The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  "It's not quite that easy. Do you have anything?"

  "Nothin' but 'scrip."

  Baxter nodded. He pulled a crumpled twenty from his pocket and passed it over the table. She produced a small pill-bottle from beneath the table and handed it over.

  "Go easy on those, boy; that's medicine."

  "Thank you, Abbey. You're an angel."

  "Yeah, yeah, you just listen to what I tell you."

  "Yes, ma'am." He turned to go.

  "Mr. Knowles."

  "Yeah?"

  "Sit for a moment, please." Something in Abbey's voice had changed, her warm familiarity turning cool and businesslike. It drew him back to her table and the single rickety chair that sat before her. She lit a rough brown candle; from its flame she started a small bundle of dried herbs. Its scent immediately filled the room, a harsh but sweet smell suggestive of places long forgotten. With whispered words Abbey blew into the smoke, then placed the bundle in a large, sky-blue half-shell. She reached up to a shelf beside her with one trunk-like arm and pulled down an antique hat-box. From within she withdrew a cloth-covered object. As she carefully unwrapped it Baxter realized it was a large hunk of sea-green crystal. "You are troubled, Mr. Knowles. This trouble… it knows you." Abbey raised the stone, placing it between her and the candle. She peered deep into it, divining as Baxter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Nearly a minute passed before he spoke.

  "Abbey, it's okay. You don't need to do this."

  But the old woman was lost in her trance, head back, eyes half closed. "This trouble knows you, Baxter Knowles. It calls you." Abbey shifted her great bulk uncomfortably. Sweat dotted her brow. "Though you run to the other side of the world it follows you. It follows..." The old woman was now shaking, tightly clutching the stone; Breath was coming harder for her now and her great nostrils flared. Baxter grew alarmed.

  "Abbey, please!" he said, reaching towards her.

  "And it sees! It sees! It SEEEEES...!" Her shriek was hideous, inhuman. And though Abbey strained she could not seem to look away from the vision within the stone. Her eyes grew wide, ran with tears but still she stared, still she screamed, until her lungs ran out of air and her wail tapered to a shrill whistle. Baxter realized she was emptying herself, that the whistle was the sound of the spirit passing through her teeth.

  By now there was a crowd at the door, gathered to see what all the fuss was about. They watched as Baxter did, the giant woman's eyes bulging, her tongue swelling, until she shuddered and abruptly collapsed upon her table. For a moment there was absolute silence; Baxter cautiously pushed his chair back, pulled his legs out behind it. Gingerly he rose, taking several steps back.

  The table collapsed then, spilling the enormous woman forward on a tide of silk, flower petals and shattered wood. She was an ocean of flesh, one titanic wave rolling toward the café's dirty floor. For forever she seemed to fall; all too soon did she land. The people in the doorway could only watch, could only later pick up the shattered pieces of her sea-green crystal to bury with their beloved matriarch. By then Baxter Knowles would be long gone.

  ~*~

  He is a child and it is night. He is in bed. Outside it is snowing. Dog is outside, scratching at the Door. He wants... In, In from Outside. Baxter does not want to let Him in, but will anyway. He throws the covers off and walks through the dark room to the Door. Dog is scratching harder now, but makes no other noise. He does not bark or cry or yelp; He simply digs at the door, making it shake within the frame. Behind him, Baxter can sense the others urging him on. When he hesitates he can feel them, feel Dog from the other side. Baxter is in the Middle, pressed against the Door, turned towards Outside by the In. And, ear at the Door, he can hear Dog scratching, scratching, scratching…

  Baxter opened his eyes.

  Dreaming.

  Perspiring in the silence, he forced himself to remain still. Something, somewhere, was scratching. Baxter sat up abruptly, swinging his feet to the floor. Dropping out of the cot and into a crouching position, he tried to place the source of the sound.

  By the light of the moon Baxter crept, sliding slowly along the wall. It could be anything; a large insect, a trapped bird. Snakes and marmots were not uncommon. He ran through the list of island critters in his mind but saw no evidence of any of them. When Baxter reached the hut's far corner he dropped to his knees and listened, but by then the sound had stopped. Wishing he'd retained his lighter he reached into the shadows.

  It was a package. The package. Could it be? Baxter waited, but no further sound came. Cautiously he shook the box. It thumped lightly as before, but made no other sound. Suddenly feeling foolish he rose and walked to the table. With a match Baxter lit the candle-nub, then sat down in the small halo of light. He tugged at the twisted twine, undoing the curious knot without thinking. Dropping the string to the floor, Baxter unfolded the brown shipping-paper. Within lay what appeared to be a hemp wall hanging or ornamental plant holder. Its central section was about three feet long, with thick woven cords weighted with triangular stones attached to each corner. At one end, between the cords, was a long, empty sack.

  Baxter didn't know what it was meant to be, but he knew the thing was wrong. It felt filthy in his hands and stank of death. He resisted the temptation to burn it; to do so he would have to go outside and it would smoke something terrible. Instead, Baxter simply chucked its malign weight out the window, into the jungle beyond. It landed somewhere, and the sound was far-off, distant; perhaps it had been caught up in a tree. Baxter didn't care. Now that the noise had stopped he felt Sleep demand his return, his disturbing dream forgotten. He could barely blow out the candle. The pills Abbey had given him were powerful. All he wanted to do was pass out. But he couldn't.

  Eyes open, eyes closed; there seemed to be no real difference. The darkness was static, almost stagnant, a cloud of oppression that clung to him. Sweat poured from Baxter's body. The cot was soaked with it, he realized, and grew sickened by the thought. It was ancient and filthy when he'd first fallen into it two months ago, the canvas stiff and stained. Now his salts co-mingled with the salt of strangers, which in turn soaked into his own skin. Miserable, Baxter tried to put the thought out of his mind. There was nothing to do about it tonight.

  The events of the past twelve hours replayed over and over again in Baxter's mind. He'd spent the afternoon with the local constable, trying to explain his presence in Abbey's den. A known criminal, her surprisingly graphic demise had raised a lot of uncomfortable questions. In the end witness testimony allowed him to go free, but Baxter knew his time on the island was at an end. Abbey was beloved among the people; her death, combined with the beaching of the monstrous squid two days before, created a newly-hostile atmosphere. Paradise or not, he was time to go.

  Exhaustion finally claimed him. It was not sleep as much as surrender, a willingness to at last submit. Baxter sank to a dark place, dreamless in continuity with sea-bottom and void. There he drifted, unable to settle among the sediment but too heavy to rise. Still, he would have been perfectly willing to stay there.

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  Baxter opened his eyes. Seriously?

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  Yes. Someone really was knocking on the door. "Ah, what the fuck?" he said irritably, throwing his legs over the edge of the cot. Who could possibly be outside at this ungodly hour? A chill passed through him. Baxter feared it was the Shaman, come to castigate him for bringing evil to the once-peaceful island. It was clear the old man wielded true power and Baxter did not wish to mix it up with him if it could be helped. Then again, perhaps the priest brought solace of some sort, a charm or talisman to ward off whatever oppressive forces had gathered. If anyone could help now, it would be him. Feeling powerless, he signed and opened the door.

  The thing was humanoid in appearance, but far too thin to be living. It seemed to dangle in the doorway, its long arms and legs hanging slack. Its head was flat, peaked, a fearful parody of a man knit in coarse hemp. Had it eyes they would been leve
l with Baxter's. The thing shifted then, its knotted trunk twisting, its right arm swinging back. With a crack it snapped forward, whirling in an arc through the open doorway.

  The blow only grazed Baxter, but was enough to stun him. He staggered backwards, inadvertently allowing the thing access to the hut. It spun forward, arms flailing, stone fists pummeling Baxter's unprotected body. Flesh tore, ribs cracked; one blow struck him across the brow, sent a torrent of blood flooding into his eyes. Blind, backed into a corner, Baxter quickly scooped a finger's worth of the blood from his forehead and made the Voorish Sign, tracing the complex sigil in the air. It made no difference; the thing came on, raining blows down upon him mercilessly.

  Baxter dropped to his knees but was not allowed to fall. Instead, the thing began to entwine him. Its legs bound his legs, its arms snaked from Baxter's shoulders downward. He struggled but it was pointless; though Baxter could escape the average straight-jacket, the thing had tied itself to him, constricting tightly around his limbs. Then the cowl-like mass lifted, revealing a large opening along the neckline. Hood-like, it engulfed Baxter's head, smothering the light while blotting up his blood. It was absorbed almost eagerly, a carmine stain spreading across the hay-colored hemp. And then Baxter knew: this was how he was meant to die.

  As he struggled, Baxter flashed back to the package and its queer knot… that was how they got him, catching him like a rank amateur. In a frenzied burst Baxter clawed at his attacker, digging his fingers beneath the ever-tightening bonds. And in that last moment, right before his ribs cracked, right before the bone-shards punctured and lacerated his lungs, right before the life was rung out of him… it stopped.

  The thing suddenly went slack, uncoiling flaccidly around him. Baxter felt himself roughly pulled free, two sets of hands rapidly undoing the elaborate knot-work that bound him. Once extricated, Baxter wiped the blood from his eyes and as watched as the ropy thing was dragged through the room and out the door. Baxter was lifted to his feet and pushed outside

  Wordlessly they burned it. Thick, oily smoke filled the cool night air and Baxter found himself choking on the putrid stench. He was dragged upwind, where he dropped gratefully to the soft ground. After a moment Baxter turned to thank his rescuers.

  "Oh, no," he groaned, "not you."

  TWO

  The boat sped quickly away from the dock. From its deck Baxter watched Alquerra recede to a point, the merest speck of light in a vast, benighted world. Turning, he slid gently into a chair. Though the Oxycontin he'd taken were kicking in, the pain was still great. He could barely breathe.

  Baxter watched the night flash by. The boat was headed north, towards the mainland; where would they go from there, he wondered? And how had they found him, anyway? Baxter had taken great pains to cover his tracks, telling no one of his whereabouts, using only cash in his travels. Then again, if his companions were anything, it was resourceful. He rubbed his raw neck and winced. Just then the cabin door clicked open and a lithe figure stepped onto the deck.

  "Hello, Brother Helios." Her voice was music, tiny chimes that rang out to find him.

  "Hello, Chloe."

  The woman leaned forward, so that he might better see her. Moonlight glinted on her parted lips and in her wide blue eyes. She tossed her thick veil of hair and the wind caught and lifted it on cue, a vein of silver struck through the well of endless darkness. "Please, Brother. Call me by my true name."

  Baxter nodded, willing to play the game. "Okay, Sister Zephyr. Let's chat about it over a drink. You're buying."

  She looked at him squarely. "There is no alcohol on this boat. We have water and fruit juice."

  Baxter sucked his cheek. "That's all right, I'll pass."

  Neither spoke again, the wind occupying the lull in their conversation. The young woman had turned her gaze to the sea. In the near-distance the lights of the mainland were coming into view. Baxter sighed, gently rising from his chair.

  "Why are you here, Sister?"

  Baxter studied her as she answered, took all of her in in a moment. Seven years had only added to her beauty, brought it to the fore like a flower coaxed to full bloom. He watched her vanish as a bank of clouds rolled across the moon.

  "You sound ungrateful. We did just save your life."

  "Yeah, well, about that…" He walked to the railing's edge. "What makes you think I want to live, anyway?"

  The water had grown choppy, wild; from the way the wind had picked up Baxter could tell a storm was rolling in. Behind him he could hear Chloe shift slightly. He kept his back turned, scanning the unseen sky above. "What's really going on, Sister?" Baxter asked. "You don't expect me to believe you're just some Good Samaritan passing in the night? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the save. It's just that I can't help but think you had something to do with what happened in the first place."

  Chloe scoffed at this. "Don't be a fool, Brother. We've been trying to find you for months. Considerable time and money has been spent tracking you down; besides, if we'd wanted you dead we could have just waited - it seems you're doing a fine job killing yourself."

  "Touché" Baxter conceded. But while her words had an unmistakable ring of truth, they brought little solace. "So you two arrived just as I was being strangled purely by chance?"

  "I prefer to think of it as Fate."

  "Hmm, yes, well…"

  "Brother, it's important that you listen to what I have to say. Other forces are at work here, that are a danger to us all. You must come with us; you are needed."

  Baxter turned, suddenly livid. "Remember the pact, Chloe? We agreed never to see each other again, and for good reason. I'm not about to go off with you two to fuck-knows-where just on your say-so."

  Chloe sneered at him. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here either if I had a choice. You've never been my idea of good company."

  "Ah, now it gets personal."

  "Listen, you arrogant bastard…"

  "No, you listen!"

  A new voice cut through their bickering. "ENOUGH!" Baxter and Chloe both turned. A tall muscular silhouette filled the cabin doorway. "Quit fucking about, Baxter, or I swear I'll put you right over the side." Adam broke from the shadow, stepping out onto the deck. While age had only enriched Chloe, Adam had been diminished by its hand. His once-handsome face was prematurely lined and cratered, with skin drawn taut over over his skull. His formerly-glorious head of red hair had thinned to a handful of strands.

  "Wow. What happened to you, man? Someone steal the painting out of your attic?"

  Adam smiled, approaching. "Same old Baxter, huh?" Before he could respond, Adam's right arm shot out and struck Baxter square in the sternum. There was a sound similar to a cardboard milk-carton being crumpled and Baxter went down hard on the deck.

  "That's hello."

  "Fenris, stop it," Chloe protested. "He's damaged enough already."

  It was an interesting choice of words, but Baxter was unable to comment. In fact, he was unable to breathe except in tiny catching gasps, and these only brought a searing pain to his lungs. One thing was clear; he was going to need more Oxies.

  "Get him up."

  Adam obeyed Chloe, dragging Baxter to his feet. Without care he was dropped into a canvas deck-chair. Chloe floated down beside him.

  "As I said Baxter; we need you. The Circle must be reformed."

  Baxter gritted his teeth and shook his head. "No."

  "Yes, Brother. Our work together remains unfinished; we must begin again."

  "Go to hell."

  Chloe smiled almost sadly. "Oh, Baxter, don't you know by now? It's always Hell that comes to you."

  ~*~

  Their ship docked without incident, and a black sedan was waiting as they disembarked. Baxter briefly considered making a break for it, but knew he was in no shape to escape his captors. It was late and the docks were empty, alien to him. Running was a risky proposition: his passport, credit cards and everything else had been left on the island. He was dependent on his captors and they knew it.<
br />
  Baxter was placed in the back seat. The car's driver was dispatched and Adam assumed his position, with Chloe taking shotgun. The sedan started quietly and was soon rolling along the sparse, uneven road beyond the city. After long moments Baxter spoke. "So how about we stop for a drink or something? You know, somewhere along the way. Just to get in the mood." While it seemed like a good idea to him, the suggestion was met with silence. He ran his tongue over his lips and tasted blood.

  "Well, this is fun."

  Adam laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. "You just don't know when to quit do you?" he asked, not taking his eyes from the road.

  Baxter shrugged. "Looks to me like I quit just in time; you, on the other hand…"

  Chloe spoke over her shoulder. "Please relax, Brother. No one wants to hurt you."

  Adam laughed again, louder.

  She ignored this. "Seven years ago we performed a ritual. But something went wrong. We need to reform the circle and perform the ritual again. It's the only reason we broke the pact."

  "So am I to believe everyone is in on this?" Baxter asked. There was silence from the front seat. Baxter threw up his hands. "Ahhhh. Why am I not surprised?"

  "Erica is with us," Adam stated flatly.

  "Oh, yeah? What did you do to get your hooks into her?"

  "Please listen," Chloe asked patiently. "From here we take the jet back to the States. Philadelphia is our first stop."

  "Oh, yeah? Who's in Philly?" Baxter asked, genuinely curious.

  "Sister Io is there."

  "Annie, huh? Planning on abducting her, too?"

  Chloe paused a moment before speaking again."Brother, no one is being abducted."

  "Oh, okay," Baxter said. "You can let me out here." The car did not stop and Baxter nodded. "I didn't think so."

  "Brother, please be patient. I promise, once we're all together, everything will be explained."

  "But what if I don't feel like being patient, Chloe? What if I ditch you first chance I get and disappear so that you never find me again?"