The Cult

by Mink, Jason

"I heard you talking. Who's here?"

  "Just… some people Mommy used to know."

  The little girl blinked. "Are they your friends?"

  "No, honey," Annie said with grit in her voice. "No, they're not. Now go back to sleep."

  "But I have to pee."

  "Go pee then."

  The little girl emerged from behind the curtain and scampered past. Clad only in an over-sized t-shirt, she was her mother in miniature, and Baxter smiled in spite of himself. The child vanished behind a thin plywood door; moments later came the musical tinkle of water on water.

  "She's beautiful, Annie," said Chloe.

  "She is," Annie replied, as if it wasn't a compliment as much as a statement of fact. There was a noisesome flush and the tiny child reappeared. "Good night, Sandy."

  "'Night, Mommy. Bye, people."

  Sandy waved once and slipped back through the curtain. Annie smiled, then turned back to her visitors."Now get out."

  Adam grunted; Baxter could tell his patience was nearing its limits. Chloe nodded, more to herself than anyone. Reaching into her sleek white handbag she withdrew a checkbook. She opened it and began writing. A moment later she tore the check from the pad and offered it to the stern-faced Annie.

  "Keep it," Annie said flatly, "you can't buy me off."

  Chloe smiled. "This is a check for one hundred thousand dollars."

  Baxter had never hated someone so much as in that moment. He fought hard to stop himself from tearing the check from Chloe's hand, from jamming it down her throat along with his fist and a few of her teeth. His rage was compounded when he saw Annie's face change, watched as her resolve weakened, waned.

  "You bitch..." he hissed. But Chloe would not be deterred.

  "It's yours for the taking, and more if you need it. But first we need you. Just come back with us. Just for a few days, that's all we need."

  "No, no, no… I can't. I can't…"

  "All right, enough of this shit."

  Adam rose from the kitchen chair, and as he did Baxter slid from his own. Grabbing it with both hands he swung it around with all the strength he could muster. It slammed into Adam, knocking him backwards and to the floor. Pressing the advantage Baxter leapt forward, bringing the chair down again. Pain sang through him as his ribs scraped together, but he held on. Adam was pinned beneath the chair's front legs now; Baxter drove his knee into the bigger man's groin.

  "Oooof!"

  Flinging the chair aside Baxter dropped hard onto Adam's chest, knocking the wind out of him. He wrapped his hands tightly around the bigger man's throat and squeezed as hard as he could. Adam gasped, eyes bulging; his lungs were empty, he could not inhale. He would die now. Now. Now…

  A great wind slammed into Baxter, sent him tumbling across the room. Dazed, he looked up. Chloe stood above him, her left hand extended.

  "Brother, I'm warning you. One more such outburst and I will kill you myself, regardless of the consequences."

  Baxter swallowed hard; he knew she meant business. "I'm sorry, Sister… I thought he was going to hurt her."

  For a moment Chloe features softened. "I would not let that happen."

  "Well, I guess I know that now."

  Annie had vanished beyond the curtain.

  "Go to her. Tell her it's okay. She must come with us, Brother."

  Baxter nodded. He stepped over Adam's prone form, slipping between the sheet and into the cool darkness of the child's room.

  THEN

  Baxter had never seen anything so red in his life. He forced his feet forward though he didn't want to know, driven towards the thing by wordless impulse. He approached cautiously, unsure of just what it was he was seeing. The figure huddled beside the crimson stain did not stir as he drew up beside her, so absorbed was she in her task. One tiny hand poked from the end of a dark sleeve; stem-like fingers pinched the color from the snow. Slowly, meticulously she did this, gathering the gory shreds into a small pile beside her. The wind began then, and the small woman leaned over to shelter her unusual harvest. After it abated she returned to her task; only then did Baxter realize he was looking at the remains of a bird.

  "What are you doing?" It was a stupid question so he didn't blame her for ignoring it. Still, he'd felt it necessary to declare himself. Standing over the young woman he felt a voyeur, his presence violating this strange sacred ceremony. Something had been at the bird and recently. The insides had been eaten out, a dark ragged cavity where its breast had once been. Lying flat on its back its wings were spread as if in flight or crucifixion. Head tilted to the side, one black eye stared unseeing, reflecting back the morning sky. Its beak was half-open, twin wedges of a hard, dusky orange muted in mid-protest.

  By then the silent young woman had gathered the bulk of the stray feathers. Baxter resisted the insane idea that she was somehow planning to put the thing back together. Gingerly she lifted the bird and placed it on a square of pale fabric. Folding over the corners, she made a small, sad parcel and rose to her feet.

  She was not what Baxter had expected. As he'd stood over her he'd imagined the face that was turned away from his. And while her eyes were pretty, they were not the pale blue of the icy sky above, but the deep and mysterious green of summer; while her skin was fair it was far more the pale of stone than the pinkish hue of health; while she was beautiful it was a lonely beauty only her own, remote and mysterious, and not to be known. She looked at him but did not speak.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt…"

  "Where can I bury a bird around here?"

  Baxter frowned. "Hmm. The ground's frozen solid. You're best bet is to just bury it in the snow."

  "No." She began walking. Baxter watched, wondering if he should follow. At his feet the few remaining scraps of red fluttered in the wind. The gore had melted into the snow and refrozen, a smattering of cherry-colored ice adorned with tiny feathers. With a shudder he followed the strange young woman. She moved across the frozen snow quickly, past the mute buildings, away from light only suggestive of warmth, towards the wide, empty field east of the dorms.

  "Maybe you should stop and get a shovel or something. I don't think you're going to have much luck otherwise."

  She stopped, turning to face him. "What do you want?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Just trying to out why you're going through so much trouble for a dead bird."

  "It's a cardinal."

  "Oh."

  Neither spoke for long moments. "I'll help," Baxter volunteered lamely. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. They began to walk again. His companion moved easily while Baxter struggled, her feet barely scuffing the snow while his boots sank straight through. He stuffed his bare hands into his pockets, his fingers already pink and raw from the cold. "So why are you trying to bury it? The cardinal, I mean." She glared at him.

  "Why? Why wouldn't I? Or you, for that matter? It deserves to be buried, like anyone else. I mean, people are buried every day. Do you question that?"

  "No, I guess I don't."

  They walked on in silence, a mute procession ending at a low stone wall. Snow was everywhere, an even coating several inches deep. No bare earth could be seen. Beyond the wall lay a stand of trees, though from a distance they did not appear promising.

  "Damn," she said, emitting a cloud of steam. She began kicking a hole in the snow, but her foot could not penetrate the frozen ground.

  "Hold up, hold on a second," Baxter said. He slipped past her and crouched beside the wall. Regretfully, he removed his bare hands from his pockets and began fiddling with the stones. After a few moments of effort he managed to pull a good-sized rock free of the crumbling masonry, leaving a small hole. "What about here?"

  She looked at him doubtfully. "What, in the wall?"

  "Sure, why not? It's like an ossuary…"

  "What?"

  "A tomb. A resting place, you know?" The wind began again, knifing through their thick coats, stealing their warmth.
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  "Okay," she consented, bowing slightly in the gale. She removed the small parcel from her pocket and placed it in the crevice. The pale fabric seemed to glow softly in the gloom; the single tiny feather that clung to the outside was suddenly plucked free by the wind. The young woman spoke, though Baxter did not catch her words. These too were taken by the wind, leaving him alone with his own thoughts. When she rose he knelt, replacing the rock. He wedged it back in tightly, hiding the interred from view.

  "I think that'll do. You can always come back at first thaw if you still want to bury it." Baxter turned towards her but the mysterious young woman was already halfway across the field. He started to call out but stopped himself. Obviously she wasn't interested in his company. "And I didn't even get her name…"

  NOW

  "Annie?"

  "Get out of here, Baxter. All of you, just get out."

  Baxter leaned heavily against the wall. From outside the building came the sound of glass shattering; Baxter hoped it was the car being vandalized.

  "You know, Bax - this probably sounds like bullshit... but I knew they were coming back for me. I knew it seven years ago, the morning we made the pact. I knew they weren't done with me; I knew they'd never be done with me."

  "Chloe said we needed to reform the circle, that we..."

  "It doesn't matter. I'm going. I need the money."

  Baxter winced. The idea that the child lay somewhere in the darkness listening to all of this gutted him. He and Annie, Adam and Chloe, each had made their choice. But Sandy Guthrie was innocent. She had not asked for this; she should not be made to suffer for her mother's sins.

  "Well, Zak will be with us, and Erica. When we're all together we can form a unified front, keep this thing from getting too out of control. Until then keep your back to the wall. I don't trust the other three."

  "And I don't trust you, Bax. Now get out of here and let me do what I have to."

  The words cut deep. Numbed, Baxter complied, slipping back into the living room. Chloe was alone there, standing to one side.

  "She's coming," he said quietly. "But I'm sure you already knew that." She was silent. "So where'd Fun-Boy wander off to?" Baxter asked, opening a fresh bottle. Chloe's gaze drifted to the window.

  "Fenris is downstairs with the car."

  "Hey, that's right below the window. If you help we can drop that radiator on him."

  "Don't speak ill of your Brother, Helios. Fenris is only doing His will."

  "Yeah, well… fuck Him."

  "Must you always be so insolent?" Chloe asked, turning to look at him. Her beauty caught Baxter off guard, as it had so many times in the past, and any stinging retort he might have said vanished beneath her gaze. Feeling stupid he looked away. "We go to Pan next," she said, pressing his weakness. "We anticipate he will be more… difficult to convince." Baxter whistled.

  "Well, guess I know why you picked me up first. I can't believe you're still using me to do your dirty work. Seems some things never change."

  "Oh, but they do, Brother," she said icily, eyes flashing. "More than you could ever imagine."

  From the other room came the sound of Sandy crying. Baxter could hear Annie trying to soothe her, but the kid was no fool. Something big was going down and she didn't like it. Time to cut out.

  "Sit down," Chloe said as if reading his mind. "You will wait here with me… unless, of course, you'd rather take your chances with Fenris."

  The choice obvious, Baxter set right one of the kitchen chairs and sat. He was stone sober again. The pain returned in waves, moving from his ribs, up his spine and into his skull. He fished around in his coat pocket. Shards of plastic stabbed at his fingers, slicing the tender flesh. The bottle of painkillers had been smashed during his tussle with Adam. Baxter pulled out a handful of the broken plastic and picked through it to retrieve the tiny blue pills. Only four left; bad news. Discarding the remains of the bottle he chased the painkillers with the last of the vodka. He was going to need more liquor.

  FOUR

  Morning brought fresh pain.

  Finding someone to take Sandy proved difficult. At some point over the last seven years Annie had become estranged from her family and was now unable or unwilling to call them for help. She spent hours trying to track down old friends, with little success; in the end she left Sandy in the care of an elderly woman who lived in the apartment below. The old woman received her two neighbors warmly, but made no effort to hide her disdain for Annie's traveling companions. Baxter understood the woman's contempt all too well. He wasn't too crazy about their little group either.

  Adam was doing a slow burn. It was obvious he wanted nothing more than to reach out and crush Baxter's larynx, and perhaps he would the next time Chloe's back was turned. Baxter kept his mouth shut for the most part. Anything could set the bigger man off now and Baxter was unwilling to put Annie in the middle of one of his psychotic freak-outs. Besides, the effect of the pills had long worn off. Pain and exhaustion rode Baxter like twin jockeys; he wasn't up for another brawl.

  After an ugly hour in morning traffic the four of them made it to the airport; there, they were forced to wait another seventy minutes before their private plane could take off. By then even Chloe had grown irritable, the lack of sleep taking its toll on her usual measured demeanor. She and Adam retired to the front of the cabin, Annie sat in the middle; Baxter briefly considered joining her but then thought better of it, returning to his seat in the back. He emptied the bar but was unable to black out. Just at the edge, his pain and Annie's presence kept him from completely shutting down. The alcohol had gently numbed his body, but his mind ran and ran.

  THEN

  "There's another party."

  Baxter looked up from the monitor. "Huh?"

  Zak laughed, dropping onto the corner of the bed. "Party. Tonight. At Ashton's"

  Now it was Baxter's turn to laugh. "Ashton? You're still talking to that guy?"

  "Why the hell wouldn't I?"

  Baxter left the question unanswered.

  "Hey. He's all right, Padre," Zak volunteered. "I've hung out with him a couple of times since the party. He's into it - read a lot of the same books that I have."

  "Hmm. He didn't strike me as a big reader."

  Zak lit up a cigarette. "What's your problem with the guy? Just because he has some cash…"

  "Has some cash? The guy comes from one of the most affluent families in the country. They own, like, half of Pennsylvania…"

  "Oh, bullshit."

  "… that goddamn mine of theirs is a fucking ecological nightmare…"

  "Come on…"

  "No. Listen. You know as well as I do Ashton Mining is fucking shit up in a major way. The runoff killed everything in Hutchison Creek, Zak. Only two years ago it was full of fish; now it's fucking orange. It stinks like hell; you can smell it from here. The Ashton lumber company clear-cut up into the next county, their waste management service imports trash from eight states… and they get away with all of it. Yeah, they have some cash, all right, Zak. I see them spend it every day." An uncomfortable silence grew up between them. Baxter hadn't meant to go off like that; until that moment he hadn't even realized he had an opinion on the subject. "Sorry, man. That the guy just rubs me the wrong way."

  Zak sneered at this.

  "Yeah, well, this time I plan on getting rubbed the right way."

  "Spoken like a true intellectual." They both laughed then, breaking the tension.

  "Take your fill of pleasure where you will, my friend," Zak said grandly. Baxter returned to his work, while Zak remained on the edge on the bed, unsatisfied and smoking. After about a minute he asked: "So are you going or not?"

  Baxter laughed in spite of himself. "No, Zak. Not. Going. You probably shouldn't, either."

  "Why?"

  Baxter took a moment before he spoke. "Guys like James Ashton don't just decide one day to be your friend. He obviously wants something."

  Zak narrowed his eyes. "What, you think he's queer?"


  Baxter shook his head, chuckling. "Err, no. That's not what I'm getting at. Wait a minute… does anyone even use that word any more? Queer?"

  Zak shrugged, growing disinterested. "I dunno. That angry-looking punk chick down the hall wears a t-shirt that says…"

  Baxter dismissed this line of rationale with a wave. "Anyway, I can't even say why I don't like Ashton. I just get a bad feeling from the guy."

  "Whatever." Zak rose abruptly from the bed and stalked out of the room. Whatever, indeed.

  ~*~

  Awake.

  He'd been… asleep? Baxter opened his eyes, though he did not remember closing them. The room was lit by the muted glow of a computer monitor; the only sound was the gentle whoosh of air through the heating ducts. So if all was quiet and still, what had woken him? His cellphone rattled on the tabletop then, its shrill ring cleaving the silence. The sound shook him, filling him with an unease he could not explain. Is that what had stirred him? Or had something else?

  RINNNNNNNG!

  RINNNNNNNG!

  RINNNNNNNG!

  Well, whoever it was they were certainly insistent. Baxter answered the call.

  "Yeah?"

  "Baxter?"

  "Yeah."

  "Hello. I hope I'm not interrupting anything…"

  "No, no, s'okay. Uh, who is this?"

  "It's James." A beat. "James Ashton."

  "Ah, fuck," Baxter thought sourly. He covered the receiver and cleared his throat before he spoke. "Hey, James. What can I do for you?"

  "We're having a little party up here. Did Zachary neglect to extend my invitation?" Baxter rubbed his aching eyes.

  "Uh, he mentioned something about it."

  "Well, we were hoping you'd be able to swing by for a drink."

  "I dunno, man," Baxter said, glancing wistfully at his pillow. "I'm actually pretty busy."

  "Hmm. Well, if I can't convince you…" There was muffled discussion, then laughter.

  "Baxter, you tin shit! Get on up here, boy!"

  It was Zak, but wasn't. The voice coming through the phone was odd, almost alien in inflection. His room-mate was clearly wasted. The effect wasn't pleasing to the ear.