The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  "You know I love you, don't you, Brother Pan?" she asked sweetly. Zak actually blushed as he replied.

  "Uh, well, sure. I guess…"

  She smiled. "Then you'll understand when I do this." She seized the small drum from him. Faster than Zak could react Erica drop-kicked it high into the air. Baxter was amazed. It peaked at perhaps fifteen feet, then fell in a long arc into the still-dim woods, landing with a ripe, crunching thud.

  "Thank you," Annie said, cradling her head. "Another minute of that and I was going to make him eat the damn thing."

  Zak looked appalled. "But it's what I do."

  Erica laughed, pointing after the drum. "Well, go do it over there. Far from my window."

  She offered a hand to Annie. "C'mon, sweetie." Annie looked at her suspiciously but consented in the end. Erica helped her rise and the two of them began to walk back towards the manor.

  "Well, it looks like it's just you and me," Baxter noted.

  Zak nodded sadly, staring at the pile of splinters and cowhide. "Where am I gonna get another drum?"

  NOW

  Annie and Baxter walked quietly together in the garden. A nervous wind blew, erratic and cold, scattering autumn's debris about them. They stepped through the leaves, feet kicking through to the bare scrub beneath. Stubble was all that remained of the once-thriving lawn. Gray, sharp, the shattered blades of grass crunched underfoot, reduced to ash with each footstep. The soil was loose, dry, rising as small clouds of dust around their shoes. Baxter whistled low. "Damn."

  Annie nodded in silent agreement. No trace remained of even the heartiest of plants, the terraced hills crumbling and bare. They walked on, giving wide berth the still discernible remains of their old circle, stopping at the edge of the woods. Baxter pulled another can of beer from the paper bag and opened it. Warm froth spattered across his fingers and he absentmindedly licked it off. To his surprise Annie took out a package of cigarettes and lit one up.

  "Since when do you smoke?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "I don't know. Off and on for years." She exhaled, looking at the smoldering thing between her fingers. "I hate it, but it gives my hands something to do."

  Baxter nodded, then raised his beer. "To each his own." He drank, grimacing at the flat, watery brew. "God, everything here tastes like shit."

  Annie did not answer, her eyes following the thin ribbon of smoke that trailed off into the null sky.

  Baxter took another sip but the beer remained vile, worse than bong water. He tilted the can and a stream of ill-smelling, nearly-clear liquid spilled out onto the ground. It soaked in immediately, leaving only a small, discolored patch in the flinty soil. "Cheers."

  They continued on, skirting the forest's edge. Nothing stirred save the wind. It shook the tree's spindly limbs, the singular sound of bare branches rubbing together repugnant to the ear.

  "It's like a scene from your book."

  Baxter looked at Annie blankly.

  "You know, the Thin Ones."

  "Ah. Yeah, I guess it is. These are the woods that inspired it, after all." After a pause Baxter added, "I'm flattered you're that familiar with my stuff."

  She laughed mirthlessly. "Don't be. I just read your books to see if any of the characters were based on me."

  Baxter smiled. "Really? I always wondered if anyone would do that." After a long pause he was forced to ask: "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "Did you think any of the characters were based on you?"

  "Oh. No. I never could really make a connection. They all just seemed to be different versions of you."

  He chuckled. "Yeah, you're not the first reviewer to say that. Truth is, I never really based my characters on anyone…except, obviously, William Bell in Letters To Barbara."

  Annie blanched at the book's mention. "That was a hard one to read," she said at last.

  Baxter shook his head. "I can imagine. For me it was therapy - I wrote it fast, in maybe two weeks. It was right after I was...after I returned to the States. I never thought anyone would want to read it, but my agent demanded we get the damn thing published. At the time it seemed like a bad move, and not just to me. I was told more than once it would be the end of my career, that no one would ever take me seriously again; it's now in its seventh printing."

  A stale cloud of her smoke blew back to them. Annie ground out the cigarette on the heel of her shoe and pocketed the butt, which struck Baxter as odd considering their blighted surroundings. He continued, "other than that brief autobiographical jaunt, I've stuck with fiction. I was afraid…I don't know, if I wrote anything too close to the truth of what happened here it would come back to bite me in the ass. I never wanted any of you to think I'd exploit our experiences together. I actually felt guilty about my success for years. I wasted a lot of time."

  "Yeah, well. We all did."

  Baxter opened another beer, doing his best not to taste it as he poured it down his throat. It was still thin and bile-like, but he managed to finish the can. He was determined to get drunk, no matter how much warm swill he had to swallow. "So how long have you lived in Philly?" he asked delicately.

  "For the last three years. Before that I moved around a lot; I went to Philadelphia to work as a nanny but...that fell through. I've been stuck there ever since. I stayed with an aunt before that. She took me in after…after Sandy was born. She warned me not to leave. I didn't listen." Her last words were heavy, weighted with guilt. Baxter offered her a beer and she accepted it with a small smile."I thought you said these taste like shit."

  "So share the misery."

  They both laughed and continued walking.

  "I'm going to move somewhere nice," Annie said quietly. "After this is over I'm going to get my kid, cash that check and be on the first plane to anywhere. I'm not going to pack -- I'm not even going back into that apartment. Sandy and I are never going to see that hellhole again."

  Baxter felt a sense of admiration for the small woman, could see again in her the strength that had once held them all together.

  "So why do you think Ashton is letting us out of our rooms?"

  Baxter shrugged. "Why not? We're all here now, and everyone seems pretty eager to get this over with. I guess Ashton knows no one is just going to run off at this point. Perhaps he feels he's nothing left to hide."

  Annie sipped her beer thoughtfully. "What do you think?"

  "Well, it's obvious he's telling the truth about…about Him," Baxter said quietly. "The evidence is all around us. Everything is being used up. But there's more to this than what Ashton says. You remember what happened. He's hardly the man we left behind seven years ago." He let this sink in, then continued. "I'm sure you've seen the ritual. It's just a bunch of hot air. I haven't talked to Zak about it yet, but I'm sure he'd agree. Anyway, Chloe explained to me that we need to recharge the circle."

  "And how do they propose we do that?"

  "They expect us to smoke the Paq'qa again."

  Annie turned white. "No. I will not do that."

  "Yeah, that's what I said, too. But I don't think they're gonna give us much choice."

  She shook her head vehemently. "There's no way."

  Baxter could think of nothing to say so he let it drop. He knew in the end Annie would do as she was told. None of them had a choice now; perhaps they never did.

  ~*~

  "I was hoping you'd stop in."

  Baxter winced inwardly. While he and Annie had been wandering the grounds Zak had been sitting alone. "I meant to, earlier. Annie and I took a little walk."

  "And..?"

  "Not good. It's all dead. The trees, the grass, everything in the garden… I didn't hear a single bird the whole time we were out there."

  Zak shifted in the chair. "I'm not surprised. I could see the evidence all around me on the drive in. Obviously the situation is as bad as it looks. What about the equipment?"

  "Hidden outside. I didn't want to take the chance of it being found in the manor."

  "If Ashton decid
es to lock us up again we're fucked. Get it today, keep it on you. It should be safe enough until tomorrow."

  Baxter shuddered. The ceremony was planned for Saturday night and it was already Wednesday. Things were happening too soon. "All right. I'll wait until dusk, then slip out and snag it."

  Baxter wandered deeper into the room. It was dim, quiet, a place where dust reigned. He ran his finger idly along one of the bookshelves then pulled it back quickly. The old wood shed a scaly layer of filth that clung to his skin."Uck. Metathias hasn't exactly been keeping up with the cleaning, has he?"

  Zak considered this. "Well, ordinarily I'd cut him a break, on account of the fact he's ancient but that doesn't seem to have slowed him down any otherwise. Did you see the way he handled that elephant gun? If any one of us had fired that damn thing the recoil would have dislocated a shoulder. He barely twitched when it went off. No, I wouldn't blame him. Whatever that is on your finger, I'm sure it isn't dust."

  It was a disturbing thought. Baxter attempted to wipe the residue off on the heavy velvet curtain but it simply disintegrated where he touched it, the once-lush fabric crumbling beneath his efforts. This coated the reside, leaving the tip of his finger a dusty purple. Baxter gave up.

  "So what do you think of the banishing ritual?"

  Zak furrowed his brow. "An unsophisticated fabrication at best. The question is why. There's only one obvious answer. They don't plan on closing the rift, they want to blow it open. Ashton hasn't given up; he can't. It's who he is…all he is. Clearly, he didn't bounce back from the condition we left him in seven years ago own his own; it wasn't like a cut on the thumb or something. He's in this up to his goddamn eyeballs. He, Chloe, Adam…" Zak trailed off.

  "Well, Adam hasn't held up as well as the others…" Baxter replied, holding back.

  Zak laughed but Baxter remained grim. "They're tapping him."

  Zak blinked, surprised in spite of himself. "You think he'd let them?"

  "Why not? What else has he ever had to offer?"

  Zak slowly nodded in agreement. "That makes sense. A living tether, linking our realm to His – a constant source of contact, of psychic nourishment. Son of a bitch. This just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn't it?"

  Baxter rubbed his finger absentmindedly. "I got to thinking about it in your uncle's scrap-yard. All the signs are there; even Chloe seemed to be drawing against his balance, using Adam as a touchstone for her attack. She and Adam have used up their potential, so they're taking his. What's our next move?"

  Zak gazed out the window, stroking his wintered beard. "Talk to Annie, to Erica. We have no choice but to trust them now. Our course is clear; there's no way we can go through with that ceremony."

  "They'll kill us…"

  "We're dead anyway."

  Baxter mind raced, considering possibilities. "No. There has to be another way."

  At this Zak grew agitated. "What do you propose we do, Bax? Run? There is nowhere to run. Paq'q is spreading. For now He's confined here -- but for how long? The radius is increasing, expanding by the minute. How do we stop that? The answer: we can't. There's no way of fixing this unless we all fix it, and you know as well as I do, that's not going to happen. At best, we can sabotage the operation; it's our only chance of closing the gate."

  "But do we have to sacrifice everyone to do it? Annie, Erica...we can't just waste their lives on this! We all made a mistake but that doesn't mean we all have to pay for it."

  Zak shook his head. "There's no way."

  At this, Baxter grew livid. "I'll think of a way!" He stormed out of the room.

  Zak stared at the empty doorway. "Well, so much for company."

  THEN

  A light lunch on the lawn. "Hey, Whaddaya call these little sandwiches?" Zak asked Metathias through a mouthful of food.

  "The term 'little sandwich' has always been sufficient, sir."

  The group laughed at this, the pleasant weather bringing an ease to the recently tense atmosphere. The sun was high, but enormous umbrellas were strategically placed to keep them in the cluster of shade. It was hot, but entirely reasonable weather for the end of July. Just another quiet afternoon at the manor. Ashton was about to speak but abruptly stopped, a look of surprise on his face. "What the hell?"

  The old man was torn, bleeding from a dozen places. He limped out of the dense brush that terraced the bottom of the hillside, his clothing ripped and covered in burrs. A scruffy hound stayed close by, following him up the hillside. Baxter realized with a start that it was the old man who had accosted him and Zak at the bar days before. Worryingly, he cradled a shotgun in his arms.

  "Mister, are you all right?" Erica asked, rushing over.

  "Erica, wait..!" Adam shouted, leaping up. In a moment the dog transformed, growing sleek, mean and full of teeth. Adam retreated.

  "Hold up, hold up!" the old man cried. "Nellie! Heel!"

  Resentfully the dog ceased its aggressions, though its teeth remained bared.

  "Pardon me fer trespassin', sir," the old man began, hands open at his sides. "Got caught up in th' sticker-bushes down th' way. Followin' that damn hound there -- bitch led me up an' down every blessed hill three mile o' here."

  A cautious smile appeared upon Ashton's face. "Of course. Please, sit down." He offered up his own seat, twin suns flashing across the opaque lenses of his sunglasses.

  "Aw, no, sir. That won't be necessary…"

  "I insist," Ashton said, his voice curiously flat. "Sit. My man can tend to your wounds. I notice you carry a weapon. Are you out hunting?"

  "No sir, I'm not," the old man said, shifting his rifle to one side.

  Ashton raised one eyebrow. "Then why the gun?"

  The old man's features became clouded. "A body can't be too careful, can they?" he replied evenly. Ashton chuckled. "Indeed."

  The visitor finally sat in the offered seat, his dog dropping down beside him. "I thank you kindly for the hospitality, Mr. Ashton."

  The younger man blinked behind his sunglasses. "You know me?"

  The bearded coot laughed. "O' course I know ya! This is Ashton property. Has been forever now. It's only proper y'd be a gentleman after yer gran'father. Ya look jus' like 'em."

  Adam rose, giving his seat to Ashton without a word.

  "Are you saying you knew my grandfather?"

  The old man winked. "Both him an' yer daddy. But that's a long time ago, now. Th' name is Michael Shea."

  Ashton nodded in understanding. "Ah -- Mr. Shea. Of course. You were a member of the consortium."

  Shea nodded. "Me an' a dozen other good townsfolk." As he spoke Shea began removing the burrs from his clothing, plucking them free with the practiced ease of a local.

  "Would you care to join us for lunch, Mr. Shea?" Ashton asked, a tad too graciously.

  "Naw. I'd best be gettin' on. Good meetin' you folk." He cast an eye toward Zak and Baxter, who both watched him wordlessly. When he seemed satisfied the two would not speak he pressed a little further. "Quite a spread y've got here, Mr. Ashton," Shea said, looking up towards the house.

  "Please, call me James; Mr. Ashton is a name I am not comfortable answering to. Perhaps you would be willing to join us later for dinner. Come up to the house tonight and I will give you the grand tour."

  Shea nodded, his eyes sparkling. "Yes, sir. I think I'd like that very much."

  ~*~

  Everyone turned up for dinner that evening, the group gathering in the library to await their enigmatic guest.

  "He's old and creepy," Chloe suggested, with Adam's braying laughter as an affirmation.

  Erica shook her head. "C'mon. Don't you find him interesting? Think of all he has seen, all of the life experience he's had."

  Ashton nodded to Erica. "Yes, he has experience in spades. He is the town character, if you will. A bit of a wild man. Usually rather anti-social; they say he's quite mad. It's curious he'd come wandering through...just now." He looked to Baxter. "What is your impression of our guest?"

 
"I don't do impressions, James," Baxter replied breezily, sipping his wine. It was his third glass. While Ashton did not seem entirely satisfied with this answer he was forced to let the matter drop as the door-chime heralded the arrival of their guest. Ashton rose. He reached his hand towards Chloe, who took it and stood beside him wordlessly. Moments later Shea shuffled in, led by Metathias.

  Their guest was tall but stooped, walking with a slight shuffle, whereas the manservant stood ramrod-straight. But where Metathias was lean to the point of emaciation, Shea was still dense. Even in his current shrunken state, the evidence of his former physique was apparent: broad shoulders, short stout arms, a solid if slightly doughy midsection. His hair and beard, though streaked with gray, was still red and dense, bushy in contrast to Metathias own bald dome. But age seemed to have gotten its teeth into Shea in a way Metathias had deftly evaded, one remaining vital beside the other's crooked frame.

  "May I present Mr. Michael Shea."

  Shea nodded in acknowledgment towards his host. "Thank y' fer th' invite, sir."

  "Thank you for coming, Mr. Shea. If I may, allow me to introduce my friends." Ashton went around the circle, starting at his right.

  Chloe looked slightly repulsed but smiled for their guest's benefit. Adam viewed the old man disinterestedly, then returned his attention to his reading. Zak simply nodded, unwilling to make eye contact. Annie, on the other hand, was polite and mild, garnering an appreciative look from their dinner-guest. He seemed to enjoy Erica as well. The young woman greeted him warmly. "You clean up so nicely," she said, in reference to the last time she'd seen him. He smiled self-consciously, revealing more gum than tooth.

  Ashton kept things rolling. "And this is Baxter Knowles."

  Baxter rose and shook Shea' s hand warily. Though the skin was thin and liver-spotted, the old man's grip was vise-like. Baxter resisted a wince. "Good to meet you, sir."

  "You as well, Mr. Knowles. You as well."

  Their host cleared his throat. "A drink before dinner, Mr. Shea?"

  "Sure. Whatever ya got."