by A. Sparrow
“I hear you,” said John. “These folks you’re going after. I don’t get the feeling at all that there’s any possession involved here. I mean devil worship? Really? They don’t do any of that.”
“Oh?” Jerry jacked up an eyebrow. “You know them that well?”
A touch of panic brushed John. He was talking himself into a corner. “Well, anyone can see … they’re just … kids … messing around, playing music, trying to be unique, you know? Avant garde.”
Jerry scuffed his heel through a pile of sawdust. “Well, I gotta level with you John. I’m out of my comfort level in this job. I have no clue what we’re dealing with. I mean I’ve dealt with everything from ghosts to—”
“Ghosts? You’ve actually seen a ghost?”
“Well, sure,” said Jerry. “They’re a big part of our work. They’re not as common as some people think and they don’t always have any relation to anything human … as far as I can tell.”
“Not human?” said John. “What are they, then, if not souls?”
“Don’t know, exactly,” said Jerry. “Misunderstood. That’s for sure. Just like these twirly things. And that’s why I’m here. That’s why I do what I do. To learn.”
Something chirped overhead. The automatic garage door rose, dry hinges squeaking, revealing first: taupe combat boots, and then black-trousered legs, the muzzles of Uzis and MAC-10s pointed at the ground, photographer’s vests, mustachioed faces, backwards ball caps.
The men flinched at the sight of John and Jerry and raised their weapons.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” spat Jerry, livid. “Get those dang guns out of our faces!”
“Oh crap, it’s just you guys,” said Mac, lowering his weapon. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
A banshee fiddle cry pealed down from the hell house. The men’s eyes fixed; they froze in place like rabbits gone still in the presence of a fox.
Chapter 46: Reunion
They straggled down from the berry patch where John had dropped them, out of sight of any traffic coming up the main road. Ron walked point, his guitar slung low like a rifle. Mal stumbled after him, cradling the aquarium in his arms, his chin clamping down on the slate lid. The women, arm in arm, brought up the rear.
“Need help with that, Mal?” said Aerie.
“S’okay. I got it,” he mumbled, through gritted teeth.
As they rounded the bend, the sharp peaks of Aaron’s house came into view. A thick braid of smoke writhed from John’s chimney beyond.
Aerie found her senses unusually attuned and amplified. Everything caught her attention, from the bobbing ferns to the seeps trickling down the road cuts. Between the sharper edges, the brighter colors, she hardly recognized this vivid new world.
The smoke drew her eye to the clouds. Even they seemed special today, all puffy layers of cotton and silver and charcoal. She couldn’t wait to see how pretty they would look at sunset.
The leaf fall had opened sight lines deep into a forest that had seemed so choked and forbidding in September. Only a few oaks and beeches stubbornly clung to their leaves. The wind kicked up swirls she mistook for squirrels.
It startled her to realize how content she felt. The ennui that had marked her days had somehow been scoured away. She hadn’t felt like this since her first days in Tokyo, exploring parks and soba shops by day, neon canyons by night.
Why not be happy? She had good friends by her side, an admirer at her beck and call, LaFaro’s bass waiting to be played at Aaron’s and her own precious Prescott resurrecting from scrap in the shop of New York’s best luthier. Life was good, for a change.
Moments such as these, when she recognized them, made her slip outside her skull, and take things in a meta sense, etching them into memory, filing them into her scrapbook of good times. Who knew when they could come again?
“That John, dude. He’s something else,” said Mal. “Do you think he believes all that holy roller shit?”
“Probably,” said Aerie.
“At least he’s low-key about it,” said Eleni. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re all going to hell,” said Ron.
Aerie sighed. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Devil worshippers!” said Eleni. “As if ….”
“Is that really what they think of us?” said Sari.
“If they only knew, we worship ourselves,” said Mal.
“Not me,” said Ron. “I worship at the altar of the goddess Sari.”
“Oh go blow it out your bazooka,” said Sari.
With a jolt, Aerie realized that she hadn’t taken her pills. No wonder she felt so weird. She hadn’t seen the inside of her apartment in over a day. At least she didn’t have that jittery feeling she sometimes got when her antidepressants were overdue. She had a solid foundation and friends to buttress her.
She was just as overdue for a change of underwear. Thankfully, she had at least another week to go before her period.
They turned up Aaron’s driveway. Ron, first to the door, did the knocking.
The door flew open.
“What the …?” Aaron looked bemused. “Aren’t you guys a bit early?”
“We had no choice. Junior’s in bad shape,” said Mal, setting the aquarium down.
“So the birdie has a name now,” said Aaron, stooping over the tank. “Jesus, what did you guys do to the poor thing?”
“It was already shrunk when I caught it,” said Mal.
“Come on. Help me get it into the bell jar. While there’s still something left of it.”
They dragged the aquarium in and Aaron pulled on a heat of heat resistant fiberglass gloves.
“Put the tank on its side but keep it covered.” He handed Ron and Aerie each an oblong hunk of window glass.
“What are these?” said Ron.
“Corrals. I’m going to tip that bell jar over. When I slide the top off that tank, you give that sonant no place to go except into that jar. Got it? Oh, wait. Let me get the powder ready.”
He opened a drawer and removed a small jar of grayish-greenish dust. He unscrewed the top and placed several teaspoons into a glass petri dish.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
The sonant tried to cling to the back corner of the aquarium, but as it tipped, had no choice but to come to rest on the glass wall. Aaron pulled the slate back a few inches, then a few inches more. It darted out, pressing into a gap between the tank and Ron’s plate of glass. Aaron plugged the breach with his gloved hand and batted the sonant towards the bell jar with his other hand.
“Mal! Raise the jar!”
The little dust ball ricocheted off the glass walls, rolling like a blob of quicksilver into a circle etched into another thick glass plate and coated with white silicon grease. The heavy glass of the bell jar settled with a clunk, and the sonant was confined. Aaron pulled off his gloves and after making sure the jar was seated in a greased groove, attached a vacuum pump to a valve at the top. The sonant spun over the dish of dust, splattering against the glass, collecting in smears of grease. Gradually, its vortex grew more opaque. Aaron hunched down and studied the thing, a vinyl bird cage cover tucked under his arm.
“Hmm. This one’s spunkier than most. Who knows? Maybe we can stabilize it. Okay everybody, let’s get set up. Eleni, where’s your mandolin?”
“Didn’t bring it. These guys snatched me straight from work.”
Aaron slipped the vinyl cover over the bell jar. He pursed his lips. “Tell you what, El. Why don’t you handle the kithara? There’s someone else coming today, a percussionist. Aerie’s met him. He can spell Mal off the mallets so he can stick to his horn. Maybe that’s good. Gives us a bit more continuity, without all that switching we usually do.” He patted the jar gently and turned away.
Aerie went over to the bass, approaching it with no less thrill and reverence than she had felt the day before. She still couldn’t believe that this was Scott LaFaro’s bass, the instrument on which he had composed ‘
Gloria’s Step’, her all-time favorite jazz composition.
She lifted it carefully out of its case and ran her thumb across the strings. It had kept its tuning well, not that tuning meant anything to Aaron. But old habits die hard.
Aaron sniffed the air. “My, you folks are aromatic.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Sari. “It’s them you smell.”
“Not me! I showered this morning,” said Eleni.
Aaron shook his head. “I hope y’all don’t mind me cracking a window.” He went over and cranked open one of his oddly triangular custom apertures. “Anyone need a drink? I have a feeling this is gonna be a long session.”
“I’ll take a beer … or two,” said Ron.
“Same here,” said Mal.
“Some tea with lemon would be lovely,” said Sari.
“I’m fine,” said Eleni, patting her purse. “I’ve got my water bottle.”
“How about you, Aerie?”
“Um … Do you have any … wine? Some Riesling, maybe?”
“Oh sure. I got some great local stuff. Heron Hill. Be back in a sec. Why don’t you guys warm up? Get the kinks out.”
Ron looked around the room and grinned. “Just like old times. Like we never left.”
Mal stood behind the kithara, his attention seized by something outside the window.
“Holy cow. That’s quite the party our friend John is having. There’s at least a dozen cars down there.”
“Party?” said Sari.
“More like a lynch mob,” said Eleni.
“Oh, old John-John wouldn’t let them hurt us,” said Ron. “It’s nice to have friends in high places.”
“Look at this way,” said Aerie. “We have ourselves an audience.”
Aaron came out a cup of tea on a saucer and a pair of beer bottles seized by their necks.
“Be right back with our wine, Aer.”
“Must be nice,” said Ron. “To believe in something.” He struggled to open his beer bottle. “Ow!” He shook his fingers.
“It’s not a twist off, you goof,” said Mal, tossing him an opener.
“Oh yeah. I’m not used to drinking the fancy stuff.”
“Faith,” said Sari. “It’s just a drug for the masses.”
“Huh?” said Ron.
“I’m with Sari,” said Eleni. “Faith is evil. It justifies wars. Keeps poor people docile. Faith is worse than any demon.”
“So says the alleged demon worshipper,” said Mal.
“It’s not the fault of faith per se,” said Aerie. “I’m one to talk, but if people actually listened what Jesus said, and lived their lives the way—”
“Demons?” said Aaron, emerging from the hall with two glasses of Riesling. “Who’s worshipping demons? I’ll have you know there’ll be no worshipping of demons in this house!”
“That’s not what your neighbors think,” said Mal. “They’re coming to bless us tonight.”
“Oh that,” said Aaron, frowning dismissively. “Yeah. I heard.” He grabbed a lump of rosin off a bookshelf and slid his bow along it.
“Is that what John was going on about?” said Sari. “I thought he meant a wedding ceremony or something like that.”
“Nope,” said Eleni. “It’s an exorcism.”
“Oh brother,” said Ron, fishing in his pockets for the right pick. “Get a clue, Sari, will you?”
“Well, guys,” said Aaron. “Let’s give them something worth exorcising. I’ll start with the drone, you all fall in when you’re ready, just like a regular old production.”
Aaron raised his fiddle to his chin and gave a long swipe, with some nuanced tremolo, and a subtle glissando, lingering on nodes that were not quite notes.
Sari took a deep breath. She sat up on her high stool, hands folded in her lap, eyes closed, posture erect.
A minivan swung up the road and pulled into the driveway.
Aaron lowered his bow. “Hang on, looks like Paolo’s here.”
“Who the fuck’s Paolo?” said Ron.
“Drummer,” said Aerie. “He plays a mean marimba, too.”
“There’s some other guy with him,” said Eleni.
“Oh yeah?” said Aaron. “He must have brought a friend.”
Aerie leaned into the bass and let her fingers touch the strings lightly. The wood had a faint smoky aroma. Was it from the cigarettes in all those clubs, or from the car fire that killed Scotty?
Aaron went out in the hall to greet Paolo and his friend. They bantered for a bit in the foyer before coming down the hall.
Paolo came into the music room, smiling at Aerie and nodding at the others. Behind him walked Hollis.
Hollis Brooks.
Aerie gasped. The endpin started to slide, pushing a small cotton throw rug. The bass slipped from her grasp. She tried to arrest its fall, but to no avail. It crashed and thundered against the floor.
Chapter 47: Marching as to War
The next day a harmful spirit from God rushed upon Saul, and he raved within his house while David was playing the lyre, as he did day by day. Saul had his spear in his hand….Samuel 18:10
The violin’s wail rose like a siren and hung in the air, nasal overtones beating against the fundamental frequencies. Quavers and trills punctuated an otherwise steady drone.
“Jesus!” said one of Mac’s security guys. “It’s like a fucking hyena.” The men sidled into the garage. Rounds clicked into chambers.
John knew the sound all too well. Countless times, its coming had presaged hours-long marathons of noise at the hell house. It had the power to deconstruct Cindy into a quivering mass of panic and rage. Hearing it never failed to set Nigel bawling while Jason celebrated with a giggle. Sometimes, every coyote for miles around would howl in obeisance.
John waited for the other instruments to join in, to add disharmony, or to spin off meandering anti-melodic counterpoint. But then it stopped, re-exposing the ambient sounds it had obscured: the soft chitter of chickadees, the dull roar of a distant lawnmower. This was a false alarm.
Mac’s security detail milled about, confused. They looked to Mac for guidance.
“Praise the Lord,” Mac said, clenching his eyes and shuddering. “Have you ever heard anything so nasty? Lordie! Made my teeth hurt.”
“Can we help you gentlemen?” said Jerry.
Mac chuckled and gawked at the hardware on the work bench. “What the heck you got there, Jer? You playing ghost busters?”
Jerry stood straight, arms folded, and glared.
Mac tried staring back, but had to look away, discomfited. He turned to John. “Um … you got some spare lawn chairs we can borrow? I want to post these guys around the yard, set up a perimeter.”
“All the chairs we have are out on the patio,” said John.
“What about … that one?” said Mac, pointing to a tall, nylon-slung studio chair by the bench.
“That one’s mine,” said Jerry. “Fuck off.”
“My, my,” said Mac. “You got a demon up your butt? Take a chill pill, buster.” He flicked his chin at his security team and they followed him back outside.
Jerry waited until they were out of sight before speaking. “I’m so sorry you and your wife had to get all tangled up with that character. I mean … of all the preachers a nice, young couple like you—”
“Who, Mac?” An attack of embarrassment swept over John. He wondered how much Jerry knew about Mac and Cindy. He had no intention of finding out. “Well, I have to say, he’s been a great preacher for us. His sermons are entertaining as heck, but ….”
Jerry squinted. “You have no idea. Do you?”
“What do you mean? I—”
“I’m just … sorry … how it all worked out.”
John forced a smile, trying to spin the conversation somewhere positive. “Well … you guys would have never come up if it wasn’t for him. We would have been on our own, and I never would have gotten to meet you.”
He sighed deeply. “Um … you’re probably right.
He did grease the skids. It’s just … he’s always been bad news. He and Donnie, they had a rough past. Donnie, at least, overcame his devils. Mac … sometimes I wonder if he’s the one who needs to be Delivered.”
Jerry strolled out to the head of the driveway, hands on hips, gazing up at the hills. He nodded to a couple coming up the walk with tongs and a large bowl of salad. “Nah. There’ll be no trapping tonight. Too much dang commotion. It’s probably spooked the whirlies.”
***
After a thirty minute respite, the drone sounded again, snuffing all conversation among the church folk. The incorrigibly loquacious souls among them soon resumed their chit chat, only to have it interrupted again by cries from the yard, where the hellish music assaulted ears unfiltered by walls or windows.
A murmur of panic swept through the house. People dropped to their knees and prayed. John went from room to room, patting shoulders, squeezing hands, reassuring them that everything was okay.
“You poor dears,” said one woman with gaping blue eyes. “You have to live next to this? With those little boys? I had no idea it was this horrible.”
“You get used to it,” said John. “Don’t worry. This is as bad as it gets.”
“This is worse, John” said Cindy, sobbing. She hunched in an armchair, being consoled by the couple who had brought the salad. “Worse than ever.”
He shrugged and threw up his hands. “What can I say?”
He noticed only crumbs left in the tray of cheese and crackers he had put out earlier. He retreated to the kitchen to slice a baguette and set up some bowls of thyme-infused olive oil for people to snack on. Maybe a rise in blood sugar would alleviate some of the hysteria. Cindy walked in as he was shredding basil and slicing tomatoes. Her eyes were red and smeary.
“What are you upset about?” he said.
“Upset? What do you think I’m upset about?”
“We’ve been through this before. You know the music won’t hurt you. No, you have to play the victim, milk your friends for sympathy.”
Cindy looked shocked. “John! Why are you talking like this? What’s happened to you?”
“I’m tired,” he said, as he sawed through the last of the baguette. “This whole thing is an over-reaction.”
Cindy’s jaw hung slack. “You saw it! That thing. You can’t deny you didn’t see it. It was coming after my children.”