Part 367: An Ounce of Truth
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“GAAHHHHHHH!!!!!” Sawyer screamed as he dropped the gun on the carpet.
The redneck stared at the gun as it rested on the floor. His heart was beating out of his chest and he immediately coughed to get the air back in his lungs. Sawyer then slid off the chair and got on his knees. He crawled over to the gun and picked it up. He examined it and immediately cocked back the chamber, letting the bullet fly onto the carpet. He quickly picked it up and squeezed it. If it was a dud, it would have collapsed cause the gun powder wasn’t packed into it. However, the bullet did not cave in under his fingers. It was not a gun and yet the pistol misfired.
Sawyer collapsed onto the ground. There was no way the gun could have misfired. It was only a month old and he constantly cleaned it. Why? Why now of all times would it misfire? He covered his eyes and tried to regain his breath. He quickly got back up on his feet and picked up the bottle of bourbon, shoving it into his lips. The redneck guzzled a few more swigs and coughed. His brain was on fire and he felt the overwhelming desire for company at that moment.
He quickly grabbed his keys and left the house.
---------------------------------,
Marita gently opened her eyes as she rested on Tony’s chest. The Latina could have sworn she heard the doorbell. She leaned up her head and rubbed the morning mucus off of her eyes. The doorbell rang through the loft again. The blind man by her side, slowly started to rouse awake. The Latina turned and saw that it was only 4:12 am. She quickly got up, grabbed one of her husband’s shirts, and put it on her, as she started to walk toward the doorway. “Who is that?” Tony asked, as he got out of bed.
“I don’t know,” she grunted, “But they better have a damn good excuse.”
Marita got to the front door and twisted the lock above the door knob. However, she left the chain on the top, as she opened the door. The door buckled a little as someone was leaning against it. “Ow,” Sawyer muttered.
“Sawyer?” Marita gasped, “What . .what are you doing here?”
“ I am really sorry, Chica,” he coughed, “But . .I was on my way to McKay’s but . . .the further I got, I kinda realized . . .I really shouldn’t be drinking. I mean, driving. I mean . . .uh . .both of those things.”
“Oh, my God, Sawyer, get in here,” Marita said, unlocking the door.
“Sawyer?” Tony asked, coming toward them.
“Morning, Cochise,” the redneck stumbled into their living room area.
The blind man then took him by the arm and let him over to one of their recliners. He let him slump down in the cushions, and the blind doctor paused from the stench of the liquor that surrounded his friend. “Sawyer, how much have you had to drink?” he asked.
Sawyer then reached into his jacket and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels. To his surprise, it was completely empty. “Uh . .you recycle?” he asked.
Tony took the bottle from him and then gave it to his wife. “Hey, Rita, why don’t you start us a pot of coffee?” he smiled.
“Sure thing.” She said, taking the bottle and as she walked into the kitchen, she placed it in their recycle bin.
Sawyer then leaned up, and pulled out his gun from behind his belt. He reached over and took Tony’s wrist, placing the gun into his palm. “I think you better take this too, Cochise.” He coughed.
The blind man gasped at the feel of the gun in his hand. He quickly brought it up, and removed the clip, then disengaged the breech to get the bullet in the chamber but this time, there wasn’t one. “Sawyer, what the hell?” Tony gulped, “Why do you have a gun?”
“Gun?” Marita coughed when she was making the coffee.
“It’s okay, Rita. I’ve disarmed it,” the blind man turned his head and looked to his drunken friend, “Sawyer, answer me.”
The redneck leaned forward and took his hands, then covered his face. He tried to keep from crying but it was difficult. “I . .uh . . tried to kill myself.” He whimpered.
Marita gasped from the kitchen. Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He slowly put the gun toward the side and sat down in a chair near him. He gently reached over and patted his hand on the redneck’s shoulder. “Sawyer, I . . I don’t know what your problems are but I don’t think they are severe enough to warrant killing yourself.” The blind man whispered.
“A . .uh . . .a woman I loved . . died.” He said, leaning back, “And it’s my fault. She was . . being a con woman and she got in touch with the wrong people. I got her in the trade to begin with.”
“So you blame yourself for this long road she wound up on?”
“I am to blame, Tony,” Sawyer took a deep breath, “Sooner or later, she would have wound up on the wrong con and it would have led to this. I never . ..I never should have gotten her involved.”
“Well, you must see that you are not responsible for her making her own decisions,” the blind doctor pointed out.
Marita came over and handed him the cup of coffee. Sawyer took it, and thanked her. He slowly sipped on it and put in the nearby coffee table. The redneck watched as Tony sipped on his cup and Marita sat next to him. The southern man always thought they made a great couple. “How come you two ain’t got kids yet?” he asked.
“Don’t change the subject, Sawyer,” Tony grunted, “What stopped you from killing yourself?”
“Nothing,” he immediately responded.
“Well, something did, cause you are here talking to us.” Marita pointed out.
“No, that is just it . . .I held that gun up toward my head and pulled the trigger,” he said, as slow tears came out of his eyes, “But nothing happened. Just a loud, freaking click.”
“Misfire?” Tony blinked, “Marita, hand me that gun.”
The Latina picked up the un-armed weapon and handed it to her blind husband. The former solder held the gun and examined it. He checked the groove and pushed back the breech. It was working flawlessly. Then Tony felt of the familiar markings in the groove on the right side of the gun. “Uh . .Sawyer?” he coughed, “This is a Glock.”
“I know,” he moaned.
“Tony, I don’t understand,” Marita listened in, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Glock are the modern pistols, baby,” the blind doctor whispered, “They have been designed and retested so they DON’T misfire. I mean, hell . .these things can fire under water.”
“Tony, what are you saying?” she said, opening her eyes wider.
“He’s saying, Chica,” Sawyer muttered, sipping his coffee, “That the odds of a Glock misfiring are one in a billion.”
“Exactly,” Tony said, putting the gun back down.
“Why did this happen?” the redneck mumbled under this breath, “What does this mean?”
“Maybe it means you weren’t supposed to die,” Marita smiled, rubbing the cross around her neck, “I think God has a special plan for you, Sawyer.”
“Oh, Sweet baby Jesus, Marita. Be serious,” he scoffed.
“I think she’s right, Sawyer,” the blind man intervened, “You said it yourself. The odds are on in a billion. The only logical conclusion is . ..something else stopped the bullet from firing.”
“But why?”
Tony took a deep breath as he sipped his coffee. He calmly let the cup turn around and around in his fingers. “There was an old saying from a platoon commander I once had,” the blind doctor whispered, “He once told me that a bullet is an ounce of Truth. The moment you pull the trigger, it doesn’t lie.”
Sawyer stared at him.
“Call it what you want, Sawyer. Call it divine intervention, call is karma, call it fate, call it the magic of the Island still being with you . . .But the point it, IT DID happen. The Why of this will have to be found by you and you alone.”
The redneck heard his words and shook his head in agreement. He calmly slumped back into the chair and rubbed his eyes. Marita smiled, gently rubbing her husband’s arm. “Come here, Sawyer,” she said, getting up, “Go ahead and go to sleep on the couch.”
“No, I . .I should be going, I shouldn’t have intruded anyway.” He said, trying to stand up and ultimately fell back down.
“Nonsense,” Tony said, helping him up, “ We don’t turn our friends away.”
The redneck walked the short distance of the living room to the couch. He slumped down hard on the cushions and massaged his face. Marita giggled as she helped him get his boots off. Tony pulled out a blanket from a nearby loveseat and covered him with it. Sawyer mumbled gently before passing out and began to snore. The Latina couldn’t help but giggle. Tony smirked as he got to his feet and held out his hand toward her. The couple began their walk toward the back of the kitchen. “You are a good man, Tony,” she smiled, “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”
“I love you too, baby but what did I do?” he laughed.
“You helped Sawyer come to grips with his near suicide. After listening to that lecture you gave him, I think he’ll think twice about killing himself.”
“Almost brings about our discussions we had about fate on the Island, eh?” he smiled.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you heard him. He was on his way to McKay’s but he stopped here.”
“And you know exactly what to tell him,” Marita smiled, putting her arms around her husband’s neck.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tony kissed her.
Marita watched the sleeping redneck and Tony listened. His wife was right in one regard; he did know what to tell his friend. He always knew Sawyer had a heroic streak in him; dictated by their time on the boat. The blind doctor know the redneck was a good man.
He only hoped this incident would make him a better man.
“GAAHHHHHHH!!!!!” Sawyer screamed as he dropped the gun on the carpet.
The redneck stared at the gun as it rested on the floor. His heart was beating out of his chest and he immediately coughed to get the air back in his lungs. Sawyer then slid off the chair and got on his knees. He crawled over to the gun and picked it up. He examined it and immediately cocked back the chamber, letting the bullet fly onto the carpet. He quickly picked it up and squeezed it. If it was a dud, it would have collapsed cause the gun powder wasn’t packed into it. However, the bullet did not cave in under his fingers. It was not a gun and yet the pistol misfired.
Sawyer collapsed onto the ground. There was no way the gun could have misfired. It was only a month old and he constantly cleaned it. Why? Why now of all times would it misfire? He covered his eyes and tried to regain his breath. He quickly got back up on his feet and picked up the bottle of bourbon, shoving it into his lips. The redneck guzzled a few more swigs and coughed. His brain was on fire and he felt the overwhelming desire for company at that moment.
He quickly grabbed his keys and left the house.
---------------------------------,
Marita gently opened her eyes as she rested on Tony’s chest. The Latina could have sworn she heard the doorbell. She leaned up her head and rubbed the morning mucus off of her eyes. The doorbell rang through the loft again. The blind man by her side, slowly started to rouse awake. The Latina turned and saw that it was only 4:12 am. She quickly got up, grabbed one of her husband’s shirts, and put it on her, as she started to walk toward the doorway. “Who is that?” Tony asked, as he got out of bed.
“I don’t know,” she grunted, “But they better have a damn good excuse.”
Marita got to the front door and twisted the lock above the door knob. However, she left the chain on the top, as she opened the door. The door buckled a little as someone was leaning against it. “Ow,” Sawyer muttered.
“Sawyer?” Marita gasped, “What . .what are you doing here?”
“ I am really sorry, Chica,” he coughed, “But . .I was on my way to McKay’s but . . .the further I got, I kinda realized . . .I really shouldn’t be drinking. I mean, driving. I mean . . .uh . .both of those things.”
“Oh, my God, Sawyer, get in here,” Marita said, unlocking the door.
“Sawyer?” Tony asked, coming toward them.
“Morning, Cochise,” the redneck stumbled into their living room area.
The blind man then took him by the arm and let him over to one of their recliners. He let him slump down in the cushions, and the blind doctor paused from the stench of the liquor that surrounded his friend. “Sawyer, how much have you had to drink?” he asked.
Sawyer then reached into his jacket and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels. To his surprise, it was completely empty. “Uh . .you recycle?” he asked.
Tony took the bottle from him and then gave it to his wife. “Hey, Rita, why don’t you start us a pot of coffee?” he smiled.
“Sure thing.” She said, taking the bottle and as she walked into the kitchen, she placed it in their recycle bin.
Sawyer then leaned up, and pulled out his gun from behind his belt. He reached over and took Tony’s wrist, placing the gun into his palm. “I think you better take this too, Cochise.” He coughed.
The blind man gasped at the feel of the gun in his hand. He quickly brought it up, and removed the clip, then disengaged the breech to get the bullet in the chamber but this time, there wasn’t one. “Sawyer, what the hell?” Tony gulped, “Why do you have a gun?”
“Gun?” Marita coughed when she was making the coffee.
“It’s okay, Rita. I’ve disarmed it,” the blind man turned his head and looked to his drunken friend, “Sawyer, answer me.”
The redneck leaned forward and took his hands, then covered his face. He tried to keep from crying but it was difficult. “I . .uh . . tried to kill myself.” He whimpered.
Marita gasped from the kitchen. Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He slowly put the gun toward the side and sat down in a chair near him. He gently reached over and patted his hand on the redneck’s shoulder. “Sawyer, I . . I don’t know what your problems are but I don’t think they are severe enough to warrant killing yourself.” The blind man whispered.
“A . .uh . . .a woman I loved . . died.” He said, leaning back, “And it’s my fault. She was . . being a con woman and she got in touch with the wrong people. I got her in the trade to begin with.”
“So you blame yourself for this long road she wound up on?”
“I am to blame, Tony,” Sawyer took a deep breath, “Sooner or later, she would have wound up on the wrong con and it would have led to this. I never . ..I never should have gotten her involved.”
“Well, you must see that you are not responsible for her making her own decisions,” the blind doctor pointed out.
Marita came over and handed him the cup of coffee. Sawyer took it, and thanked her. He slowly sipped on it and put in the nearby coffee table. The redneck watched as Tony sipped on his cup and Marita sat next to him. The southern man always thought they made a great couple. “How come you two ain’t got kids yet?” he asked.
“Don’t change the subject, Sawyer,” Tony grunted, “What stopped you from killing yourself?”
“Nothing,” he immediately responded.
“Well, something did, cause you are here talking to us.” Marita pointed out.
“No, that is just it . . .I held that gun up toward my head and pulled the trigger,” he said, as slow tears came out of his eyes, “But nothing happened. Just a loud, freaking click.”
“Misfire?” Tony blinked, “Marita, hand me that gun.”
The Latina picked up the un-armed weapon and handed it to her blind husband. The former solder held the gun and examined it. He checked the groove and pushed back the breech. It was working flawlessly. Then Tony felt of the familiar markings in the groove on the right side of the gun. “Uh . .Sawyer?” he coughed, “This is a Glock.”
“I know,” he moaned.
“Tony, I don’t understand,” Marita listened in, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Glock are the modern pistols, baby,” the blind doctor whispered, “They have been designed and retested so they DON’T misfire. I mean, hell . .these things can fire under water.”
“Tony, what are you saying?” she said, opening her eyes wider.
“He’s saying, Chica,” Sawyer muttered, sipping his coffee, “That the odds of a Glock misfiring are one in a billion.”
“Exactly,” Tony said, putting the gun back down.
“Why did this happen?” the redneck mumbled under this breath, “What does this mean?”
“Maybe it means you weren’t supposed to die,” Marita smiled, rubbing the cross around her neck, “I think God has a special plan for you, Sawyer.”
“Oh, Sweet baby Jesus, Marita. Be serious,” he scoffed.
“I think she’s right, Sawyer,” the blind man intervened, “You said it yourself. The odds are on in a billion. The only logical conclusion is . ..something else stopped the bullet from firing.”
“But why?”
Tony took a deep breath as he sipped his coffee. He calmly let the cup turn around and around in his fingers. “There was an old saying from a platoon commander I once had,” the blind doctor whispered, “He once told me that a bullet is an ounce of Truth. The moment you pull the trigger, it doesn’t lie.”
Sawyer stared at him.
“Call it what you want, Sawyer. Call it divine intervention, call is karma, call it fate, call it the magic of the Island still being with you . . .But the point it, IT DID happen. The Why of this will have to be found by you and you alone.”
The redneck heard his words and shook his head in agreement. He calmly slumped back into the chair and rubbed his eyes. Marita smiled, gently rubbing her husband’s arm. “Come here, Sawyer,” she said, getting up, “Go ahead and go to sleep on the couch.”
“No, I . .I should be going, I shouldn’t have intruded anyway.” He said, trying to stand up and ultimately fell back down.
“Nonsense,” Tony said, helping him up, “ We don’t turn our friends away.”
The redneck walked the short distance of the living room to the couch. He slumped down hard on the cushions and massaged his face. Marita giggled as she helped him get his boots off. Tony pulled out a blanket from a nearby loveseat and covered him with it. Sawyer mumbled gently before passing out and began to snore. The Latina couldn’t help but giggle. Tony smirked as he got to his feet and held out his hand toward her. The couple began their walk toward the back of the kitchen. “You are a good man, Tony,” she smiled, “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”
“I love you too, baby but what did I do?” he laughed.
“You helped Sawyer come to grips with his near suicide. After listening to that lecture you gave him, I think he’ll think twice about killing himself.”
“Almost brings about our discussions we had about fate on the Island, eh?” he smiled.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you heard him. He was on his way to McKay’s but he stopped here.”
“And you know exactly what to tell him,” Marita smiled, putting her arms around her husband’s neck.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tony kissed her.
Marita watched the sleeping redneck and Tony listened. His wife was right in one regard; he did know what to tell his friend. He always knew Sawyer had a heroic streak in him; dictated by their time on the boat. The blind doctor know the redneck was a good man.
He only hoped this incident would make him a better man.
posted by Jason | 10:10 AM
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