Southern Souls

by Stuart Jaffe

  Max wanted to scream in frustration, but through a tight jaw, he said, “Why are you mad at me for giving him a good day? Sorry, you’re not mad. Just disappointed.”

  He really wanted to fight with her — have a good, healthy yelling fest. The making up part would be fun, too. Instead, Sandra gazed down at him with all the Southern pity of a woman who had spent her whole life in North Carolina. “Bless your heart, you really don’t get it.”

  “I guess I don’t. But I’ll tell you one thing — that trip was a success. You may not like that PB came along, but he’s the one who figured out where the moonshine still was. Because of that, Drummond found a circle of rocks buried in the ground with the same symbols as the Soro Group. I think we can be fairly certain the next so-called suicide is going to happen there. We just don’t know when.”

  With a cocky wink, Sandra said, “We just might.”

  Max’s pulse jolted into action. “You found something?”

  Sandra picked her phone up off her bedside table and searched through her notes. “While you were turning our son into target practice, I’ve been following up on those symbols. And I found out some interesting things.”

  “I thought you couldn’t find anything out about those symbols. Isn’t that why we saw Madame Yan?”

  “At first. But afterward, after she told us about the tragedy group and Soro Brown, I was able to go back and dig a little deeper. Plus, when I went book shopping at that old witch’s place — the one that’s leaving North Carolina — I found a book called Cults and Lesser Forms of the Occult including Non-Magical Organizations.”

  “Great title. Rolls right off the tongue.”

  With the light of her phone reflecting against her face, Max caught the corner of her mouth lifting. She said, “The actual book isn’t that much easier to read than the title, but I wasn’t really looking at it in a read cover-to-cover kind of way. I went specifically looking for information on these tragedy groups.”

  Max sat up. “Are you going to keep me guessing or are you going to tell me what you learned?”

  “Hold on,” she said, swiping through page after page of notes. “Here it is — so after several pages of explaining why there is no actual magic involved in these suicide ceremonies they’re using and how this is all crap that will never actually work, the author goes on to suggest that there might be some validity to it anyway.”

  “So, they actually are using magic?”

  “She says here that in an unintentional way, they may have tapped into some of the natural energies that witches use to create spells. The energy of the tragedy plus the energy of the ceremony — and, unfortunately, the energy of creating another tragedy through these suicides and murders — it is feasible that they might be able to produce a magic spell. Whether they are capable of creating a spell that brings prosperity or power to them is another matter entirely, but something might occur.”

  “I don’t see how that’s going to help us figure out when the next ceremony is going to happen.”

  “That’s because you won’t shut up and let me talk. Listen — that book on cults says that once the tragedy cycle has begun, it must be performed every third night. As long as the body we found at Odd Fellows Cemetery wasn’t the last one in the cycle, then three days from that one there’s going to be one more. If it was the first body, then three days after the second one will be yet another.”

  “Three days?” Max popped to his feet and started pulling on his pants. “That’s tonight.” As he grabbed his shirt and socks, he froze and stared at Sandra. She had not moved. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

  She rested back against her pillows. “Because we can’t both go. Somebody has to stay here with the boys.”

  Max watched her sitting on the bed as if she floated on a raft and he treaded water in the ocean. Just out of reach — she was floating further away. “No. We’re a team. We’ve got to do this together.”

  She grinned but it lacked any sense of happiness. “I love you for saying that. I really do. But we’re parents now. We have to learn to split our duties between taking care of the boys and running our business. So, tonight, you go out and work on the case. I’ll stay here.”

  “You sure?”

  “For tonight. But don’t think you’re the one who gets to go have all the fun every time.”

  He walked over and sat on the side of the bed. Holding her hands, he kissed her palms. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “I don’t know how to be a good father — clearly. And it seems that my knowledge at being a good husband is going to have to shift, too.” He stared into her eyes, trying to force her understanding of his love through sheer act of will. “Don’t drift away from me. We still have to make it through all of this together. I will figure out my part in it. I will. You just have to give me time.”

  “I’m always there by your side. You know that. I’ve been saying all along that we have to learn how to do our new roles in life. That’s why I’m not mad at you about any of this.”

  He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t want you to think I’m leaving you behind.”

  “Hon, you’ve got to get a grip on yourself. We’re going to be okay. I promise. You’ll get better at this father stuff, and the boys will come around. As for me — as long as you keep trying, I’ve got no complaints. After all, that’s part of love. Now, go out there and stop a crazy suicide cult.”

  Max finished getting dressed and as he headed for the door, Sandra added, “Bring Drummond with you. No reason for you to go completely alone.”

  “Of course. Isn’t that what he’s for?”

  Chapter 13

  THE DASHBOARD CLOCK READ 11:42 PM. Max parked on the side of Brook Cove Road a short distance away from the drive leading up to the old Lawson farm. When he cut the engine and turned off the headlights, darkness engulfed him. No streetlights, no house lights. The town had gone to sleep.

  “If I wasn’t a ghost, this would be spooky.” Drummond drifted out of the car and looked up at the sliver of moon creeping from behind the clouds. “You remember to bring a flashlight?”

  Max got out of the car. “I’ve got my phone. It has a light.”

  The nonstop buzz of the nighttime insects surrounded them as much as the dark. Though the evening had cooled significantly from the high of the day, it was still hot and humid. Max’s shirt clung to his back as he crossed the street and made his way toward the driveway.

  Dirt and gravel crunched beneath his feet. He moved as fast as possible without breaking into a run. “Maybe you should go ahead and find out where they are.”

  “I think I better be here by your side. Just in case something happens to you.”

  “There’s not a lot of time until the witching hour.”

  “We don’t know that’s when this is going to happen. Besides, there are a lot of witching hours. I learned that long ago — midnight, one o’clock, four o’clock. Those are the most popular, but frankly, depending on the regions and cultures, you got a witching hour pretty much every hour between midnight and dawn. Let’s just focus on finding where they are.”

  “We know where they are — the moonshine still. I meant for you to go ahead and check out what they’re doing, where they’re standing. See what I’m walking into.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll go ahead and look. But I’d be a bad partner, if I didn’t take care of you, first. That’s all I’m talking about. I want to make sure you’re seeing things clearly.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Well, what do you think is going to happen? I mean if we stop this, do you think that’ll save the kid?”

  Max wanted to indulge a moment and discuss things, but no matter what Drummond said about the witching hour, Max was not going to take any chances. He sped up his walk. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what they have planned for PB. If anything, at all. We could be completely wr
ong about these nutcases coming after him. But we’re simply not going to risk it. Even if stopping this ceremony doesn’t save PB, it’s better than doing nothing.”

  Drummond threw his coattails back and thrust his hands into his pockets. “You’re right about that. Okay, I’ll go check out ahead. You keep a move on.”

  “Thank you,” Max said, making no effort to hide his exasperation.

  The late hour made everything strange and different to Max’s eyes. He only knew he approached the moonshine still site by the sudden slope of the land. At length, he noticed the wall of trees and crouched behind their thick trunks. Cupping his ear, he tried to hear if anyone spoke.

  From inside the clearing, Drummond called out. “It’s okay. You can come on in. Nobody’s here.”

  Sweat chilled on Max’s face. He peeked over his shoulder, half-expecting the caretaker to be standing there with his shotgun. Just the sloping ground and darkness. Licking the salt off his lips, Max scurried between the trees and joined Drummond.

  The ghost floated several feet away, hovering over the edge of a circle of stones. Not just any stones — somebody had dug up all of the stones that Drummond had discovered. The odd symbols painted on them were clear even in the limited moonlight. In the middle of this circle, the smoldering embers of a fire smoked into the air.

  “We’re too late.” Max kicked at the dirt. He wanted to kick the stones or pick one up and hurl it into the woods, but he knew better than to mess with a casting circle — at least, not until he understood the spell being cast.

  “Calm down.” Drummond spread his arms to indicate the entire area. “Do you see a body? Do you see any blood? There’s still time.”

  “You think this is part of the ceremony here and they’ve moved elsewhere for the suicide? It’s possible.”

  “It’s our best bet.”

  Max spat to the side. “I’ll check the old Lawson house. You check the new owner’s place.”

  “I’m on it.” Drummond disappeared.

  As Max jogged uphill toward the old clearing, his heart pounded. Not from the exertion, but from picturing PB at the mercy of this crazed group of people. When he reached the clearing, he found nothing but empty grass and plenty of nighttime insects.

  Drummond appeared next to him. “Owner’s place is shut up for the night. Nobody’s there. Maybe we’re wrong about the Soro Group. Maybe we made a mistake in our thinking.”

  “You saw that ring of stones. Those embers were still glowing red. We missed something here. Just recently. And as you said — no body. It’s not quite midnight — if they’re going for the first witching hour, there’s still time.”

  “Well, they’re not here. Is there some other tragic location that came up in your research? Maybe the funeral home that put the Lawsons in those caskets in the photo.”

  Max perked up. “You’re right.”

  “I am?”

  “Sort of. The Lawson massacre happened right here, but it didn’t end here. Lawson ran down to the river and spent hours circling a tree, trying to deal with what he had done. In the end, he killed himself by the water.”

  Max closed his eyes and pictured all of his research on the Lawson massacre. He tried to recall the direction of the river and exactly where Charlie Lawson had ended up. Snapping his eyes open, he bolted away from the clearing like a dog on a fox hunt. Drummond soared next to him. As Max weaved around trees and hopped over obstacles, Drummond simply passed right through it all.

  In a short time, Max spotted the flickers of firelight up ahead. He stumbled to a halt and crouched. He scurried as close toward the firelight as possible. Hiding behind a large rock, he witnessed a gathering of people, some carrying torches, all wearing ceremonial black robes with symbols painted on the backs. In the center, a young man with terrified eyes knelt before a tall man in a purple robe.

  Chapter 14

  FOR MAX, eavesdropping on a ritual designed to create magic had become too familiar. He had seen the shadowed figures, the weird symbols, and the flickering firelight before. He knew too well the way they would form a circle and chant as a group. It had all become rather humdrum, and he found himself wanting to fast forward to the parts that diverged from his expectations.

  Apparently, Drummond felt the same. “What is it with these people and their cloaks? Just once I’d like to see them all dress like Vegas showgirls or hippy mobsters or —”

  “Hippy mobsters?”

  “You get the point.”

  The purple-cloaked figure stepped forward with arms raised high. The group lowered their heads and said, “Praise be Soro Brown.”

  “Praise to you all,” Brown said. “Put your faith in me, and I shall lead us all into a world of greatness. Whatever you dream of, it can be yours. All you need is unwavering faith, a true belief in our purpose, and your desires shall be reality.”

  Max shook his head. “Ridiculous.”

  “I do not ask you to trust in false promises. I do not ask you to put your faith in a mystical being you cannot see. No. I ask you to judge the evidence of those who have come before you. Those who have worn the cloaks you wear, who have spoken the words you speak, who have witnessed the sacrifices you will witness. They are the proof. Their success, their wealth, their power is the testimonial of all I promise. These nights we spend performing this sacred ceremony are an oath that when we finish, all that we seek shall be delivered just as it has been done for many before us.”

  Drummond said, “How do people fall for this junk?”

  “Shhh,” Max said.

  “They can’t hear me. Besides, if they want to cast a magic spell to get rich and powerful, this is about as far from the real thing as you can get. And what’s with that, anyway? I mean, once you accept that magic exists in the world, how difficult is it to find out about the witch community? With a little bit of effort — and I mean very little — these people should be able to recognize this charlatan for what he is.”

  “People can be blinded easily — especially when somebody starts promising everything you want. They’re not stupid. Just desperate enough to believe any lie, no matter how big, as long as it gives them hope that things will be better down the road.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that these people believe in something fake but every bit as dangerous as the real thing. Maybe even worse because with a witch, you at least get results.”

  Whispering, Max said, “Then let’s go break up their fake spell. We ruin it for them and we’ll take away Soro Brown’s power over them.”

  “Not yet.” Drummond pursed his lips as he watched the circle of cloaks.

  “If Wilson Klein’s death means anything, then that poor fool on his knees is going to die.”

  “We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. If they plan to kill the guy, then they’ve got weapons. Did you bring your pistol?”

  Though he already knew the answer, Max’s hand fumbled at his belt. “Um, I forgot.”

  Drummond gazed up to the sky. “Will you ever start learning from me? Okay, look, you need to think better. Clearly, this whole thing is a bamboozle, but that doesn’t mean you should risk your life going in there. You got a wife and two kids to think about.”

  Max had been thinking about them. The longer he sat back and did nothing, the greater the danger to PB. This group had created a ticking timebomb that Max could not see, hear, or locate. It might turn out to be a dud, but he had to decide how far he would risk everyone before he took the dangerous leap and tried to stop it.

  Soro Brown turned in a slow circle and chanted. “Aca dol shanti tiqua.”

  “That’s a lot of crap he’s serving,” Drummond said.

  Max agreed. He had come across enough ancient languages from enough authentic witches to know nonsense when he heard it. If this absurd show didn’t pose a serious threat to PB, Max would find the entire gathering pathetic and somewhat amusing. But a belief in false magic could be every bit as violent as the real thing. “Maybe I should call the polic
e.”

  “We don’t know if any of those people under the cloaks are the police. Even a good cop can still be lured into a stupid mess like this. Look at Officer Glader moonlighting for Cecily Hull. The promise here is for a lot more money. Odds are that even if none of those folks are police, some of them hold serious power in the area.”

  “I can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Max said, his whisper turning into a sharp hiss. “The last one of these ended up with a guy dead in a car by a cemetery.”

  “Patience. We wait until Brown does something threatening. Until then, we sit tight.”

  “But —”

  “If you go running in there right now, you might end up arrested for disturbing a lawful religious gathering. All they’ve done is dress up and chant a bunch of made up words. There’s nothing here that warrants any action. I know you’re worried about the kid, but trust me, you’ll be doing more harm than good for that boy if you rush in.”

  Of course, Max knew Drummond was right. Knew it before the ghost had uttered a word. It had kept him crouched behind a tree instead of taking action. But that did not make it any easier to do nothing like a boy forced to sit in the corner while his classmates ran off to play. Except that the word play did not quite fit.

  Soro Brown stopped his performance and stepped before the kneeling man. “Kevin Jasper, you are before us with the offer of a great sacrifice. We praise you for this.” The group uttered somber words of thanks. “But your gift will not be required. Not tonight. Not ever.”

  Frowning at these words, Kevin gazed around at the group. Max thought he spotted a glimmer of hope, but the man’s fear overshadowed it. Soro Brown patted Kevin’s shoulder and guided him to his feet.

  “Please, return to the circle. Join your brethren and enjoy all the riches destined to come your way.”

  As Kevin donned his cloak and hood, he stumbled back to the circle. He looked around as if he expected to be thrown back to the center at any moment. Even as Soro Brown walked in front of the other figures as if playing some mad game of duck-duck-goose, Kevin paled and appeared lost in himself. After several steps, Soro Brown halted in front of another figure and pointed.