Back in Time: Bulletstorm [Book 1]

Chapter 1

Tombstone, Arizona, 1881 

 - one day later -

The sound of snoring resounded through the Cochise County Courthouse. In one of the many cells lay a man - the noise was definitely coming from him - on a rickety and relatively small bed, his body faced the cold wall. Black painted bars made a cage around him, letting only the air escape. In the large room, in which the small prison-like hall was located, stood a wooden writing desk covered in paperwork. Some of the paper had fallen to the ground, making it appear a mess in comparison to the rest of the, actually neatly arranged, room.

Sheriff Harrison McCalley was about to start his morning shift. Whistling, he made his way to the Courthouse of Tombstone and swiftly pulled open the heavy door. A report of a bar fight, which only occurred yesterday evening, awaited him. It was his duty to search possible perpetrators and find out why it had started in the first place. At least three people had died in the well-known saloon, including Mr. Richards, a man with an immense amount of money and power which he had partly invested in the city itself. Tombstone wasn't the smallest town and actually needed some dollars to survive, but with the normal 'accidental' murders going on, it wasn't going that well with the trust of its inhabitants.  

While thinking about it, Harrison had made it to his office. Sighing, the man closed the door with a smack, the sound drilling through the construction of the tall building. The lone prisoner seemed to have heard it and began to stir, which eventually caused him to roll of the not so comfy bed and land onto the even more uncomfortable stone ground. A moan of pain reached the ears of the sheriff. He walked closer and leaned against the cold metal of the cage, looking down upon the captive, better known as his good old friend Barry Whittaker.

"You know that there's a bed right next to you?"

"Harrison? Is that you?" Mumbled Barry, barely audible. "Gonna tell me where I am? Because this ain't my home."

"You're in a cell, buddy. You really have got to master those drinking problems of yours."

Barry finally made an attempt to get up and sat against the bars behind him. His eyes blinking furiously as to try and remove the pounding aches inside his head. The brightness of the sunlight made his vision and reasoning even worse. With a somewhat curious face he made eye contact - better said: he tried to - with his friend.