The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  Chloe did not hesitate to reply. "Simple. You alone will be responsible for the collapse of Reality as we know it."

  Baxter took a moment to chew it over. "You know, I think I can live with that."

  ~*~

  The small black jet ascended, leaving the island-chain far behind. Baxter missed it already. Finishing the tiny bottle of vodka with a wince, he leaned back in his seat. It reclined easily, allowing him to stretch his aching body. His spine popped loudly and the base of his neck made an ugly grating sound when turned. Baxter had the back of the jet to himself -- now that they were airborne his new companions seemed to lose interest in him, sitting together in the front section of the plane.

  If what Chloe had said was true Baxter had no choice but to return with her, and yet the end of Reality as he knew it almost seemed preferable to another visit to Ashton Manor. Seven years had not been long enough; not nearly.

  Baxter cracked another bottle and threw it back. That familiar warmth spread through him, snaking out into arms, legs and head. The tension in his neck abated somewhat, but a pulsing began at the back of his brain. Wishing he could turn off the lights, Baxter closed his eyes. And while it was not his intention to sleep he put up no resistance when it came; within moments he was dreaming.

  SEVEN YEARS AGO

  Baxter woke with a start. He fumbled with his phone to check the time but the screen was black, its battery dead. He glanced at his desktop computer screen and noted his trigonometry class had started exactly forty five minutes ago. "Damn it." He closed his eyes again. To hell with higher education. All he wanted was sleep. Years and years of uninterrupted sleep.

  "Mornin', Bax!"

  Baxter opened one eye and glared at his room-mate.

  Zak stood over him, fresh snow from the brim of his hat falling onto Baxter's pillow. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in class?"

  Baxter resisted the urge to blind the smiling man with two stiff fingers: instead he pulled his pillow over his head, getting snow down his shirt. He would ignore his roommate. He would go back to sleep. He would...

  "Hey, did you read that Emil Lopresti book yet?"

  Baxter sighed, then removed the now-damp pillow. "No."

  "No?"

  Baxter sat up. "No, as in 'No, I have not.' I tried, really. I was lost by the third page…"

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope. I just can't wrap my brain around it. That esoteric stuff gives me a headache."

  Zak was adamant."You should give it another shot, it's well worth it. When Lopresti starts talking about the Zeroed dimension…"

  Baxter sighed. "Actually, I'm just going to give it back, I think."

  "Ah, come on. You never read anything I lend you!" Zak protested. "Shit, I finished that new short story of yours."

  Baxter looked up. "Oh, yeah?" he asked, surprised.

  Zak nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I thought it was great."

  "Wow. Thanks, man, I appreciate that."

  "Credit where credit is due, mon frer. Are you gonna try and get it published?"

  "Eh, I don't know. I don't think it's the kind of thing anyone really wants to read…"

  Zak scoffed. "Oh, bullshit, it's fucking brilliant. I'm sure someone will pick it up. Try The Charioteer."

  Now it was Baxter's turn to scoff. "You're kidding, right? Our humble college journal made it quite clear they want nothing to do with me. With the reaction I got after submitting my last story I'm surprised they didn't boot my ass out of here all together."

  Zak laughed. "Oh, yeah, I love that one. That bit where the woman removes her shroud to reveal her massive nursing tumor babies! God, that gave me nightmares."

  "That's high praise indeed."

  "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head, Bradbury," Zak said, lighting a cigarette. "You wanna go to a party tonight?"

  "Party? Where?"

  "James Ashton's place."

  "Ashton? You're kidding me."

  Zak shook his head. "No, I ran into him this morning in the 'Quad. Told me if he didn't see you first to extend the invitation."

  "James Ashton? Why would he ask us to a party?"

  "Well, I don't know about you; obviously he asked me to come and class the joint up a little."

  Baxter furrowed his brow. "I dunno, man. Something stinks in Denmark."

  Zak clucked dismissively, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Yeah, well, they crap standing up. You in?"

  Baxter thought for a moment. "Yeah, all right. What could it hurt?"

  ~*~

  The party had started without them. Baxter and Zak struggled to get through the door. The room was packed with kids smoking, drinking, shouting above the music. Zak spoke, but his words were lost in the din.

  "Huh?"

  "I said…"

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind."

  The two forged boldly ahead, fighting against the current. Baxter nodded to classmates, not stopping to chat. Drinks were the first order of business. The kitchen was just as crowded as the rest of the small house, densely packed with party goers.

  "Dis' must be da place," Zak deadpanned. They fell in line behind a couple of clean-cut kids from the swim team.

  "Wonder where Himself is holed up?" Baxter said, looking around.

  Zak shrugged. "Probably upstairs holding court. No need for him to mix among the common rabble."

  "It's funny," Baxter mused. "I've never even met the guy. How did he know to invite us?"

  Zak scratched his head."Well, I take World Mythology with him. Don't think I've spoken to him more than once or twice. He asked me about the Lopresti book, if I was into the whole magick thing."

  "Oh, yeah? You finally have someone to talk to about that stuff?"

  "Well, it was kind of hard to tell. He was the one askin' all the questions, but he seemed…I dunno, kinda condescending. Almost like he was feeling me out."

  "Weird."

  The two said no more about it. Eventually they made it to the head of the line. Three large kegs sat tapped and flowing; a table covered with a dozen different liquor bottles sat next to beer. Baxter poured himself a draft while Zak went straight for the scotch.

  "How do you drink that shit?" Baxter asked.

  Zak chuckled. "It's an acquired taste."

  Drinks in hand, they walked around the line and through the back door, out onto a small porch. Due to the severe cold it was empty.

  "Well, I'll give him this; Ashton knows how to throw a party."

  Zak sipped his drink and nodded. "And it's still early, Bax. From what I understand these things get pretty wild. With all the pretty frauleins about I wouldn't be surprised if I got my knob polished tonight."

  Baxter laughed into his beer. It was funny to hear his roommate say something like that after listening to him explain Bravosky's Theory of Parallel Concurrence for the last forty-five minutes. While he'd only known Zak for a few months the two of them had become fast friends. Both were sophomores, two poor kids who'd earned their way into Newton-Meyer's hallowed halls with actual work. But while Baxter was merely smart, Zak was a full-blown genius with SAT's and I.Q. tests to prove it; unfortunately, he was a bit stunted in the socialization department. He grew odd around strangers, asking inappropriate questions or going on at length about his occult studies. People tended to steer clear of him, even his professors; in spite of Zak's esoteric interests and odd personal quirks, Baxter couldn't help but like the guy.

  The moon was a shard of bone above them, a single claw punched through the fabric of night. No stars shone though the sky was cloudless, a flat, vacant infinity above the small town. Baxter drank his beer, watching his breath steam around the rim of the cup. Zak lit a cigarette and quickly smoked it down to the filter.

  "All right, squire; yer on your own. I'm goin' to mingle."

  Zak slipped away, leaving Baxter alone. The sounds of the party suddenly filled the night air, laughing, shouting, the ceaseless THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the music muted abruptly by the closing door. Baxter fin
ished his beer and tossed the cup into the bushes.

  "Enjoying the party?"

  Baxter turned, startled. "Oh, hey. I didn't hear you come out."

  The young man smiled. "I was already out here, actually. Wandering the grounds, if you will."

  Baxter raised an eyebrow and the other man laughed through a cloud of steam. "It's cold, I know, but all the noise and smoke was getting to me. I mean, I enjoy throwing these little parties, they get boring pretty fast. I do it for Him, mostly."

  "Him?" Baxter queried.

  "Of course. By the way, I'm James Ashton."

  "Baxter Knowles."

  As the two men shook hands Baxter took in his host. James Ashton was classically handsome, with clear skin and even, symmetrical features. When he smiled he revealed a set of slightly large but otherwise cosmetically-perfect teeth. Silver-gray eyes peered intently through the easy mess of hair that was currently in style. Neither slight nor athletic, his form was born of country-club golf tournaments and therapeutic massages. In his immaculate black topcoat and natty scarf he looked exactly like the kind of person Baxter wasn't.

  "So why are you out here, Mr. Knowles?"

  Baxter shrugged. "Just trying to avoid the mania, I guess. By the way, thanks for the invite."

  Ashton smiled again. "Think nothing of it. I'm glad you made it, actually; I was hoping to meet you."

  Baxter looked at his host curiously. "Me? Why?"

  Ashton laughed in genuine surprise. "Why? Mr. Knowles, why not?"

  Baxter shrugged his shoulders."Call me Bax. Everyone does."

  James Ashton stepped forward into the shadow. "I understand you are a writer. I've heard you have an exceptional imagination."

  "Heard from who, exactly?" Baxter knew it was a rude thing to say, but for some reason he felt very much on the defensive. He turned slightly, looking out across the tree-line to the city lights beyond.

  "Well, I was told about your little dust-up with The Charioteer. If possible I'd like to read that story; it sounded very interesting."

  "Uh, sure. I think I still have a copy of it somewhere."

  "Excellent. Drop it by tomorrow? If I'm not here just slide it under the door."

  Baxter nodded his affirmation, saying nothing. For moments neither spoke, each seeming to take the other's measure.

  "And is Zachary here? I've not yet seen him." Ashton asked, shifting gears.

  Baxter shrugged. "Yeah, he's inside somewhere. Trying to 'get his knob polished' - it's tonight's goal."

  Ashton laughed again, louder. "Well, he's a good-looking young lad, he should have no trouble. I see you've finished your drink. Let's get back inside, it's hellish out here!" With one long arm James Ashton swept the back door open. "After you."

  "Thanks," Baxter muttered. He stepped back into the light…

  NOW

  "Baxter."

  He ignored the voice, trying to recall the dream of moments before.

  "Baxter, wake up, you drunken son of a bitch." Someone kicked him hard on the bottoms of his feet.

  "OW! What the fuck?"

  Adam stood over him, glowering. "Get up, Knowles. We're here."

  THREE

  The black Mercedes crept at midnight, its yellow eyes flashing in the gloom. Baxter watched the world scroll by from the back seat; he'd never been to Philadelphia before. The houses were decorated in anticipation of Halloween; glow-in-the-dark monsters skulked on darkened porches, in plastic garden graveyards and dim attic windows. Jack O' lanterns grinned fire as the car rolled past, while black and orange crepe paper witches danced in the autumn wind. Baxter flexed his wrists. They popped loudly in the numb silence of the car. "Hey, any chance of switching the radio on? Not that all this conversation isn't stimulating."

  "We're almost there, Brother," Chloe said from the front seat.

  Baxter nodded. "Ah, great. I'm sure Annie will be overjoyed to see us." He leaned forward. "We are expected, right?" No one replied. "Seriously?" Baxter asked, incredulous. "She doesn't even know we're coming?"

  "Brother -- " Chloe began.

  Adam interrupted, turning to the man beside him. "Look, Knowles, just shut the fuck up. You're along for the ride, that's all. You don't need to know any more than that. Just be quiet until we get to the manor. We'll tell you what to do then."

  Baxter chuckled at this, then leaned over to whisper something in Adam's ear. The bigger man's eyes widened and he drew his arm back with a fist. Chloe's head turned just then, stopping him with a look; Adam bristled where he sat but remained silent. Score.

  "Now, when we get inside please let me do the talking." Chloe began.

  "Whoa, hold on a minute!" Adam blasted. "We're not taking him in there with us!" Chloe turned.

  "Yes, we are. "

  But Adam, being Adam, was adamant. "No way. He's going say something and ruin it. She won't come with us!"

  "Quiet!" Chloe suddenly hissed. As if he'd been struck, Adam recoiled. Up he shut and Baxter nodded. Chloe was still Queen Bitch. "You will let me do the talking, Baxter. If she asks, you will assure her that going with us is okay and that all will be explained upon arrival at the manor." Her words seemed to burn, using up the air in the small car.

  Baxter grew dizzy, but he understood what was happening. He repeated the Fifth Enochian Formula silently to himself, steeling his will. "Sure, sister. Whatever you say." As to whether this answer satisfied Chloe, Baxter could not say, but she ceased to press the issue and silence resumed. Streetlights flashed by, long-necked voyeur birds peering into the dark interior of the car. Baxter found himself thinking of better times, but curbed the thought. Nostalgia was one vice he couldn't afford at the moment. Instead he fell back on an old favorite.

  "What the...?" Adam sputtered, "Knowles, are you drinking again?"

  "Old boy, I never stopped." Baxter tilted the tiny bottle, letting the gin spill down his throat. He put his hands in the pockets of the parka they'd given him on the plane and was reassured by the four bottles left; they would last him until he could reach a proper liquor cabinet.

  Through the window the scenery was changing, the comfy suburbs giving way to a more urban setting. The houses grew shabbier, the yards progressively more unkempt; empty lots appeared choked with weeds and trash. Graffiti and bullet-holes adorned the boarded-up buildings they passed, a carpet of shattered glass glinting in the streetlights. "Uh, where are you taking us exactly?" Baxter wondered aloud. No one bothered to answer him.

  "Make this left," Chloe said, looking up from her phone. The driver obeyed, turning onto a dimly lit avenue. Men huddled on the street corner watched silently as the car slowly rolled by. "It should be right up here across the tracks. That building, on the corner."

  The Merc rolled smoothly across the train-tracks, slowing to park in front of a dismal tenement. Garbage and stacks of newspaper were piled high on either side of the entrance.

  "Damn," exhaled Baxter, stepping out of the car. Chloe's nose wrinkled in disgust.

  "Let's go."

  The three left the silent driver to wait. The shadows scattered at their approach, vanishing into the countless cracks of the sidewalk. Adam held the door and Chloe and Baxter stepped inside the hallway. It was dim within, the only illumination a bare forty watt bulb hanging from a frayed cord. There was less trash here, but it stank of piss and misery. Baxter shook his head sadly. How had Annie ended up in this place?

  "Upstairs." They followed Chloe. At the top of the stairs they took a right, walking down the narrow hall, stopping at a rickety door. Adam knocked loudly three times. Long moments passed before a curt voice cut the silence.

  "What?"

  Chloe nodded to the others to be silent, then spoke in her sweetest voice. "Annie, its Sister Zephyr."

  There was a long pause. "What do you want?"

  Chloe leaned closer to the door. "We need to talk to you, Annie." There was silence. "Annie?"

  "Go away," the voice behind the door said. "You're not supposed to be here."

&
nbsp; "No, it's okay, Sister…" Chloe began.

  "No, it's NOT okay! You were never supposed to bother me again. Go away or I'll call the police." Adam opened his mouth to speak but Chloe silenced him. She gestured to Baxter.

  "What the hell am I supposed to say?" Baxter protested, "I wouldn't open the door for us either." Just then there was the sound of a latch being turned, of a bolt sliding, and hinges creaking.

  "Baxter?"

  "Yeah, it's me, Annie. I'm sorry."

  The door opened. Life had not been kind to Annie Guthrie in the seven years since Baxter had last seen her. Wasted and gray in the warped door frame, she was faded copy of her former self. Trembling visibly, she glared at them with coal-dark eyes. "Why are you people here?" she asked in a querulous voice. "What is it that you want from me now?"

  Chloe reached out to touch the stricken woman on the shoulder but Annie recoiled, backing away from the doorway. "Please," Chloe said, smiling, "we're here to help you, Sister."

  ~*~

  "You promised."

  Baxter hung his head in shame. "I know, Annie. We all did. But now they're telling me we have no choice."

  "No," she said, looking away "there's always a choice." But the poverty around them said otherwise. The apartment was small, dismal, with only the barest of furnishings. A single white sheet hung as a drape before the window; another hung in the adjoining doorway, blocking the rest of the apartment from view. The entirety of the room seemed to be stained, saturated with despair and failure. Baxter tried to block it out but it was overwhelming: the place was rotten with psychic residue.

  "Annie, what happened?"

  Annie looked at Baxter blankly. "What happened? You mean, this?"

  Baxter nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Annie looked away, stared down at her fingers. Her nails were ragged, her cuticles bleeding. "I made a choice."

  Just then the sheet-curtain stirred; shyly, a little girl peaked around its edge. "Mommy?"

  "What is it, Sandy?"