Southern Souls

by Stuart Jaffe

  On its own, the incident suggested that Charlie had an ugly temper. But in the face of so many tragedies previously in his life, Charlie almost never showed such violent behavior. After the head injury, violent behavior became far more common. Bouts of anger also followed.

  Further evidence came from interviews with Arthur Lawson — the eldest son that Charlie sent off on an errand to avoid the strong, young man from stopping the murders. According to Arthur, in the time leading up to the Christmas tragedy, Charlie complained of severe headaches and even visited a doctor on several occasions. By the fall of 1929, his behavior had grown worse. Some nights, after everyone had gone to sleep, he would spend hours at the edge of his bed crying.

  One night, Fannie found him out in the fields cradling his shotgun, lost in gut-wrenching despair. It got so bad that by November 1929, Arthur would sleep fully-dressed — in case he had to get up in the middle of the night due to his father’s dangerous, erratic, and threatening behavior.

  In addition to Arthur’s accounts, much of these details came from Stella Lawson Boles who was Marion Lawson’s daughter and only a young girl at the time. She stayed silent for much of her life, but as her end neared, she wanted to set the record straight.

  “And then there’s the confessions,” Max said.

  According to what Fannie told others, on many of these nights when Charlie went off to cry or worse — she got the sense that he wanted to confess something. He never came out to say it, but something nagged at the back of his mind. Nobody knew it at the time, but when Stella finally opened up about what she knew, she dropped a bombshell of an interview.

  According to her, she had learned that Marie, Charlie’s seventeen-year-old daughter, was pregnant. The poor woman had no idea what to do and may have confided in her mother. While it remained unprovable, the suspicion from many people — including Fannie — was that Charlie was the father. In fact, Stella said that Marie confessed Charlie was the father.

  “So, perhaps you killed your whole family to hide your shame. And if you were suffering from brain damage, maybe you thought this was a reasonable way to solve the problem.”

  Max skipped through the actual day of the murders as fast as possible. From what he read, Drummond had a done a fine job of outlining the terrible event. No need to dwell on it.

  However, Max did run a search at the Stokes County Sheriff Department website for records of the murders. But there were none. Nothing directly suspicious in that — oftentimes back in those days, when a new sheriff took office, the old records were lost or destroyed. Max did not know if that practice prevailed today, but he knew a lot of vital information had been wasted away years ago.

  He also confirmed Drummond’s suspicion that the twenty-five cent house tour had been an attempt to raise money to pay for the farm loan. There were rumors of ghosts in the house, too, but nothing substantiated beyond that. It was too late, anyway. In the 1980s, the new owners of the farm demolished the old house and used what salvageable wood they could find to build a covered bridge at the bottom of a steep driveway. The locals called it the Lawson Memorial Bridge.

  Max tried to find the place on Google maps but had no luck. Perhaps in the last thirty-some years the bridge had been destroyed, too.

  Rubbing his eyes, he looked up from his laptop. The office was dark. He checked the clock on his computer — 6:20 pm. Damn. He was late for dinner.

  Chapter 10

  MAX SPED HOME, throwing a litany of curse words at the windshield while smacking his palms against the steering wheel. He had read somewhere that ninety percent of being a good father was simply showing up. Yet he had already ruined that part of it.

  By the time he reached the house, his anger had dissipated. Instead, his shame hung on him like a drunkard being bailed out of jail by his disappointed family. He would apologize, but there were no words that could replace his not being there when he should have been.

  Entering through the side door, he found Sandra cleaning up the remnants of dinner. The boys had already done their part and gone off to their bedroom. Max flashed a sheepish smile as he set his coat and laptop on a chair.

  “You know I’m sorry,” he said.

  He braced for Sandra’s hand to go to her hip and her rapid-fire reprimand to unleash. But instead, she opened her dazzling eyes and offered a sober smile. “They’ll be up for a while. You should go talk to them.”

  Max’s stomach dropped. Some childish part of his brain had become convinced that he merely had to apologize to Sandra, and in doing so, his remorse would trickle down to the rest of the household. But, of course, that was cowardice. Sandra was right. He needed to talk to the boys directly.

  He glanced down the hall at their bedroom door. He had faced vicious witches, horrible spells, and even death itself — apologizing to two boys should not be so terrifying. Yet as he walked down the hall, the walls stretched further and further in his mind. His footsteps thudded straight up into his heart. He wondered if he would have the right words to say.

  After a gentle knock on the door and a noncommittal grunt from inside, he turned the knob. “Hi, boys. Sorry about missing dinner.”

  J sat on his bed with his back against the wall and read a book. PB crossed his legs on the edge of his bed, playing a videogame — motorcycle racing. Since there wasn’t much room to walk around, Max stayed in the doorway.

  He went on, “I’ve been working on all the things PB told us about. I guess I got carried away. Didn’t realize what time it was.”

  In a cold monotone, PB said, “No problem. Appreciate you looking into it.”

  Max turned his head to J, but the boy kept his face buried in the book. “Well, I should have been here. I truly am sorry.”

  Neither boy said another word. Max waited a few moments, but they gave him nothing more. Cold as a ghost. He stepped back into the hall, closed the door, and returned to the kitchen. For a few minutes, he simply helped load the dishwasher. Once it was running, he knew he had to at least deal with Sandra. The boys might want to shut him out, but they didn’t have to sleep in the same bed with him.

  “I didn’t mean to get so caught up in my research.”

  She nodded. “You hungry? There’s leftovers.”

  Max stopped her from going to the fridge. “I don’t get it. Are you so furious with me that you’re acting pleasant? Why aren’t you being angry?”

  “Because I know you didn’t mean it. I know this is a new phase in our developing family. And all new phases have bumps.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “This isn’t just a bump, though. I have to be better. And I’m not. I’m a fraud of a father.”

  “You are not —” Sandra pointed to an empty chair at the table. “Sit.”

  Her tone told him everything. He sat. Here would come the anger. Here would come the disappointment he deserved to hear. Because it wasn’t simply missing a dinner — plans get messed up all the time. This was their attempt at a family dinner. This was a concerted effort to bring four people living under the same roof together into one unit. That’s what he had screwed up. And one thing he knew for certain from his own childhood — there were no second chances. He ruined that dinner, and those boys would never forget it.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Sandra said as she put together a plate of leftovers.

  “That I’ve let you down. That I’ve scarred the boys for life.”

  “You were relating tonight to your own childhood. To the way you felt when your mother would be the one to let you down.”

  Max squirmed in his seat. Even without magic, she could always get inside his head. She just knew him that well.

  She set the plate in front of him. “First thing you need to do is eat. You’re never good at making decisions or thinking clearly if you’re hungry.”

  “I don’t think I can eat.”

  “The other thing you need to do is listen. I understand what you’re going through. You fee
l like a fraud because you don’t know what you’re supposed to feel like. You feel like if you were in a room with a bunch of other fathers, they would take one look at you and know you were an imposter. Sometimes it feels like there’s a big flashing neon arrow pointing at your head with a sign that reads This One is Faking It. Pretty close?”

  “A bit of a bull’s-eye, actually.” Just hearing her put into words what had been racing around his head made it seem less insurmountable. He wanted to rush across the room and hug her, but she had more to say.

  “It’s not hard to see it — not when I feel the same way.”

  “But you’re already a fantastic mother. It seems like a natural instinct for you. That’s what I’m looking for, I think. I need to find my natural instinct for fatherhood.”

  “That’s not what I mean. And for the record, I am just as frightened as you are about being a good parent. But I’m also trying to be a good witch. It’s like I’m on this highway of witchcraft, and I’m trying to build a ramp to another route of the same road — if that makes any sense.”

  “That makes you feel like an imposter?”

  “It makes me feel like other witches won’t understand me. It makes me question everything I do.”

  Max let out a shaking breath. “I suppose it doesn’t help when Drummond and I also question you.”

  Sandra walked over and took hold of Max’s hand. “There’s no guidebook for this. Any of it. You and I have to forge our own paths. We have to push on through and figure it out as we go.”

  “We’re not just talking about witchcraft, are we?”

  With a gentle smack on the side of his head, she said, “Will you look at that? The man might have a brain after all.”

  She gave him a quick kiss, told him she needed a long bath, and walked out. Max stared at the spot she had just occupied and thought about all she had said. She made it sound so simple — not easy, but easy to understand. He did not get the time to think on it further — the spot he watched shimmered until Drummond appeared in front of him.

  The old ghost took a swift glance around the room. “Why aren’t you having dinner with your family?”

  To avoid having an argument with a ghost that might upset PB, Max turned his attention toward the plate of food. Lasagna. Sandra always made delicious lasagna. Clearly, she had chosen this meal because she knew she did a great job with it and wanted something special that the boys would enjoy as well as Max.

  Before he let his thoughts spiral, Max looked back up at Drummond. “Did you find anything?”

  “As predicted, none of the Lawsons are in the Other.”

  “Of course. That would be too easy.” Max snapped out his napkin and set it in his lap. “Okay, tomorrow we’ll take a little trip to Germanton and see if we can find where the old Lawson farm once was.”

  “Sounds like a smart move. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Max said, “Where are you rushing off to?”

  “My afterlife doesn’t revolve entirely around you and your cases. I’ve got others out there who like to see me — both living and dead.”

  “You’ve got a date, don’t you?”

  “What can I say? I was never this much of a catch when I was alive. But the ghost me is quite eligible.” With a wink, Drummond faded into nothing.

  Max picked up his fork, and with a slight grin, he took a bite of lasagna. It was good. Really good. But there was nobody in the room to tell.

  Chapter 11

  WHEN MAX WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, Sandra had already dressed and eaten her breakfast. She kissed his confused face and busied about the bedroom getting her last things together.

  “What’s going on?” he mumbled through a dry mouth.

  “After you went to bed, I hopped onto one of my witch forums and a great opportunity popped up.”

  “Opportunity for what?”

  “There’s a witch down near Charlotte and she’s leaving the area. She’s pretty old and said that as much as she loves North Carolina — she even said she’s lived here since she was five years old — the witch community has become too unstable.”

  Rubbing his eyes, he said, “I think we had something to do with that.”

  “We certainly sped up the process. But the more I learn, the more I think it was inevitable. Nothing lasts forever, and the Hulls had ruled for over a century. They could never have kept their power much longer. Grandma Mobley and Mother Hope were destined to destroy each other. Neither one would ever succeed in taking over. So, for this particular witch, she’s had enough.”

  “What does that even mean? She’s just going to give up being a witch?”

  “Sort of. She said she’s no longer going to cast spells or make charms or wards or any of that. She has a daughter in New Mexico. She plans to go hang out there and get into the more spiritual side of being a witch.”

  “I guess that’s good news for us. One less witch to have to worry about.”

  “That’s not the opportunity for me. Because she’s moving away and because she no longer wants to cast spells, she’s selling all of her rare books.”

  That woke Max up. More than any other possession, witches coveted their personal libraries. So many of the books that witches used came in only one edition — only one copy. Though some publishers existed that put out books on the subject of witchcraft, and there were even a few who claimed to put out spellbooks, those texts only touched the surface. And with a dainty, gloved hand at that. The majority of books a real witch wanted, she could only get from another witch.

  Sandra shrugged on her coat and shouldered her purse. “I set up a simple breakfast for you and the boys. They should be up in a few minutes. Make sure they get to school on time, and I’ll be back early enough to pick them up in the afternoon. Love you.”

  Before Max could even respond with an I love you, Sandra exited the room. By the time he got up from bed, he heard her car backing out of the driveway. The thought flashed through his mind that perhaps she had used these books as an excuse to force Max and the boys into dealing with each other. But no — he saw the excitement dancing across her face. She hoped to snag an important book or two before any of the other witches.

  Max rubbed his eyes and forced his brain to start working. He had to get the boys moving, deal with all the parents dropping kids off at school, deal with anything his mother wanted to throw his way when he dropped off PB, and hope Drummond didn’t bother him throughout the whole morning. His bladder reminded him that he had other steps to take care of first.

  During the process of eating breakfast and getting ready for school, it became evident that J had forgiven Max. Or at least, he understood that mistakes happen and had decided to give Max a second chance. PB, however, showed no mercy.

  As they drove out to J’s school, the car remained quiet. J had always impressed Max with his ability to read a situation, and he clearly sensed the tension in the car. When Max pulled over at the drop off point, J tried to slip out without comment.

  But then he stopped. Sorting through his backpack, he said, “Did you pack me a lunch?”

  Max closed his eyes and winced. He heard PB’s derisive laugh. “He forgot it,” PB said.

  Pulling out his wallet, Max grabbed some cash and handed it to J. “Is that enough for school lunch?”

  The pity in J’s eyes withered Max’s hope of getting out of this unscathed. J said, “It’ll do.” He pocketed the money, swung his bag over his shoulder, and hurried into the building.

  As Max pulled into traffic, he figured this would be his only good chance to talk with PB — after all, the boy was a captive audience. Part of him wanted to let it all go cold, bury it away and hope that PB would simply forgive him. But the rest of him warned that to do so meant ignoring a wound — one that would fester until years later when PB would act out and Max would have no clue why. Or worse, PB would end up in jail. All because Max had failed to step up and be a real father.

  Swallowing down his fear, Max said, “I�
�m going to say it again — I’m sorry.”

  “I already told you it’s fine.”

  “Clearly, it’s not fine.”

  “What? Am I supposed to fall down and bow to you? Tell you that everything is wonderful now that you’ve apologized for not following through on the thing you promised? Is that it?”

  “I know it was important that I be at that dinner, and I know I let you down, but it’s not like I was out partying or at a bar getting drunk. I was doing research about things involving your case.”

  PB bumped his fist against the car door over and over. Max wanted to ask him to stop but thought it better to let the boy get some of his anger out that way.

  PB said, “I guess you’ll make me go to school again. I’ll have to spend the whole day with Grandma Porter pretending to actually pay attention.”

  “If you don’t like homeschooling with her, we can set you back up in J’s school at any time. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

  PB gaped at Max. “Are you stupid?”

  “Hey,” Max said with more force than he intended. “I’m trying here. You want to shut me out, that’s your choice. But I’m trying.”

  “Unbelievable. This ain’t got nothing to do with you. I got some crazy people out there who want to kill me, and you are the one shutting me out. You won’t let me know what you’ve learned, you make me go off and pretend that school matters, and you don’t come through on the things you promised to do. I don’t trust you which means I ain’t got anybody fighting for me. Which means I’m probably going to die.”

  Holy crap, Max thought. The kid was terrified — and rightfully so.

  Max’s natural inclination was to sit in silence and think things through. But it was his past behaviors that landed him in this trouble in the first place. When it was just him and Sandra, they could handle things however they wanted. But he needed to do something right now — so, he went with his gut.

  At the next intersection, Max pulled an illegal U-turn. PB gripped the car door as his eyes widened. “What you doing?”