Since you're gone my empty arms have nothing left to hold

1. Buffalo Gals

Cheyenne Wells is a small, dark point on the horizon line among gray clouds by the early afternoon; Sawyer has stopped playing a while ago, his fingers too sore to keep on going in the cold, chilly air. Once in a while he glances at Jack, who is way paler than usual and looks like he’s about to catch hypothermia even if he has tucked his feet under the blanket; fuck, those shoes couldn’t really have held up another ten hours. He shakes his head; even if Boone doesn’t have any spare shoes to give at least in that sorry excuse for an infirmary he lives in it’s always warm. Plus, Cheyenne isn’t that small of a city. Finding a pair of shoes couldn’t be that difficult, right?

He stands up on the truck as the dot that is the city morphs into houses; if he isn’t wrong...

He calls for Scott, hoping he got the right name, as soon as he sees their destination a bit further on up the road.

“Hey... Scott? That’s fine. We can drop here.”

“Okay, suit yourself. Hey, is your pal gonna be alright without shoes?”

“We’ll find somethin’. Come on, Doc, let’s get down.”

Jack nods, puts the blanket away and winces as his feet, covered only by a single thick layer of black wool which isn’t nearly enough to keep him half comfortable, touch the ground. Sawyer jumps down from the truck with the guitar under his arm and his backpack on the other shoulder, then waves Scott and Steve goodbye as the truck’s engine starts up again.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Hey, last another thirty seconds. We’re here, anyway. Let’s just hope it ain’t a busy day.”

“I swear that if your friend has shoes, I’m working for him for free for all the time he wishes, I just...”

“I think he’d give you the shoes even if you didn’t. Kid’s too nice for his own good. And here we are.”

Calling the place infirmary is probably outrageous, since it’s nothing more than a pretty big former storage shed. The walls once were white or maybe light yellow, but now they’re just covered in a thick layer of orange-ish dust; the door is closed and if there wasn’t a lot of noise coming from inside, one would have thought that the place was abandoned and about to fall on itself sooner than later. Sawyer stops for a second, trying to see if the noise is usual noise or emergency noise (he has slept inside this place enough times to learn the difference); when he realizes that it’s usual noise, he takes a step further and knocks loudly on the door a couple of times while he looks at Jack shivering helplessly from the corner of an eye.

“Coming!” someone says from the inside, and Sawyer knows that the kid still hasn’t found someone desperate enough to give him a hand in this whole mess of a place. The door opens and Sawyer is already expecting the usual.

“Are you here because you need someplace to stay or... oh, it’s you.”

“Hi yourself, prettiness. I see that you ain’t that bad off.”

Sawyer isn’t really telling a lie; the kid is pretty decently off, all things considered, though he’s thinner than last time he passed from here.

“Yeah, you do better than me anyway.”

Sawyer’s smirk meets the one forming for a second on the lips of the young man in front of him. He’s about four inches shorter than him, wears a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and worn out jeans; a dirty white gown lies folded on his arm. His skin is pale, but looks healthy; his hair reaches his neck and his hand tries to keep it away from his eyes. Said eyes are just too big and deep-blue for their own good, as the pair of lips beneath them is too pink and full for its own good, either. His cheeks are flushed red; Sawyer remembers them being always flushed, but now more than usual. It has to be because of the cold or because it’s a busy day.

“So, you might need a bed tonight?”

“You’ve got space?”

“You know I always have.”

“Well, if I don’t stay late at your sister’s, why not. But I’m not alone this round.”

Boone’s eyes become even bigger as he looks at Sawyer disbelievingly.

“You aren’t alone.”

“I ain’t.”

“Well, and you still haven’t made me congratulate the soul desperate enough to put up with you?”

“He’s right there. Hey, Jack!”

Jack at this point comes closer, always shivering, though he tries to crack a smile and politely extends his hand. Boone nods and shakes it.

“Doc, this is Boone Carlyle, only nurse of the county and probably also nicest person in said county, even if I don’t get how he can. Prettiness, this is Jack Shephard, former doc from Cali, who I guess hasn’t got anythin’ better to do than givin’ me the pleasure of his company.”

There’s a glint passing through Boone’s eyes as Sawyer says the word doc, but at that point he notices Jack’s lack of shoes.

“What the hell... where are your shoes?”

“Fell... fell apart in Granada.”

“Fuck, Sawyer, you could’ve told me earlier! Come inside, at least it’s warm.”

“Yeah, well, you know. It’s not like you have spare shoes?”

Boone sighs and hunches his shoulders before turning away from the door and letting them in.

“I’ve all the spare shoes you might want, if you don’t complain about their former owner.”

Jack shakes his head, Sawyer figures that right now he’d accept shoes from the devil if it was the only chance; as they get inside, Boone closes the door, bolting it.

The shack is pretty big though, full of mattresses, camp beds and even blankets; a good half of the beds are full while towards the opposite side of the storage shed is only full of empty mattresses, each one surprisingly clean given the circumstances. As Sawyer walks, he tries not to notice that the majority of the beds’ occupants are moaning in pain.

There are four stoves, one in each corner of the shack, though one corner is separated from the rest by two sheets hanging as curtains. Boone notices Jack’s confused expression when he sets his eyes there; he throws away the gown on some free mattress and then turns in his direction.

“That’s where my mattress is. And where I... do the check-ups. Or something. Come on, we need to get to the cellar door.”

Boone greets a couple of people as he walks towards the corner opposite from his bed; Sawyer greets another couple, too, since also this place has regulars.

Boone stops near the wall, lifts up a couple of blankets and opens up a hatch, then gives Jack a box of matches he takes from the pocket of his scrubs.

“Here. Under there it’s... all the spare clothing. Choose whatever you need without hurry. I guess you need a coat, too, but I doubt you’d find that.”

“Thank you.”

Jack nods and disappears down in the hatch, leaving his pack outside; Boone turns towards Sawyer again as he kneels down searching for the leather bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothin’. The doc keeps the money, but I already told him I was gonna need some for tonight.”

“Since when you pay for something when you go to my sister’s?”

“Well, she offers me dinner if I play, but I ain’t ever got laid for music.”

The corner of Boone’s lip turns upward in another smirk.

“Oh, so that was it. Well, there’s not many customers ‘round this time. I mean, they get on perfectly with what there is, but you shouldn’t have a problem in that sense.”

“Good. Listen, you mind if he stays here? I dunno if I’ll be back tonight, if... you know. He also said he might help you if you asked for it.”

“Well, I could use help. As long as he’s okay with it, sure.”

“Good. Hey, doc! I’m goin’, you know, right?”

Jack’s voice comes muffled from the hatch. “Whatever, fine, just don’t waste too much money!”

“Woah, his feet must really be cold,” Boone remarks.

“Shoes fell apart this morning. I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

“Oh, fuck. Well, guess I’ll give him a look even if he’s probably more qualified than I am. If you come here tonight you’ve got the same mattress waiting for you.”

Sawyer nods and waves at Boone as he gets out of the shack; to say it all, maybe he should’ve gone down with Jack to search for a pair of jeans, but he’ll think about it tomorrow. Right now he has another priority.

--

Sawyer isn’t in a hurry as he leaves the infirmary and gets closer to the actual city; this is a fairly bigger place than that stinking Granada hole and while he takes his time, he’s also glad that Shannon’s place is pretty much in the outskirts. He really doesn’t feel like walking the whole way right now.

He reaches it after some fifteen minutes; on the outside, it’s really nothing special. It’s a normal two-storey house in between two others. Sure, the bright red plaque reading La Mer (he really needs to ask Boone why the hell she chose a French name) in characters that he can only refer to as frippery-like, doesn’t really match with the way more sober Mrs. Hawking’s Grocery nor with Gault’s Grill. He knows for sure that the Mrs. Hawking woman has never approved of her neighbors, but her neighbors bring clients and she never complains about it. While the Gault guy, the son of some Australian man that came here at the beginning of the century, not only is a regular himself, but sends his customers from the restaurant, too. Shannon and the others repay by recommending it to their own customers; now that’s called a profitable business relationship.

He knocks on La Mer’s door three times; as it opens, he smiles warmly at the girl behind it. She’s pretty tall, wears a red shirt that generously shows off her breasts even though it doesn’t look vulgar at all, a bright red skirt ending just over her knee while her feet are bare over the red linoleum of the floor. Her hair falls all over her shoulders in dark blond curls and she just rolls her eyes as she recognizes him.

“Mary Jo? You’re gorgeous as usual, darlin’.”

“Yeah, sure, and you never change your openin’ sentence. Come on in ‘fore I freeze all over.”

He nods and gets in as she closes the door and bolts it. It’s been a while since he was here last, but nothing has really changed. The walls are still covered in red fake velvet drapes, the linoleum covering the floor is always dusty, the daylight barely reaches the rooms. He follows Mary Jo along the corridor, trying not to step on anything. But thankfully it looks like the place is more in order than he remembered it.

“So, you got any preferences for today? Or for tonight?”

“Well, I’d like to talk with your boss, first. If she ain’t busy.”

“Busy? She ain’t ever busy at this time in the day. You can stay in the main room there, I’m callin’ her for you.”

Sawyer nods and turns left as Mary Jo climbs up the stairs, her skirt rising up and showing that half of her thighs it didn’t show before. The ‘main room’ is as red as the rest of the house; there’s a red sofa in the corner, two red armchairs in front of it, a long table covered with a red cotton tablecloth; two other girls are sitting there playing cards when he steps into the room. One is a gorgeous blonde, dressed more or less like Mary Jo except that her clothing is blue, while the other one is a brunette with full lips, her face oval-shaped, her long, violet dress so transparent that he can see her underwear beneath it.

“Jessica, Cindy, I see you ain’t any less beautiful than last time.”

Cindy’s reaction is much similar to Mary Jo’s, while Jessica blushes; Sawyer figures it’s because she was the one he had spent the night with last time he was here. He almost asks whether he can join them for the card game when Mary Jo calls him from up the stairs. He shrugs and waves at the both of them, a fake hurt look shining from his eyes; then climbs up the stairs as Mary Jo joins the other girls in the room downstairs.

The first floor is just as red as the downstairs one is; only, there’s no such thing as fake velvet or veil drapes. It’s plain wallpaper, though it doesn’t look like it’s going to fall down soon as most of the wallpaper he sees these days does. He walks straight to the first door on the left; he has been in here enough times to remember where he’s supposed to get in.

He knocks first; a slightly annoyed voice answering come in comes from the room and then he pushes the doorknob.

“Hi there, Sticks.”

“You’re never gonna change, aren’t you?”

Shannon stands up as he gets in, her head shaking in an annoyed gesture; her hand, the fingers long and slightly tanned and nails perfectly cured, sets her hair behind her ear. It’s actually strange, the tanning; he had wondered about it for a while since he had never seen any woman working in a house who didn’t do everything to keep her skin white. From what he had gathered from Boone and from Mrs Hawking’s complaining about it (even when she always knew he was a customer), she had worked on the outside a while before having enough means to buy the house and belongs with him in that category of people whose skin tans as soon as they’re under the sun for half an hour. Still, in his honest opinion it suits her, maybe because it’s unusual; anyway, she makes it work since he’s sure that she’s running the most successful business in town.

Her hands cross over her chest, just above her stomach; she’s tall, at least as tall as her stepbrother; a cascade of clean, shiny blond hair covers her shoulders, ending just above the small of her black. That light tan over her skin makes her look even more beautiful in the pale sunlight coming in from the window. Her brown, wide eyes look straight at him as her lips curl in a smirk; she’s wearing a pink, veiled shirt, which is way less alluring than Cindy’s since Sawyer can make out all of Shannon’s forms but can’t really see anything beneath them. A skirt similar to Mary Jo’s, only a bit shorter, shows off a pair of long, perfect legs; she doesn’t wear any kind of jewelery and Sawyer has to bite his mouth in order to stop any possible remark about how good she looks or what he’d like to do just now coming up. Sure, she wouldn’t mind, after all she runs a whorehouse and surely doesn’t attend Sunday School, but still, he doesn’t like to come across that way. He also knows when he lost the habit, more or less when he met Cassidy, but he blinks and shuts the thought out. Wouldn’t do much good.

“Nope. And I know you wouldn’t like me otherwise.”

“Whatever, it’s not like I actually like you. Anyway, are you here for business or for something else? ‘Cause this is a pretty dead week and us four would be your only audience. Or maybe Gault, too, if he’s desperate enough.”

“Well, I ain’t ever against discussing business, but if there ain’t business to get done, I’ll be glad to give you four a private serenade. If that’s what you’d like.”

“I was over serenades ten years ago. Come on, what else d’you need?”

“Ain’t nothin’ I can hide from you, huh?”

She laughs dryly and shakes her head.

“I thought you already figured who was smarter. I’m sure you want a free night as usual, don’t you?”

“You’re half right and half wrong. I might want a night, but no one said I wanted it free.”

“You’re paying? Since when you go around with enough money saved to pay for a night?”

“Long story. So, sweet cheeks, ten dollars covers your fee?”

“Ten dollars is more than enough to cover my fee,” she answers, sounding way more professional than she did before. “But not before tonight.”

“Fine. Ain’t a problem with me, looks like I’ll be savin’ your neighbor’s finances while I wait. And then I’ll take my time.”

“Woah, does it mean that you would also stay? You’re becoming full of surprises.”

“Well, guess your brother can do without my company for a night.”

“Whatever. Fine. If there aren’t any other costumers, and I’m pretty sure there won’t, I guess we won’t be in a hurry. Don’t show your face around here before it gets dark.”

“Fine. See you tonight, Sticks.”

“Sure, whatever. And it’s not like you don’t appreciate what you’re mocking.”

He shakes his head and closes the door behind him; yeah, she’s probably right. It’s not like anyone can say anything about her legs.

He gets out of the house after waving at Jessica and Mary Jo, since it looks like some regular of Cindy’s showed up.when he was up there earlier. He checks the hour looking at the clock hung over the wall of Gault’s Grill; it’s five in the afternoon. Geez, time has flown. He figures it won’t be more than one hour before it gets dark and he can go back in; he might as well have dinner, since this morning they didn’t have breakfast and Arzt didn’t offer a fucking thing to eat last night. He wonders whether Jack found some shoes, but he’ll find out tomorrow. As long as the guy is in the infirmary he won’t freeze to death.

There are three or four costumers at Gault’s already; he orders something cheap, he already knows the stuff they serve here all tastes the same anyway. He talks with the guy for a while; he’s a tall man, dressed in light blue, with a face that would have been handsome if it wasn’t for some deep lines that had come way before they were supposed to and for the fact that he always looks tired as hell. His Australian accent is still strong even if he wasn’t even born there. Also, Sawyer appreciates the fact that he’s pretty decent after all and doesn’t sell his food for something it isn’t; sure, it tastes all the same, but that’s exactly why it’s cheap.

He wonders whether he should offer to play, but there aren’t enough people and he sincerely doesn’t feel like playing right now. So he doesn’t mention it and when his plate is thoroughly cleaned he just chats with the guy some more about any possible random subject he can think of. Looks like the guy likes it; Sawyer figures that it isn’t any day that you get to do random chatting and one might enjoy it once in a while.

At some point it’s already dark and Sawyer stands up and leaves the restaurant, leaving some extra five cents on Gault’s counter. He notices Mrs. Hawking closing the shop and even waves at her, but she doesn’t even look at him. He shrugs and knocks on La Mer’s door again; this time, there’s Shannon behind it, dressed as she was this morning, her eyes and lips painted with some make-up, light colors applied with enough skill to look classy. Sawyer appreciates it. He’d rather have light and classy than overdone and bordering on excessive.

She looks nothing short than stunning.

“So, are you coming in or not?”

“Oh, I am, I am.”

She lets him in and bolts the door, then heads to the stairs. He follows her as she climbs and as she gets into a room at the end of the hall. He casts a look around; the linoleum is red, the covers over the double-sized bed are red, the veiled drapes (closed) are red. And the bed looks like a pretty good one.

“Best bed of the house, ain’t it?”

“Something like that.”

His hand reaches the pocket in front of his jeans and he takes a crumpled ten-dollar bill out of it; her fingers lightly brush is as she takes it, folds it in two and nods. She puts it in a small purse that sits on a near-by nightstand, then comes closer to him and suddenly there’s some heat in the room that wasn’t there before.

“So, you already know what you want?”

“Not really, but I’m sure we can figure that out.”

“Whatever. Your pick.”

He nods and she nods as his hand touches her thigh just above the knee and creeps up slowly, feeling the smooth silk of her stockings under his rough fingers. She has such beautiful legs, he thinks, like a dancer’s legs. As his lips find hers (Shannon never had a trouble with the kissing, since business is all business after all), he thinks about the song he usually plays here and that he hasn’t played tonight, that one that says I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking, and we danced by the light of the moon. Well, he can’t see the moon from here and Shannon’s stockings are nothing short than whole, but still, the thought counts. Then his hand lowers the stockings in order to find warm, smooth skin; and then he figures it’s time to stop thinking about music.

TBC