the fastest or nimblest in the world, but they needed to be even-tempered and obedient.  Tolerant, too, if they were going to be taking a lot of inexperienced riders.

After an hour, Cal patted Ennis on the shoulder and told him he had work to do.  He left Ennis to get to know his new charges.  Alone with four horses, Ennis felt, for the first time that day, the tight knot in his stomach begin to loosen.  The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds again and Ennis enjoyed its warmth on his face

It was early to tell, but Ennis thought that this whole Alberta thing might just work out fine.

Resurrection: Chapter Four

Resurrection
Pairing: Jack/Ennis AU
Rating: NC-17 for the story
Summary: This picks up right at the moment in the canon that Ennis receives that infamous post card informing him of Jack's death ... but this is not a Jack!Dead story. This idea is not completely original, but I believe that my interpretation of it is something fresh, uncliche-ed, and enjoyable. Please feel free to leave fair and honest feedback.
Disclaimer: Inspiration for this story and all characters belong to Annie Proulx.
Acknowledgements: A million thank-yous to my new beta, Judy. I don't know what I did without her before!

Chapter Four

Randall looked angry, like he always did when he woke up.  But the instant he saw who it was, the anger turned to surprise, and he pulled Jack into one of his rib-crushing bear hugs.

“Jack, shit,” he growled.

“Hey now,” Jack said, giving Randall a little push.

Randall pulled away and beckoned Jack into the house.  The door was closed and they moved into the living room.  Randall turned on the light.

“LaShawn is still away at her mother’s, right?”

“Yeah,” Randall said distractedly, “don’t worry about it.  Shit, Jack, never thought it’d be you at the door.  How you doing?  You look a hell of a lot better’n I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been six weeks.”

“Still.”

Jack shrugged and looked at the wall.  It was painted the same shade of pink as the carpet in his and Lureen’s bedroom.

“So, uh, did you come over here to—”

“No, not that.  Thought I already told you, we ain’t going to do that anymore.”

Randall nodded.  “Yeah.  So—”

“I came here to talk.”

“Oh.”

“I know that’s never really been our thing, but … I’m going out of my fucking mind.”  Jack let out a breath as though he’d been holding it for weeks.

“Yeah, after what happened, I’ll bet—”

“It ain’t about that.  Well, maybe it is a little, but it ain’t the biggest thing on my mind right now.”  He leaned forward on the sofa and held his head in his hands.  “Shit.”

He’d been desperate to speak to someone over the past weeks.  But now that he could, he didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say.  Seemed like if he talked about it, it would become real.  On the other hand, if he said nothing, how would he keep his sanity?  “You know Ennis?” he finally said.

“’Course.  You’ve talked about him.”

“He’s dead.”

“Ah, hell,” Randall said.  “Jesus.  Tough break.”

Jack felt a heavy hand not so much pat his back, as drop down between his shoulder blades three times.  He shrugged it off and stood up.  He began to pace.  “I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do, Randall.”

Randall sat watching him, looking a bit like a man at a play who had been expecting to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but ended up at King Lear instead and was not sure what to make of it.  “Don’t expect there’s much you can do, is there?”

“Sometimes it feels like Childress and Lureen and L.D., they’re all just … strangling me.  Feels like if I don’t do something I’ll just lose it.”

“Yeah, well … that’s too bad.”

Jack was beginning to think that going to Randall to talk wasn’t exactly the smartest thing, but what were his other options?  Spend some quality time with L.D. and tell him that his marriage was a big joke and he couldn’t stand it anymore?  Sit Bobby down and tell him he was queer and was sick and tired of pretending he wasn’t?  Inform Lureen that he hated her father more than anyone else on earth and was counting the days until the bastard’s retirement, but wasn’t even sure if he could make it that long without losing his marbles?  Randall wasn’t exactly the best for giving advice, but at least Jack could be honest with him.

“Saw an ad in the paper for a job selling insurance.  One of those deals where you go door to door … think I’d be pretty good at it.”

This got a bit of a reaction out of Randall.  “You wanna quit Newsome’s?”

“Hate that fucking place and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, that fucking place pays you better than you deserve and has given you security for the past fifteen years.”

 “Lureen’s job is security enough to take care of the family if my job don’t work out.”

Randall shook his head.  “Don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Jack.  You got a great job, and you want to throw it away for some stupid door-to-door gig.  You got a beautiful wife for all the world to see, and you nearly throw it all away with that whole Ed Grey thing.”

“Randall, don’t you ever get sick of that whole family image?  Don’t you ever wish you weren’t married to LaShawn?”

“Hell, no.  Long as I’m married to her, people don’t ask questions and I can do whatever I want.”

“Well, I want to quit Newsome’s.”

Randall shrugged.  “Well, I ain’t gonna stop you.  I just think you’re being stupid.”

“Thanks, Randall, that’s real helpful.”

“If that’s what you think, why’d you come over here in the first place?”

“Just thought you might understand.”

“Yeah, well, what I don’t understand is what the death of your buddy in Wyoming has to do with your job and everything else.”

Jack sighed and sat back down next to Randall.  For the first time in his life, he voiced something he had always known: “Because what him and me had was the only thing that made all this shit bearable.  Lureen, my job … even you.”

Randall nodded like this made sense to him.  “Maybe you gotta think about all the good things you got: a beautiful wife, a son, a good job.  You got a good life and that Ennis wasn’t ever a part of it.”

Jack closed his eyes.  Randall didn’t understand after all.  He’d never had an Ennis, never had anyone he’d rather be with than LaShawn.  She gave Randall respectability, and that mattered to him.  But Jack had had enough of working his life around respectability.  Jack stood up.  “Well, sorry for waking you up.  Guess I’ll go on back home now.”

“You really ain’t interested in fucking?”

Jack looked at him for a moment, actually tried to make that desire rise.  Maybe a good meaningless fuck would help a little.  Maybe feeling Randall’s big hairy body on top of him was just the thing he needed.  But as soon as he thought of that, he thought of another lean yet strong form on top of him and inside him and all around him and the thought of being with Randall was nearly revolting.  He shook his head.  “No.  I’m gonna go.”

On the short trip back home, Jack thought about that job selling insurance.  The idea of spending his days on the road was appealing; the idea of trying to sell people shit he didn’t really believe in was not.  But he liked driving and he liked being outside and he definitely liked not having L.D. breathing down his neck at all times.

The next morning was a Wednesday.  Jack still had not returned to work, but was supposed to start up again a week from the coming Monday.  That would be plenty of time to arrange the new job and would leave him free to walk into L.D.’s office on the day he was supposed to start back up again and tell him to go fuck himself.  The prospect was mighty appealing.  It nearly made him smile.

He wasn’t very smiley when he walked into the kitchen to find Lureen sitting at the table with a steaming cup of coffee and her adding machine in front of her.

“What’re you doing?”

She looked up at him.  “Thought I’d work at home today.”

“Well, why ain’t you in your office?”  He had been looking forward to the same peace and quiet he had been enjoying since the attack.  The house was entirely empty while Lureen was at work and Bobby was at school.  This left Jack free to lounge around the silent living room, sometimes just thinking, sometimes looking at one picture of Ennis he had—one that he’d stolen from Ennis’s wallet and cut Alma out of ten years ago—and sometimes starting in on his first beer of the day as early as ten in the morning.  There wouldn’t be any of that with Lureen in the kitchen and the sound of that son-of-a-bitch adding machine rat-tap-tapping filling the whole goddamned house.

“Didn’t want to miss you when you came down.”

He slumped in the seat across from her.  “Why?”

“Where the hell did you go last night?”

“What’re you talking about?”  Defensiveness was an automatic reaction.

“You think you’re so sneaky, don’t you?  Slipping out at two-thirty in the morning.  What the hell could you be doing at two-thirty in the morning?”

Jack shook his head.  “Ain’t none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t.  I am your wife!”

“I don’t gotta tell you about every little thing I do.”  Jack felt oddly calm and very right in his opinion.  Why the hell should he tell Lureen anything?  What the hell did she know about anything?

“You don’t tell me about anything you do, Jack, and I’m fucking sick of it.  Men don’t just sneak out of their wives’ beds at all hours.”

“I was just taking care of something, all right?”

“And what is so wrong with me that you can’t even tell me what it is?  I am trying so hard to make this work, but you just pull further and further away.”

Jack wanted to feel sympathy as he looked at his wife who never cried with tears streaming down her cheeks.  He wanted to feel guilty, but he was so sick of guilt.  There might have been a time when he would have gone over to Lureen and comforted her, told her that there was nothing wrong with her.  He may have tried to make up for it with a romantic evening or a piece of jewelry.  But his desire to be the good husband and do the right thing despite who he was had left him.  He didn’t care anymore.  He would stay in this bitch of an unsatisfactory situation because he had no choice, but he wasn’t going to go to great lengths anymore to pretend that he was happy.

He stood up.  “I’m going back to bed.”  He heard Lureen call his name as he left the room, but he pretended not to hear.

Instead, he went back up to their bedroom, and sat up on the bed.  He found the square he had cut out of the classifieds a few days earlier, and used the telephone on his bedside table to call the number.  He told the person on the other end of the line that he had seen an ad in the Childress Index for a job selling insurance and that he was interested.  He was told about the job, which was mostly what he expected: going door to door and trying to convince people that they should buy the company’s insurance.  Jack agreed to go in for an interview the following week.

If he got the job, he probably wouldn’t be all that happy at it.  In fact, he’d probably be plenty miserable.  But at Newsome’s he was being driven insane, and if one day he snapped and strangled L.D. to death, his problems would be made even worse by adding a murder charge to them.  So he opted for the dull but safe job.  It was possibly a job that would allow him to be miserable in peace.  And even that was a bit of a comfort.

*          *            *

On a late Wednesday afternoon, Ennis was helping Greg lock the final bull into his stall when the foreman, Barry Levinson, asked to speak with him.

Ennis worried that he might be in trouble.  But when Levinson closed the door to his office and sat down at his desk, he had a smile on his face.

“Well, Ennis, take a seat.”

Ennis sat across from his boss, holding his hat on his lap, wondering if he should have taken it off in the first place.

Levinson cleared his throat.  “Well, how you been lately?  You’ve seemed quiet.  Quieter than usual, I mean.”

Ennis shrugged, wished folks would stop asking him how he was.  Wished Levinson wouldn’t say “well” all the time.  It bugged the hell out of him.  “I’m getting by.”

“Well, good.  Listen, I got this favor to ask of you.  It ain’t a small one.”

“Sure,” Ennis said.  He’d never had any reason to say no to one of his bosses.  Unless it meant giving up his week off so that he could go—well, that wasn’t going to be a problem anymore.

“Well, I got this rancher friend.  His spread is smaller than this one, not as well kept.  In fact, place was nearly falling apart as of late.  Well, this buddy—Cal Renolds is his name—he came into some money since his old man died.  Wants to put it towards making some changes ’round his place: fix things up, and wants to start a new bit of business as well.  Has this idea about buying colts, training them, and then running some kind of an operation where folks can take a riding tour ’round his property.  He’s convinced tourists’ll eat it up.”

Ennis shrugged.  “Makes some sense.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so.  ’Cause he knows about riding horses, but don’t know much about buying or training ’em.  Needs someone to come help him get set up over the next couple of months.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, like I said, he’s an old buddy of mine, and I want to help him out.  So I told him I could send him someone who could help him do just that.  Someone he could trust who works hard.”

Ennis wasn’t an idiot.  “You mean me?”

“I sure do, Ennis.  So what do you think?  He wants you to spend until about November there, helping him buy and train about six colts.  Sound all right?”

Ennis grunted.  “What are you going to do without me?  Thought you said you needed me all summer, through August and all?  I—I cancelled plans for that, and I don’t see how now you can just—”

“Now, Ennis, don’t get yerself all riled up.  Well, it’s all taken care of, see?  He’s gonna send me one of his men to take over your job while you’re away.  Says he’s got a good guy who works hard.  Not sure if he can measure up to you, but, well … want to help out my buddy.”

“And pay?”

“He’s willing to pay ten per cent higher than you’re making now.”

“Hm,” Ennis said.  He’d never been a big fan of change, but this offer was sounding more and more appealing.  Getting to work just with horses and getting paid more for it?  Couldn’t be bad.  He wasn’t exactly having the time of his life working for Levinson, though he was a good guy.  He might not like change, but he’d learned that change usually came whether he wanted it or not.  “Whereabouts is this job?  Still in the Riverton area?”

“Well, ah, that’s the thing.  It’s a bit out of the way.”

“Would I have to move?”

Levinson chuckled nervously.  “Well, yeah, you’d definitely have to move.  The ranch is in Alberta.  Up in Canada.”

“You … you want me to move to Canada?”

“Well, now, it ain’t that far.  The ranch itself is pretty close to the border, so you’d basically just be going through Montana and you’d more or less be there.  And it’s only temporary.”

“I dunno, Barry …”

The thought of moving, not just to a new town or state, but to a new country seemed like too much for Ennis.  He wasn’t no traveler.  He didn’t want to be far from his girls neither.

“C’mon, Ennis.  A change might be good for you.”

Why did everyone think that a change was going to solve all his problems?  First Alma, now Levinson?  He didn’t see how mixing everything up in his life was going to make anything better.  Still, it wasn’t as though he was seeing his girls even once a week, and the thought of a job involving just horses was mighty tempting.

“When you gotta know by?”

“Well, you can let me know in the morning.”

Ennis nodded.  “All right, then.  I will.”

Ennis left the office and got into his truck.  His mind was spinning, but even as he backed onto the road, he was pretty sure of what his decision was going to be.

Resurrection: Chapter Three

Resurrection
Pairing: Jack/Ennis AU
Rating: NC-17 for the story
Summary: This picks up right at the moment in the canon that Ennis receives that infamous post card informing him of Jack's death ... but this is not a Jack!Dead story. This idea is not completely original, but I believe that my interpretation of it is something fresh, uncliche-ed, and enjoyable. Please feel free to leave fair and honest feedback.
Disclaimer: Inspiration for this story and all characters (except for Tom) belong to Annie Proulx.

Chapter Three

His little girl married: Ennis could hardly believe it.  He ran his fingers up and down the stem of the wine glass as he sat at his table and watched his very own Junior twirl across the floor with her new groom. This Curt fellow seemed mighty upstanding, and he’d seen the way he looked at his girl and the way she gazed right back at him. He knew that they had found a good thing with each other.  From what Junior had told him, it sounded like the life she and Curt could have together had the potential to be some sweet life …

Alma sat down beside him.  Well, not directly beside him—she left one chair in between, but at his empty table, nonetheless.  “So,” she murmured.

Ennis grunted in agreement.

“Today’s worked out as well as could be expected,” she continued.  “And she seems happy.”

Ennis watched his girl lean into the shoulder of her new husband, closing her eyes.  Ennis could see the bliss that lovely face held.  “Sure enough.”

 They were silent for a time as they watched their first child enjoying her night, her first night as this young man’s bride.  Her first night as a new wife.

Alma cleared her throat.  “Times I wish our wedding had dancing.”

Ennis was experienced enough to understand that sometimes women said things when they meant something entirely different.  Had no idea what that something else was, though.  “Never been much of a dancer.”

“Word has it you danced plenty with that Cassie Cartwright over at Larry’s bar.”

Ennis frowned.  Her first harsh words of the night, and over Cassie?  “I ain’t gonna deny it.”

“You still dance with Cassie Cartwright?”

Ennis tore his eyes away from his daughter and looked at the woman beside him.  “Alma, these’re the first words you’ve spoken to me in nearly ten years, and all you wanna talk about is Cassie?  What the hell do you care?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe I don’t.  There something else you’d rather discuss, Ennis?”

“You’re the one what came over here.”

Alma sighed.  “Didn’t come over here to argue.  Shouldn’t of brought that hussy up in the first place.”

“She ain’t a hussy.”

“Fine, Ennis, fine.  I’m sorry.  Just thought we oughta be civil to each other on the day of our daughter’s wedding.”

“Fair enough.”  Ennis wished Alma’d go back to her husband, back to their busy table with lots of talking.  He had no problem sitting here on his own.  Why did people have such a tough time understanding that?

“And … guess I wanted to let you know that I ain’t … well, I’ve put whatever happened between you ’n me past me. Don’t see no reason for us to hate each other no more.”

“Never hated you, Alma.  That was your choice.”

“Well, could ya blame me, Ennis?”

That carefully controlled voice suddenly breaking into anger again.  A tone Ennis had heard many times before, but made him flinch after so long without it.  But he did say: “S’pose not.”  He turned his eyes away from her.

 The song changed to something faster and a few more people joined the dance floor.  Ennis watched as Jenny went up to Junior and tapped her shoulder.  He watched his two daughters laugh and dance together in a large circle of loving friends and family.  He glanced quickly at Alma, and saw she was watching the same thing.  And then she turned her head to him.  In the first time in more than ten years, they smiled at each other.

“So,” she said, “you still go fishing with Jack Twist?”

Ennis heard the words, and at the same time, felt the hurt like a slap, stinging first and leaving a tingling burn behind.  After their talk had gotten so pleasant, so soothing even, the slap was even more of a shock.

Alma must’ve seen the hurt in his face, because she didn’t wait for him to say anything when she started to talk again: “I don’t mean that like I did the time before.  I just … it was only a question.”

Ennis didn’t care what she thought, but she’d put the name out there, and suddenly the pain of the past month and a half came back to him: he’d gone back to work, managed to convince the foreman that his early departure the day before had been a one-time thing only, and had proceeded to take every hour he possibly could on the job.  He quickly learned what a welcome escape work was, and he drank up every last drop of it, dreading the rest of the hours.  The rest of the hours were when he was alone in his shack.  These hours were not unbearable because he was alone, but because they allowed for no distraction from his thoughts of Jack: the jumbled feelings he couldn’t describe and didn’t try to.  Sometimes it seemed like anger, sometimes exhaustion, sometimes simply a deep and penetrating sadness.  He escaped at work, and he escaped whenever he saw his girls.  This wedding was an escape too, because while there were moments during the ceremony when he felt unbearable jabs of pain that he did not think about, his general feeling was one of joy—for Junior, to be here with her.  He was her father, and he couldn’t help but be proud of his little darling.

So, when Alma dared to bring up that name, he couldn’t help but feel anger before guilt.  What had happened had happened, and why did she have to bring up Jack Twist if she had put their history behind her?  Women.  He would never understand, so he fixed her with a glare, hoping she’d get the idea.

She didn’t.  “I’m just asking, Ennis.”

“No,” he snapped.  “Jack Twist is … Jack Twist ain’t … Jack Twist is dead.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ennis saw Alma’s head snap to him.  He tried just to look at his daughters and feel what he’d felt a moment ago, but stronger thoughts were pushing in.

“Well, I s’pose … well, I’m guessing that … you must be …”

Ennis felt his mouth twitch as though it wanted to speak against his will, but he was good at forcing words down.  Still, she’d probably keep probing him if he didn’t put an end to things right then.  “Don’t wanna talk about Jack Twist.”

“Well, I reckon I already know all I need to know anyhow.”

Ennis kept his mouth shut.  If that’s what she thought, he had no interest in arguing.  If she’d drop the topic, he’d be happy.  Well, mayhap he wouldn’t be happy… he reckoned “happy” wasn’t in the cards for him in the future, but figured he could live with that, had lived most of his life without much joy, could live out the rest with none.  The dreams would go away, he told himself.  The emptiness and despair would become habit.

Alma stood up.  “Well, I s’pose I don’t have more to say.  Just … I wish you’d find someone, Ennis.  Don’t like you alone all the time.  I … well, the girls worry.  I sure as hell know how much you’d rather stay in your shell.  You just want to sit still as a statue, but it might do ya some good to change a thing or two in your life.  Might put your girls at ease a little.  They worry about you, you know.”

Ennis looked up at her.  “All right,” he said, “I’ll try.”  He was thinking that he was happy she was leaving.  He was thinking that maybe he oughta go home, drink the last of that bottle he had, lay himself down and forget about everything he didn’t want to think about.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ennis.  Sorry about Jack Twist.”

Ennis looked up at her, but before he could look into that face that was nearly as good at not showing the emotions as his was, she’d turned away and was moving back toward her husband.  Ennis let a few minutes pass before rising, and heading out to his truck.

*          *          *

When Jack gave his honest recount of what had taken place six weeks earlier, Lureen recognized how strong her husband was.  She knew how difficult it had been for him to speak of this after weeks of barely speaking at all.  Other than occasional yes or no answer, he had hardly uttered a word since returning home, and she was concerned about the change she saw in him.  But when he gave his statement, she saw all the sass, bravery, and determination she had noticed on the day she first met him: returning her hat to her, teasing and flirting with her after she’d finally approached him (him, to nervous to talk to her, but she was used to intimidating guys, knew how to make sure they knew what she wanted), and staying on top of that bull like he’d made a decision not to fall off, no matter what the son of a bitch bull had to say about it, holding on to that raging ball of passionate anger, because he knew what he wanted, and didn’t care what he had to face in the mean time.  It was that reckless determination to do what he’d set out to do that had first attracted her to him.  Sure, she wasn’t immune to blue eyes and strong arms, hands, and thighs, but she’d been offered enough of that on a regular basis to know that there had to be something more to hold her interest if she was going to have anything with a cowboy that was going to last longer than the time between showing her barrel-racing skills and her curfew.  And in Jack Twist, she saw that difference, and held onto it like a pit bull to … well, to anything it decided to hold on to.  She knew better than to doubt herself, so she held on tight, and when things began to slip away from her in a way that she could not fail to ignore, she tried to hang on, and then when physical injury to her cowboy occurred, she was more than perturbed by it.

Two officers had visited her home and sat on her couch with her and Jack while he described what happened.  When it was over, Jack went upstairs to lie down, and Lureen went into her office to make a phone call.

“Jack made his statement.”

On the other end of the line, Tom was silent for a moment. “And did he say anything we didn’t already know?”

“He had names.  He knew exactly who did it.  Joe Stevens and Frank Mills.”

“Well, all right, then.”

“What are you going to do, Tom?”

“For the time being, ain’t going to do a thing.”

“’S’cuse me?”

“I agreed to take care of things if it wasn’t handled proper by the police.”

Lureen couldn’t suppress a snort.  “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll handle things proper.”

“Maybe they don’t know everything you think they know about Jack.”

“After that situation with Ed Grey last year?  I doubt there’s anyone who doesn’t know.”  Lureen hated thinking about it, but after that situation, she was no longer able to deny what she’d known for years.  The denial used to be fairly easy: as for Jack’s relationship with that Wyoming guy, it was easy not to think about it because it only interfered with her life a couple times a year.  She had no reason to think about what Jack might do when he went away to Denver for business, or what he did when he said he was “goin’ out drinkin.’”  But it was hard to ignore after what happened with Ed Grey.  The way Jack told the story, they were standing around talking, and all of a sudden Ed hauled out and punched him.  Hell if he knew how he’d offended the man.

But she’d heard other versions of the story.  She’d heard about the way Jack had been hanging too close to Ed, about his suggestion that they get out of there together, about the way Jack had met his eyes.  Ed had known what Jack meant and now everyone else did too.  Her friends tried to make her feel better, told her that it was only a rumour that had gotten blown out of proportion, but Lureen could see in their eyes that they knew the truth too.

As far as their family life went, both she and Jack did a fine job of ignoring the elephant in the room.  What hurt the most was that her son had to put up with it too.  They had told him not to believe rumours, but he knew the truth and Lureen had no way to make him un-know it.

Lureen had thought that Jack would finally stop doing this, that what had happened with Ed Grey would teach him a lesson.  But he kept going on his fishing trips, and didn’t stop going out at night, and who knew what he did in Denver?

“That situation with Ed Grey could be interpreted in different ways.”

Lureen shook her head.  “Don’t lie to me, Tom.  I know what it means, and so does everyone else.”

“Well, it still don’t mean the authorities won’t take care of it.  It’s their job, isn’t it?”

“You chickening out on me Tom?” Lureen’s voice was sharp, demanding.

“Whoa there, who said I was chickening out?  I just don’t want to waste my time doing something that someone else was going to do anyhow.”

“You owe me, Tom.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You said you would do this.”

“And I am doing it!  I’ve come this far, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, well, you better not try to get out now.”

Tom let out a slow sigh.  “Why don’t you go spend some time with your husband, Lureen?  Don’t worry about me—I ain’t giving up.”

Lureen was still suspicious, but she took Tom’s advice anyways.  She crept out of her office.  She tip-toed upstairs as though frightened that if she made too much noise, she would disturb something.  It was only nine-thirty at night—Bobby was in his room, but she could hear his music blasting and knew he was awake, and she was pretty sure that Jack was awake as well.  But she felt that if she was not quiet enough, something in the precarious balancing act that was her life would topple over, so she moved as silently as she could.

Lureen opened the bedroom door and saw Jack’s wardrobe and her vanity table, the love seat in the southeast corner of the room, and the lace curtains on the window, casting an elegant pattern of moonlight onto the pale-rose carpet.  She saw the bed, and Jack’s form lying on it, facing away from her, towards the window.  She crept up to the bed, and put a hand on Jack’s hip as she sat down.

Jack jumped under her hand and sat up quickly.  “Jesus Christ, Lureen!  Why the hell’d you sneak up on me like that?”

Lureen pulled her hand back quickly.  “Well, I’m sorry Jack.  I just didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, starting to turn away from her again.

“Hey,” she said, touching his arm, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”  He didn’t say anything, but he sat up beside her.  “How you doing?”

He shrugged, staring straight ahead.  “Fine.”

“You did good today when you made your statement, Jack.  I’m proud of you.”

He looked at her and for the first time in a long time, she saw some tenderness in his eyes.  “Thanks.”

She moved closer to him and placed a hand on his thigh.  “Things will get better.  I’m going to make sure of it.”

“You can’t promise that, Lureen.  And things aren’t going to be all right.”

She pressed herself against him and began to move the hand on his thigh in circles.  She put her lips to his ear.  “Well, I’m gonna take care of you.”  She started to kiss his ear, then down his neck.  She moved her hand up his thigh.

“Lureen.”

She hardly heard him.  She was entirely focused on what she was doing.  Jack’s injuries were finally healed, and it had been six weeks since the incident, and Jack had just spoken more words than she’d heard him speak since then.  She was going to show her man just how proud of him she was and what lengths she was going to go to in order to keep him with her.

“Lureen.”  This time his voice was more forceful, and he took her hand and pulled it away.

She looked at him.  “What’s wrong?”  She tried not to sound angry.

“I don’t want to.”  No tiptoeing around.

“Why not?  Jack, come on.”  She moved in again.

“I said I didn’t want to.”  Jack pulled away and stood up.

Lureen stared up at him.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  You know, most men would count themselves damn lucky any night their wives gave them an offer like this.”

“Well, I ain’t most men.”

She tensed.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What, you don’t know?”

She took pause at that.  In all their years of avoiding, this was the closest they had come to putting things out in the open.  For the most part, the avoiding had worked.  They lived their decent family life most of the time, and she didn’t have to know about anything else her husband did.  But things were different now.  Ignoring the reality of the situation had nearly gotten Jack killed and now she was doing something about it.  “I’m trying to help you.”

Jack didn’t sit next to her.  He just stood there, shaking his head.  “Ain’t nothing you could do to help me.”

“You don’t know that.  We all make mistakes, and I’m willing to—”

“You don’t know nothing about it, Lureen!  Don’t try to tell me about mistakes, ’cause I know that some of the things I done in my life I wish I hadn’t, but there’re some things I’ll never regret.”

“And what about Ed Grey?  Was he a mistake?”  The words came out before she could stop them.

“That what you want to talk about?  Well, I’ll have you know that no, I don’t regret that.  I don’t regret what I said to him and what I wanted to do with him.”

Lureen raised herself to her knees, as though her rage were pushing her up.  “Shut your mouth.”

“No, I ain’t shutting up!  I’m going to say what I want to say.  Why the hell does everyone in my life want me to shut up?”

And then, like a switch had been flipped in him, Jack changed before her eyes.  His face, red with frustration went suddenly white as a ghost.  His tense shoulders sagged, his raised hands fell to his sides.  And then his whole body just seemed to fall forward to the bed.  He sat on the edge of it, lowered his head to his hands and started to shake.  Lureen moved beside him and saw that he was not crying.  Only holding his head as though he were afraid it would role away, shuddering, and the expression on his face somewhere between blank and terrified.

She put a hand on his shoulder.  “Jack?”

He shrugged it off with a jerk of his arm.  But Lureen was a persistent woman, and she tried again.  This time, he didn’t shrug her off.  He allowed her hand to be there and then allowed her to pull him into her.  He let her hold him as he shook, and why shouldn’t Lureen allow her man to be upset over what had happened to him and over what he had done?  Why shouldn’t he grieve his friend?  It would have been unreasonable of her to think that everything would be just fine in only six weeks.  She would have to be patient.  Patient for Jack.

And after all, she had already had two gifts that night.  One had been watching her brave husband give his honest and complete statement.  The second was holding her husband in her arms.  Because after all that had happened and everything that this Wyoming man had gotten that she had been denied, she was the one holding Jack after he’d made it through this storm.  And with all the work she had done, didn’t she deserve it?

*          *          *

Jack looked at the clock once as he got out of bed.  Two-forty-three.  He moved quietly to his wardrobe and dressed himself in a pair of jeans and a dark blue shirt.  He did not want to wake Lureen, but he was confident that he wouldn’t.  He was good at tip-toeing and being careful.  He was good at sneaking around.

He went downstairs and grabbed his wallet and car keys from the hall table.  For the first time in six weeks, he got into his truck.  His heart rate had already increased, his mind had already gone sort-of blank as he thought about not thinking about all the things he wanted to think about.  He did what he had decided he would do while he was lying in bed next to Lureen.  He reversed out of the driveway, drove less than a mile through sleeping Childress, and parked outside a small bungalow that looked nearly identical to all the bungalows next to it.

He walked up the path to the front door, and rang the doorbell three times.  He didn’t worry about disturbing the residents because he knew that only one person was currently inside the Malone residence and he was the person that Jack wanted to disturb.

He did not have to wait long before he was greeted at the door.

Resurrection: Chapter Two

Resurrection
Pairing: Jack/Ennis AU
Rating: NC-17 for the story
Summary: This picks up right at the moment in the canon that Ennis receives that infamous post card informing him of Jack's death ... but this is not a Jack!Dead story. This idea is not completely original, but I believe that my interpretation of it is something fresh, uncliche-ed, and enjoyable. Please feel free to leave fair and honest feedback.
Disclaimer: Inspiration for this story and all characters (except for Tom) belong to Annie Proulx.
Chapter Two

Ennis made it through the rest of Thursday, went to work early Friday, as always, and went through his morning like it was any other.  Twenty-four hours: that’s how long it took for his world to fall apart.  It started during lunch on Friday, was sitting with the other workers in the grass behind the stables because it was a nice day.  The others were messing around, as usual, and Ennis was sitting in silence, as usual.

Greg Carson, who was young and thought he was real funny, was riling up the other guys by singing at the top of his lungs.  The man had a horrible singing voice, and the others were telling him to shut the hell up, but were laughing too.

“I know I will meet you on that fine old day …” Greg bellowed.

“Give it a rest, Carson!” Steve yelled, tossing a pebble lightly at him.

“…Water Walking Jesus, take me away!”

The rage hit Ennis all at once, and there was no more room for thinking.  He was on his feet and had the front of Greg’s shirt in his grip in one swift movement.  “Think you been told to shut your fucking trap, Carson!”

Greg managed to lift his arms in a sign of surrender.  “Whoa, Del Mar, I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Well, yer acting like a fucking fool, and you better knock it off.”  He released his grip and let Greg drop to the ground, then he walked off in the direction of his truck, fists clenched, and muttering words that not even he could understand.  By the time he was in the driver’s seat and had the door slammed shut, he couldn’t remember why he’d been angry in the first place, only knew that he wanted to destroy something and down a bottle of whisky right then, work be damned.  He reversed out of the drive and sped off down the road, leaving the ranch behind him.  He’d deal with that foreman when he damn well felt like it—the foreman could go fuck himself, for all Ennis cared.  He’d been putting in all kinds of crazy hours for that son of a bitch, and now what the hell good had it done?  He was back in the middle of Riverton in half the time it usually took him, and went straight into Larry’s, knew the bar owner would give him a bottle on credit when he needed one.

Larry wanted to talk, but Ennis wasn’t having any of it, and would have punched the asshole if he didn’t need the liquor so bad.  As soon as the bottle touched his fingers, he turned around and was back in his truck in a moment.  He sped to his shack just outside of town, sat where he had the night before, broke the seal on the whisky, and downed four ounces in a gulp.

“Fuck!” he yelled to no one for no reason.

He took another gulp, hardly feeling the burn.  He stood up, then sat back down again.  He felt a need to do something, but he didn’t know what.  That rage was still there, but he didn’t want to destroy anything anymore.  He could feel tears wetting his cheeks, but didn’t really feel like he was crying.  Was more like something had let go inside of him and all of a sudden, everything he’d been keeping there, pulled close so no one could see it or touch it, was starting to surface, to pour out of him, and he didn’t understand even half of it.

Jack.  He was gone.  The concept still hadn’t settled, and Ennis didn’t know what to do with it. 

You’re just sad, a voice in his head told him, and why shouldn’t you be?  Jack was a real good friend and you got a right to grieve when a friend dies.

Oh yeah, an angrier voice said, Jack was a real good friend.  That’s what you’ll tell ’em at work, that you lost a buddy and you’re a bit beat up over it.  But what did you really lose, Ennis?

“Shut up,” he mumbled, drinking more whisky.

You know what you lost and you know why, you sorry fuck.

But then the first voice came back: All right, so Jack was …well, there ain’t no word for what Jack was, but yeah, ’course he was different and what you and him had was the best thing you’ll ever have, even though you’ll never tell another living soul about it, but sure, I can be sad about losing that too.

And so he let the tears fall, and closed his eyes.  For the first time since seeing that postcard, he allowed Jack’s image to surface.  He saw him as he was twenty years ago: grinning, laughing blue eyes, shock of smooth black hair, showing off his big buckle—

But you’d rather think about him showing off his big something else.

“Fuck!” he said again, but the fight was seeping out of him and the first voice was losing to the second, which continued to torment him:

And you never really admitted to what you and him had together.  Sure, you’ll say you had some unexplainable thing, you’ll even admit you like fucking him.  But it’s always been about more than fucking, and that’s what always scared the shit out of you, because it was something that couldn’t be.  He’d admit it though, but for you, he kept his trap shut and accepted the scraps you threw at him because mean old bastard that you are, he loved you anyway.

Ennis sat there, shaking his head, nearly half the bottle gone already, and wanting to break something again.  His coffee mug from the morning was still sitting on the table, so he stood up, grabbed it, then flung it at the wall.  The white ceramic shattered with a satisfying crash, making a mess on the floor, that Ennis hated, so he punched the wall because it had broken the cup, but then hurt his hand in the process, so he just yelled “Fuck!” some more into the empty shack where he was alone, would always be alone, for the rest of his long, miserable fucking life.

*          *            *

Jack spent a good part of his daily life thinking about Ennis.  He thought about Ennis when he was at work, sitting behind his desk, pretending to be busy and avoiding L.D.  He thought about Ennis when he drove anywhere, the vibrations of the motor and the thump of the road were soothing and he found the thoughts rose up easily.  He thought about Ennis as he stared at the television, not watching it.  He thought about Ennis whenever he fucked someone, whether it was his wife or somebody else.

Sometimes he brought up memories of times he and Ennis had had together.  Riding to find a good spot to camp, or fucking late at night, both half asleep, but woken by a need for each other that was subconscious, or talking by the fire, or the time they’d made love outside, in the rain, by a stream.  He had nearly developed pneumonia as a result of this last instance, but had never regretted it for a moment.  At the time, he had not felt the cold, only the burn of their coupling along with the rain pattering all over him, all over them, until they were enveloped in the nature that always surrounded them, a part of it.

But Jack’s favourite “Ennis” thoughts were unlike any of the above, and he only indulged in them every once in a while, for fear they would lose their effect.  These thoughts were of Ennis when Jack was not with him.  Jack imagined him returning after a day of work to that little shack he’d seen when he’d (stupidly!) driven out to see Ennis after his divorce.  Ennis would enter, shoulders hunched, each movement slow and deliberate.  He’d be hungry as hell after the long hours he put in, but would not rush to prepare any dinner.  First he’d open himself a beer or would pour a bit of whiskey into a mug (Jack varied it from time to time), sit at his table sipping and staring, thinking.  Sometimes Ennis was thinking of work, what he’d done that day, what needed to be done in the near future.  Sometimes Ennis was thinking of his girls, how he loved them, what they were up to.  And sometimes, when Jack was feeling especially self-indulgent, Ennis was thinking of him.  Ennis was remembering him or missing him or even fantasizing about him.  When Jack thought this, he wasn’t sure how much he believed it, but he allowed it when he needed the fantasy himself.

Then, he’d find himself some food.  All kinds of canned grub: chilli or soup or even beans.  Sometimes a steak or a couple of sausages fried up.  Sometimes a pie given to him by one of his girls or the ranch foreman’s wife.  Ennis ate in the same way he moved: slowly, deliberately, but also efficiently.  As he ate, the newspaper would be spread out in front of him and he would squint from one article to the next, still refusing to get himself glasses.

By the time he had finished his food and finished with the paper, he would be exhausted.  He’d shut his eyes, give ’em a rub, then take what dirty dishes he had to the sink.  He’d take his time washing them, thinking some more.  And then he would get himself another drink, pull the postcard he’d purchased that day out of his shirt pocket, and sit down with it.  This was when he wrote his postcards to Jack Twist.  For the way Jack imagined it, it was as though Ennis were writing him a twenty-page love letter every night … but this was the part of the fantasy where he really allowed himself to suspend his disbelief.  He knew that in reality, it was a lot more likely that Ennis scrawled his brief and emotionless postcards at the post office, standing up, but in Jack’s mind, they were slowly, lovingly composed, still saying nothing explicitly, but suggesting everything.

And then it was time for bed.  In his mind’s eye, Jack watched as Ennis sat on the edge of his bed, two mattresses piled on the floor, and undid the buttons of his shirt with one hand.  He held his breath as Ennis gently removed the shirt from his own shoulders.  He’d stand and walk over to his little closet, taking his time hanging the shirt and re-buttoning it.  At this point, Jack would be watching from behind, taking in that muscled back, appreciating those broad shoulders, and how his back narrowed into that trim waist.  Jack saw each mole and the slight bump near the bottom of Ennis’s spine, the remnants of an accident ten years ago when Ennis had been thrown from his horse.  He would then turn around and Jack would watch as Ennis’s chest muscles flexed and bulged as he bent slightly forward to undo his jeans.  The jeans would be slid down, and Ennis would step out of them, completely naked.  He hung them up as carefully as he had hung his shirt then turned and moved back to his bed.  Jack watched, seeing the flex of every muscle, the dimple at the hip where leg met ass, and every fucking hair on that lank, sinuous body.  He knew every inch of it, every perfect flaw, every beautiful place on the man he loved.  As Jack watched, he would think about the places he loved to touch on Ennis and when and how.  His back made Jack think of lying under him, staring up at that face, nearly angry in ecstasy and concentration.  Jack thought of the red scratches he often left on the milky surface of those broad muscles.  Ennis’s hands, hanging loose and limp at his sides, made Jack think of them alive and nearly shaking as they moved over his body, saying more than those tense lips ever would.  His thighs, fuzzy and thick, though not as thick as his own, wrapping around his waist, relaxed and spread in a way that he knew only he was privy to.  And of course, his dick.  In these fantasies, Jack always pictured it flaccid.  He liked to see it like that and know how it would rise and swell if Jack were to suddenly appear in front of him.  He also like to picture Ennis like this, relaxed, exhausted, unaware of his dick in a way that Jack knew he never was when they were together.

He watched as Ennis let himself drop to his bed, first in a sitting position, then collapsed down onto his back.  He would tuck a hand under his head and Jack would gaze at the white underside of that sculpted bicep.  Ennis never had the sculpted muscles that Jack had had for most of his life, and he loved Ennis’s long, sinuous body.  But in one place, Ennis did have prominent, bulging muscles, and that was in his arms.  With the work Ennis did, it was impossible for his arms to stay skinny, and so Jack had always known them as thick, sculpted, and strong.  The sight of that bulging bicep transitioning into that body that he saw as perfect was enough to have Jack hard and aching for release and for something else that he could not name.

And then he’d sort of zoom out, watching Ennis from a little further away and from above him.  He watched as Ennis fell into a sleep that came easily after a long and trying day of hard work and then Jack would leave the fantasy just as Ennis was beginning to dream about him.

*          *            *

On Jack’s sixteenth and final day in the hospital, he tried to revisit this fantasy, tried to bring Ennis in Every Day Life back to him, but it would not appear.  Nothing he did would silence the voice in his head that told the truth, that Ennis was doing no such thing at this moment.

His doctor (Donnelly, that was his name) had explained to him that he was currently on some fairly strong painkillers, but that he was being weaned off them.  The pills he was being given to take home were much weaker and were to be taken much less frequently.

“These medications also numb your ability to experience extreme emotions, so I want to warn you that the impact of what has happened to you may begin to kick in more once you get home,” Doctor Donnelly explained.  “Some memories may come back as well at this point.”

So since Lureen had stood beside his bed and told him what had (not!  Oh god, please don’t let it be true!) happened, Jack had been drifting in a surreal world where he could think of Ennis being dead and wallow in his depression … but still not quite believe that it was really true.  Sure, Ennis is dead … and I’m also laid up in this hospital bed ’cause I got attacked, and everything is just a little bit blurry, and nothing really makes quite enough sense anyway, so why should I really believe what she told me?

He had an easy time not thinking about what Doctor Donnelly had told him and how this would affect him once he got home because it was easy to stay away from the reality of home in his drug-induced world of this strange hospital that he saw around him.  It was easy to lie there, shaking with the knowledge of Ennis’s death, because the misery was almost a pleasure to him.  He had spent the last twenty years pushing away the crushing sadness of the reality of his life and the life that he wanted but could never have, so to immerse himself in this exquisitely cutting grief was a relief, because he didn’t try to push it away.  And soon, he would go home, and that horrible truth would no longer be a truth, and he would be back to the unbearable boredom of his day-to-day life.  So he enjoyed this misery while he could.

But on the night before he was to go home, with the drugs much weaker than they had previously been, and with the reality of the house he shared with his wife and son pushing in on him, he decided to indulge on his most favourite fantasy of the man he loved to lighten his darkening mood.  But it didn’t work. As he pushed for that image of Ennis present itself as vividly as it always did, but just couldn’t, his mind suddenly flashed back to a memory that was recent, yet distant, of his truck suddenly spluttering to a halt on the deserted road home, and his inability to get it going again, no matter how many times he turned the key in the ignition, no matter what he prodded, tweaked, or poked at under the hood, it just wouldn’t fucking start!  And then a shadow appearing from behind, asking if he needed a hand, with so much scorn in its voice that Jack turned to ice on the spot, but he barely had time to notice it because—

“Fuck!” tried to yell, but the initial effort to throw his voice pained his broken ribs so much, the word was swallowed inside himself.

And so he kept trying and trying to bring that image of Ennis to him, but it wouldn’t come, and the memories were starting to pop up like flies on a carcass, and then the more he tried to cover them with thoughts of Ennis, the more Lureen’s words yelled into his mind, “He died, Jack … HE DIED!”

*          *            *

Jack looked exhausted when he came home, but it took him until late into the night to fall asleep.  Lureen thought she would never hear the telltale sounds of the slowing of his breath, indicating that he was fast asleep.  When she was sure, she rose and tiptoed to her home office, two doors down the hall from the bedroom she shared with Jack.

“Hello?”

Lureen held the telephone tight to her ear as if she feared that someone would hear if she held it too casually.  “It’s me.”

“’Bout time.”

“Sorry.  Jack took awhile to fall asleep.  Not his usual self, you know.”

“Right.  How’s he doing?”

“Worse’n I thought he’d be, to be honest.  Barely spoke two words all night, took him forever to fall asleep.”

“After what he’d been through, it’s to be expected.”

“Sure, but … I get the feeling that it’s more about what I told him than about what happened to him.”

Tom cleared his throat.  “That’s to be expected too, Lureen.  You knew what you were doing when you decided to tell him that, didn’t you?”

“It’s just that I’m thinking … well, maybe it wasn’t the best time to give him news like that.”

“If you were going to do that, it was the best time, Lureen.”

“But he’s so messed up over the accident—”

“And if he wasn’t, how would you explain that the person who phoned about the death didn’t want to talk to him?”

“Well, sure, but even then, he’s got so much to think about right now—”

“—which is exactly why it’s the ideal time.  He’s going to be fucked up for a bit, for sure, but he’ll get over it, and he’ll think of this time as a big, sad, messed up time in his life.  Which’ll make him appreciate what he’s got with you even more.”

“I suppose.”

“Trust me, Lureen, what you’re doing is for the best.”

“But those … those men.  They didn’t know about E-Ennis.  They did what they did because of … other stuff that Jack did.”

“Lureen, I know about these things.  With Ennis gone, he ain’t gonna be doing no other stuff, all right?  You know your husband, don’t you?  You know it’s this Ennis guy has got him all fucked up.”

“I guess.”

“Look, Lureen, if you were just calling me to tell me you’re having second thoughts, I ain’t gonna be much use to you.”

“No, no, it isn’t that.  Like I said, I don’t go back on my decisions.  I was just … I don’t know, I was just talking.  But no, that’s not why I called you.  I was wondering if you had anymore news on those fellas.”

“Well, at this point, I’m about as stuck as the cops are.  Without Jack’s statement, it’s hard to know where to start.  I got my suspicions based on all kinds of stuff, but without any kind of a recollection from you husband, how’m I supposed to know anything close to the truth?  I’m trying to look into alibis, but I can’t get anything concrete until Jack remembers something.”

“I see.  I been afraid to ask him.”

“I think it’s time, Lureen.  This is necessary, and the cops are going to be asking him soon enough anyhow.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“This is going to work itself out.  You gotta trust me about that.”

There was a lengthy silence before Lureen finally brought herself to say.  “I trust you.”