Day 4 Nightscene.
What was left of the town sat gathered in the church hall, even those that were not of the kirk. There was safety in numbers, another scum member lynched and darkness was upon them. Retribution was in the air. The Rev Mcphail had returned and given what was probably the shortest sermon of his career before informing the town “that with heave heart and much consideration he was retiring.” Off to see out his days in a retreat in the Outer Hebrides. Not a mention of bantam or his wife. Then off he went into the night, the future of the kirk uncertain.
One person sat alone, his back to the wall facing the door. He knew the writing was on the wall for him and so did the town, even McPhail had avoided eye contacted giving him a brief nod as he exited. As the meeting slowly broke some approached him, gingerly shaking his hand before turning their back and heading into the darkness. In hjs coat pocket he felt the weight of the pistol weighing down his jacket. He had drawn it from the station safe that morning, signing the issue book as he did so. It was six years since the pistol had been drawn, he remembered the night well. Storm had been blowing and a car had hit a stag on the coast leaving it mortally wounded and the driver not much better. He had drawn the pistol and put the stag out of its misery, It had been another two hours before the driver had been cut from the car. This time he just put one word in the reason for issue column. Necessity.
Once the last person had left the hall he shut the outer doors and locked up. Turning he looked out over the harbour and at the last of the stunning purple and red sky. There was not a murmur of wind. This was why he loved this place. Looking North he could see the first shimmerings, the fairies would dance tonight. He slowly made his way home to wait his fate. He had sent his wife and kids off to her mothers and now sat alone, waiting , and waiting.
Legionaire, Townie.