The Bone Puzzle: The Saga Begins

by Clayton E. Spriggs

  Laura struggled violently against the ropes, trying in vain to escape her terrible fate. Brother Eustice ignored her, stood up, and addressed the men.

  “Cooter, you and Earl take the boys down the road a bit. Make sure ain’t no one followed us. Charles Ray, you and Joe Bob scamper ‘round through them woods. We don’t want no wayward hunters or fisherman happenin’ upon us. Buck, stay close by in case anyone gets an idea ‘bout disturbin’ me. But not too close. This ain’t no performance. I’m gonna baptize this young’un in the faith. Start teachin’ her our ways.”

  Brother Eustice reached up and pulled on a strap. The overhead door fell closed behind him, leaving only a small crack along the bottom edge through which a sliver of light entered the cramped quarters. He looked at Laura and smiled, revealing the few yellow teeth that defiantly clung to his rotting gums.

  “As an ordained minister of the Lord Jehovah, it is within my power to officiate our betrothal,” the preacher said in a soothing tone. “Soon, I will baptize you in the waters of Jordan, and you will enter into the congregation of the spirit. The others will accept you, even though you’re an outsider and have danced in the ways of Beelzebub. They’ll accept you because you’ll be a Winchester and the wife of the great prophet. Submit yourself to your husband as you do unto the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.” He reached down and placed his hand on the girl’s leg. “As the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything,” he continued, his hand slowly sliding up her thigh.

  Without warning, Laura snapped her head forward, catching the unsuspecting preacher square in the forehead. Eustice lost his balance and fell backward with a thud, dazed by the blow. The girl fought with everything she had to break free. Her hands started to slip from the ropes that ensnared her wrists. Before she could get loose, Winchester had regained his composure and hopped up, kicking Laura in the face. He bent down and grabbed her hair, violently twisting her neck so she would face him.

  “A wife of noble character is her husband’s crown, but a disgraceful wife is like decay in his bones. Don’t do that again, little angel. I can make this hurt.” He slammed her head against the metal wall of the truck. Laura’s head swam from the blow, but she clung to consciousness. She soon wished she hadn’t.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Ain’t no one followed us out here,” griped Junior. “The old man just wanted to get rid of us.”

  Cooter and Earl remained silent. Things had gotten dangerously out of control. Neither of them had known what the prophet’s true intentions were when they set out on their mission. Now they were accomplices. All they had left was their faith. It would have to be enough.

  “Do you think Daddy is gonna rape that girl?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Shut your mouth, JT!” Earl interrupted. “You don’t question the prophet, even if he is your paw.”

  “Earl’s right,” Cooter agreed. “He’s never led us astray before. If it weren’t for Brother Eustice, my soul would be damned to the fiery pit for all eternity. ‘Sides, we’ve gone too far to back out now.”

  Earl nodded. It was definitely too late for second guessing. They had to stick together no matter what.

  “It ain’t right,” Junior continued his rant. “He shouldn’t talk to me like that. I’m his successor. You fellers would do right to remember that.”

  “She’s just a girl,” lamented Jeremiah. “He can’t be thinking she’s gonna be his.”

  “She’s gonna be your new mama,” Cooter joked. Earl laughed.

  “Shut up, you two,” said Junior. “Don’t ever talk ‘bout my maw again, or I’ll whip the snot out of ya.”

  “Easy there, Junior,” said Earl. “We wasn’t talking ‘bout your real maw, God rest her soul. We talkin’ bout that gypsy girl. If’n the prophet marries her, she’ll technically be your new step-ma.”

  “He ain’t gonna marry her,” said Jeremiah, his doubtful tone in contrast to his authoritarian pronouncement. “Is he, Eustice Adam?”

  “Of course he’s gonna marry her, you nitwit,” interjected Cooter, “or he’d be committin’ a sin. We all know the prophet can’t commit mortal sins like we do. Nope, he’ll make her his partner in the spirit, then she’ll submit. It’ll all be on the up and up.”

  “Cooter’s right,” agreed Earl. “Who are we to question him? He’s the shepherd.”

  “She’s closer to my age than his,” said Junior. “I coulda had her if I wanted to. He’s gotta have everything for hisself.”

  Cooter and Earl looked at each other and smirked. Junior was on one of his ‘pitiful me’ rants again. Experience had taught them that there was only one way to stop his whining.

  “Maybe you should take it up with him yourself when we get back,” offered Cooter.

  “I’m sure Buck will be interested in what you have to say ‘bout the matter,” added Earl.

  Buck McEwen was a giant. Deeply devoted to Brother Eustice Winchester, he was head Head Deacon of the Antioch Pentecostal Church and unofficial enforcer of security. The only thing bigger than his muscles was his ignorance. No one wanted to mess with Buck, not even Cooter and Earl. They’d seen what he’d done to the magician at the prophet’s bidding.

  “Ain’t no need to talk about this to Buck,” Junior replied. “I’m just lettin’ off a little steam. It was a long trip in the back of that Devil truck, cramped up with all those sorcerer’s tools. It was a might creepy, too. I swear I heard breathin’ in there, like there was someone with us. Probably some demon or evil spirit.”

  “What we gonna do with all that stuff?” Jeremiah asked. “It’ll incriminate us if anyone finds it.”

  “How they gonna find it out here, dummy?” asked Junior. “You think the magician is gonna drive down here looking for it?”

  “I don’t know,” Jeremiah replied. “Maybe. What’d ya’ll do with him, anyway?”

  Cooter and Earl glanced at one another before looking away. Their lack of eye contact said it all.

  “Well?” insisted Jeremiah.

  “Let’s just say he ain’t gonna come lookin’ for us and leave it at that,” Earl said at last.

  “We still can’t just leave this stuff out here,” said Jeremiah. “Someone will come across it sooner or later. It don’t exactly fit in with the surroundings.”

  “He’s right,” said Cooter. “This is my land, and I don’t want that stuff on it. I’ll be the one goin’ down. It ain’t fair.”

  “Don’t you fret about it, Cooter,” Earl assured him. “I can help keep the authorities at bay for a spell. I’m sure Brother Eustice has a plan.”

  “He may have a plan, but it would be nice if, for once, he’d let us in on it,” said Junior. “Did he tell any of y’all ‘bout his plan to take that girl for hisself?”

  “Give it a rest, Junior,” said Cooter. “What’s done is done. There ain’t no fightin’ City Hall.”

  “I thought ya’ll said no one would come looking for us out here,” Jeremiah said, nervously pointing in front of him. “Then what’s that?”

  The four men looked at the cloud of dust coming their way. A police car drove toward them down the remote dirt road.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Charles Ray Wilson and Joe Bob Duncan did as they were instructed—at first. The two walked close to fifty yards into the woods before splitting up. Charles Ray went right; Joe Bob left. They hiked in a semi-circle until meeting up on the opposite side.

  “Did you see anybody?” asked Charles Ray.

  “Nope and ain’t goin’ to,” replied Joe Bob. “You know that. Brother Prophet just wanted to get rid of us so he could defile that child.”

  “You shouldn’t talk like that. You know it ain’t like that.”

  “Isn’t it? I didn’t sign up for this shit, Charles Ray. Neither did you.”

  “Yeah, I reckon. Ain’t much we can do about it now.”

  “It stinks to h
igh heaven. Hell, I gotta girl at home older than her. This ain’t right. Not to mention what Buck did to that magician back there.”

  Charles Ray nodded in agreement. He didn’t want to think about that. He wished it had all been a bad dream and that he’d wake up. But it was no dream. It was a nightmare, and it was very real.

  “What are we gonna do now?” asked Charles Ray. “We’re in it up to our necks. If I’d a known that the preacher was after the girl—"

  “You’d a done what? Same as we done. He’s got us by the balls. We don’t jump without word from the prophet. He says shit, we squat and strain. It’s worse than bein’ in the Marines.”

  Unlike his fellow parishioners, Joe Bob Duncan had served his country with honor. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, he’d been first in line at the county courthouse to enlist. As a Marine, he’d seen the worst of it at Guadalcanal. Only upon his return had he discovered that his fellow members of the flock had avoided serving altogether at the command of the prophet. Brother Winchester had proclaimed that the war was an earthly doing and not one worthy of spiritual beings.

  Instead of honor and respect, Joe Bob had received scorn and ridicule for his service. In the end, he’d almost been forced to gather up his wife and children and relocate, but for the intervention of Brother Eustice. Once he’d stood up in front of the congregation, denounced his wicked participation in the war, and begged for forgiveness, Joe Bob had been allowed back into the fold.

  Joe Bob never forgave himself for his cowardly actions. He’d faced the ferocious Japanese without hesitation, but relented to the iron will of the prophet. He’d disgraced himself in front of his wife and children, all in the name of social acceptance. As a reward, he’d been tricked into becoming an accomplice in a homicide and a child abduction and molestation. Where would it all end?

  “It don’t sit well with me,” Charles Ray agreed. “It was bad enough before, with Buck always hangin’ over the prophet’s shoulder. But he owns us now. Poor ol’ Cooter. He drove that girl and the magician’s truck here. He’ll be the one to take the fall if anythin’ goes wrong.”

  “You don’t think Brother Eustice will turn on us, do you?”

  “Nothin’ would surprise me now. My guess is that if any of us gets nabbed, we won’t live long enough to implicate the others. The prophet’s influence runs deep in these parts. Who knows how many of the flock are sittin’ in high places? It seems like he’s got somethin’ on everyone ‘round here, or they’re mesmerized by his sermons.”

  “Just like us,” noted Joe Bob.

  “Yep, just like us,” Charles Ray agreed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cautiously, Buck stood vigil near the truck—not too close, not too far. He followed the commands of the prophet without question. It was not for him to wrestle with uncertainty and moral dilemmas. Those things were for lesser men to quibble over; or greater men, such as Eustice Elijah Winchester, to set the record straight.

  Bang! Buck heard something slam against the side of the truck. Whatever was going on inside, it wasn’t any of his business. Unless the prophet called for his help, he’d remain right where he was.

  The last few days had been exhausting. He’d been summoned by Brother Eustice to embark on their holy endeavor only hours before their departure. It was the way the prophet worked with him. The less he knew, the less chance of dissent. Not that Buck was ever going to dissent. He vowed to follow the prophet into the pits of hell, if need be. It was his only path to salvation.

  Buck McEwen never forgot what Brother Winchester had done for him. He had been lost, on the road to eternal damnation, when the prophet found him. People despised him for the sins of his past. Atonement and forgiveness eluded him. That is, until Winchester stood up for him and offered him salvation. Now he had a family. He belonged. He mattered.

  Buck was disgusted at the way some members of the congregation showed disloyalty to the prophet from time to time. Surely, they’d forgotten what the holy man had done for them. Occasionally, he’d be required to remind them, bring them back into the fold. It was his duty, and he performed it with zeal. It was important. Buck was convinced that, without it, the poor souls would stray so far off the path that they’d be doomed to the lake of fire. Not on his watch.

  He glanced over at the truck. A rhythmic thudding could be heard, keeping time with the slight back and forth motion of the vehicle. Buck thought it was as if the vehicle itself were caught up in the spirit, like those whom the Lord saw fit to speak in tongues at the Sunday services. Buck had never felt the spirit grace him with the voice of the angels, and he hadn’t spoken in tongues, or shook with the seizures that often accompanied those blessed events. He sometimes wished that he’d be granted such a sacred gift, but he understood that, if he bided his time and heeded the words and commands of the prophet, the blessing would come.

  Buck felt bad about the way things had gone down. He knew that some of the others were grumbling right now about the unexpected turn of events. He would have plenty to do in the coming days. It was tough business doing the Lord’s work. Not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

  He’d been delighted when the prophet chose him over the others to accompany him on the previous night to watch the performance of the sorcerer. He saw the disappointed way the others looked at him. Even the sons of the prophet were excluded from such a privilege. Junior had been particularly put out as always. Buck didn’t care.

  He knew why the prophet had chosen him. The others wouldn’t have seen the show for what it was. They’d have been swayed by the extravagance of the performance and not repulsed by its wickedness as he’d been. When the time came to rid the Earth of the demon, he’d be the one to do what the others didn’t have the faith to do.

  Buck felt his stomach turn and took a pinch of tobacco out of the pouch in his pocket. He placed it between his cheek and gums and let the flavor fill his mouth. He fought against the image of the dead man’s face and the blood that soaked the floor of the dressing room. He could still hear the man’s screams, and he hummed to himself.

  His baritone voice singing Shall We Gather at the River drifted out into the warm, evening air. By the second stanza, the revelation that it was that very hymn that had been sung while he cut into the dead man’s torso made him swallow hard. A wad of tobacco caught in his throat and caused him to choke. Buck doubled over and spit the foul contents onto the soft mud, gasping for air.

  Regaining his composure, Buck pushed the horrifying memory of his misdeed out of his mind. The last thing he needed was for the prophet to see him like this and question his resolve. The second to last thing he needed was for any of the others to see him. To them, he must remain a rock, as Peter was the rock for Jesus. It was his duty and his burden.

  Buck glanced over at the truck. The movement had stopped. He thought he heard a strange wailing coming from inside, but he held fast. He could hear the prophet speaking in tongues. If and when the prophet needed him, he’d heed the call. Until then, he would resist temptation. One never knew when the Devil would tempt one’s soul, and a person must remain ever vigilant to remain pure. Buck wasn’t pure, but he would one day become pure again. It had been prophesized.

  Woop! Wee ahh! An unexpected and unwelcome chirp made him jump. He turned toward the road, and through the fading light of the early evening, he saw the flashing blue and red lights of a police car. It was time to retrieve his bolt action Browning from the trunk of his sedan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Unhappy about the situation the men found themselves in but unable to do anything about it, the foursome watched the approaching vehicle with trepidation. The last thing they needed was for the cops to spot the truck.

  “Y’all let me do the talkin’,” said Earl, “and act casual, for Christ’s sake.”

  He looked in Jeremiah’s direction to let his words sink in before turning back to the police car. He waved. The car stopped and the driver rolled down the window.

  “E
vening, Earl, Cooter,” said the officer. The men nodded. The policeman eyed the other two men for a moment. “Ain’t you the Winchester boys?”

  “Yes, sir,” Junior answered. Jeremiah kept his eyes averted and nodded.

  The deputy in the passenger seat hit a button, and the siren chirped a couple of staccato wails as the flashing red and blue strobe lights lit up the area with an eerie glow.

  Cooter jumped and nearly fell over. “Jesus, Clyde,” said Cooter. “You scared me half to death.”

  The officers laughed.

  “What y’all doing out here?” asked the officer in the driver’s seat.

  “We just robbed a bank,” said Cooter. “Got the hostages tied up over yonder.

  Either one of you know how to crack a safe?”

  “Don’t be an ass, Cooter!” the officer in the passenger seat yelled.

  “We’re on my property, Clyde,” Cooter replied. “I need a reason to be on it?”

  “You should tell your friend to be more polite,” said the driver.

  “You know how he gets, Ricky,” said Earl. “What brings you boys out here?”

  “Sheriff Fuller is looking for you.”

  “And how did you know I was out here?”

  “We’re detectives, Earl,” said Clyde. “We figured it out.”

  “You’re what?” asked Earl. “Detectives? Ya’ll been promoted?”

  “We called your home but no one answered, so the Sheriff sent us out to see if there was a problem and to fetch you.” explained Ricky. “Peggy Lou said you took off with Cooter and Charles Ray a couple of days ago. We narrowed it down from there.”

  “What’s the sheriff want with me now?”

  “What’s he always want? He needs you at the station pronto.”

  Earl sighed. Before he could answer, Joe Bob and Charles Ray wandered out of the woods on the opposite side of the police car.

  “Is there a problem, officers?” asked Charles Ray.