Southern Gothic

by Stuart Jaffe

  “No. Haven’t had to dig through concrete before.”

  Sandra said, “This is going to take too long.”

  They stood around the hole, staring at it like cavemen unable to figure out why their fire went out. Max kept waiting for a solution to flash in his mind, but nothing came. This couldn’t be it. He refused to accept the idea that they were standing atop riches he could not reach.

  “Maybe I can do this,” Drummond said, leaning closer to inspect the hole.

  Max said, “How? You can freeze concrete?”

  “Don’t know until I try.”

  Drummond pulled his arms back, ready to thrust them into the concrete, when Max said, “Wait. Isn’t this going to hurt you?”

  With an incredulous tone, Drummond said, “Of course, it’s going to hurt me.”

  “I mean more than usually. I mean permanently. If you were alive, I’d be worried that it’d kill you.”

  “I don’t know what it’s going to do to me. But we can’t just stand around here staring at this thing.”

  Sandra took Max by the arm and pulled him all the way to the wall. Drummond remained by the hole, cast in the dim flashlights, looking like a weary cowboy staging a bizarre camp scene in the middle of a darkened forest.

  “Wish me luck, Doll.” Drummond’s voice echoed toward them.

  Sandra blew him a kiss. “Good luck.”

  Max wanted to stop Drummond but knew the ghost would not listen unless a good alternative could be presented. Max had nothing to offer. He watched as Drummond jerked his arms into the concrete and cringed at the sound of his friend screaming.

  After a few seconds, the screaming intensified — loud yet trailing off quickly. Max’s mind had a hard time reconciling the dampened sound occurring in a cavernous, echoing gymnasium. Drummond cried out again.

  Max stepped forward, but Sandra pulled him back. She hugged him. Her arms were warm, and against her, Max could feel his own body tremble.

  She kissed the side of his face, and in his ear, she whispered, “Even if you went over there, you couldn’t do anything. You can’t stop him. And if you touch him, you’ll only make his pain worse.”

  Drummond’s screams continued. Max wanted to clutch his ears, to drown out the sound, yet at the same time, he thought it was his duty to listen — to offer that little bit of support when he could do no more.

  And then it ended.

  Abrupt silence cut through. No tapering off of agonized cries. Just sudden quiet.

  Max and Sandra rushed over. They found Drummond floating listlessly nearby. His body slumped over. His arms dangled in the unseen currents of air above.

  Max had to drop to his knees in order to see Drummond’s face. “You there? Are you going to be okay?”

  Drummond groaned and in a weak voice said, “Never better.”

  Max heard harsh scrapping to his left. He looked over and found Sandra shoveling out chunks of iced-over concrete. Max sat back astonished.

  “You really did it.”

  She scooped up another shovelful. “Yes, he really did. Now get up and help me.”

  Smiling, Max grabbed the pickaxe and broke apart the last of the concrete. Soon, they dug into dark soil. Within ten minutes, Sandra’s shovel clanked against something metal.

  The excitement of their goal being so near fueled their energy. Max and Sandra dug furiously until she was able to reach down and remove a small, rusting box.

  Max knelt before the box while Sandra played her flashlight upon it. Even Drummond perked up at the sight of their success.

  The box, no bigger than a fishing tackle box, had a small clasp on the front and no lock. Max flipped it open and pushed back the top. It gave way with a soft whine. They all leaned over to peer in.

  No gold.

  Max reached in and pulled out a piece of paper folded over several times. Unfolding the paper, it opened into a large blueprint.

  Sandra pointed to the paper. “Is that this school?”

  “No,” Max said. “This is Baxter House.”

  Though weak, Drummond managed to point to the bottom corner. “Might be the original. Look here.”

  Checking out where Drummond had indicated, Max saw in the information box that this architect’s blueprints were based upon the specific instructions of Mr. Cal Baxter.

  “This is it. The real thing. And look here. That’s the secret room attached to the study.”

  “That’s a lot of floors underneath it.”

  “Looks like the secret room had more secrets to give. Want to bet that somewhere down there is the gold? Or at least instructions on where to go to get the gold?”

  A familiar voice spoke out of the darkness. “That’d be a good bet.”

  Max recognized Rolson’s ugly tone right away. He turned his flashlight onto the man. Rolson stood with his feet wide apart. In one hand, he held a gun with a bright light mounted on top; the other hand, he held out, palm up.

  With his light blinding Max, Rolson said, “Take your flashlights off me.”

  Max and Sandra complied. It was difficult to argue with a gun.

  “Now, fold that blueprint back up and hand it over.”

  Max took his time folding the paper, trying hard to memorize what little details he could.

  Sandra said, “You know you’re nothing but a pawn to them, right? The Hulls. You get them this gold and they’ll dispose of you. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you. If you’re unlucky, you’ll end up being a magic experiment for them.”

  “We’re all pawns, honey. The Hulls, the Magi, witches, covens — you been here long enough to know that much already.”

  “You’re only a pawn if you let them use you like one.”

  “Give me the blueprints or I’ll show you what this pawn can do with a bullet.”

  Max jumped to his feet. “Everybody calm down. Here’s the map. Go in peace.”

  “Peace? You hurt me. Where was the peace in that?” Rolson snatched the paper from Max’s hand and stuffed it in his trench coat pocket. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he paced a wide circle around them, always keeping his gun fixed on them, growing angrier with every word.

  “You’ve got the blueprints, now. We’re beaten and tired. We can’t do anything more. So, you win. Go. Get your gold.”

  Rolson sneered. “We had peace until you came along. The Hulls, the Magi — sure they’re warring with each other, but it’s a quiet, secret kind of war, it doesn’t flow over into the daily lives of the people of Winston-Salem and Greensboro and the whole Triad. But you come along, and Sebastian Freeman, with your questions and your arrogance, and you disrupt everything. All these years, all I ever had to do for the Hulls was to occasionally bury an arrest or misplace a bit of evidence. Nothing so terrible that I couldn’t sleep at night. Ever since you showed up in Winston-Salem, I’ve had to be on the move. I’ve had to deal directly with witches, falsify reports, and hurt people. I’ve managed to stay in the shadows, keep eyes off of me, but I was there, and now with Freeman and Baxter House and you, this pawn became a much more important piece on the board. So, thank you, you bastard. Thanks for screwing up my life.”

  Max squinted at the blinding light in his eyes. “We didn’t come down here to screw anything up. The Hulls brought us here. They screwed things up for you.”

  “Shut up. I don’t care who brought you here or why you came. All I know is that the two of you have caused me more headaches than an entire lifetime living here. And now let me tell you something — I want out.”

  Max’s head perked up. “The gold — you want it for yourself.”

  “That’s right.”

  Though speaking with a lethargic drawl, Drummond managed to say, “Careful, Max. I’ve heard men talk like this before. He isn’t stalling for time and this isn’t part of his mission. Speeches like this, this guy, he’s building up the courage to shoot you two.”

  Max agreed. The way Sandra clasped his hand tight suggested she had come to the same conclusion.

 
Rolson whipped his head around in spurts as he spoke, disheveling his hair, while all the time maintaining his circular path. “Why shouldn’t I take this gold? They don’t need it. Heck, they don’t even want it. They only care about the stupid chest it came in.”

  “But they’re not going to let you take that gold, and you know it. They’ll hunt you. For the rest of your life, if they have to.”

  Rolson stopped, and the corner of his mouth rose slightly. “Oh, I got that all figured out.” He raised his gun. “And it all starts with you two. Right here.”

  “Listen. We can work a deal. There’s no need for this.”

  Rolson’s face deformed as he tightened all of his muscles. In a low, calm voice, he said, “Burn in Hell.” Then he fired the gun.

  Max saw the flash of the muzzle and thought how bright it appeared in the dark gym. Like a camera flash or a bolt of lightning, it lit up the entire cavernous gym for less than a second. By the time the sound of the gunshot reached Max’s ears, he should have been dead. He even had time to notice that he had not died.

  And in that rapidly passing second, his brain took note that despite all Drummond had been through, he had thrust his ghostly body in the path of the bullet, that doing so would slow down the bullet but not stop it entirely, and that Max should duck. Max did more — he dropped flat, pressing his face against the cold wood floor. Sandra lay next to him, offering him a smile that said simply — I’m not shot.

  Drummond cried out. Not a painful cry but rather a war cry — he attacked Rolson. He tried to, at least. He flew in fast but slammed into an unseen wall.

  Rolson stumbled back from the hit. Licking his lips, he pulled out a necklace with a small bag tied to it. “You think I don’t learn my lessons? I may not be able to see you, ghost, but I know you’re there. This here is a ward against you. You won’t be hurting me ever again. You hear me?”

  Rubbing his head, Drummond said, “Tell this moron I hear him. Tell him anything, so long as he shuts up.”

  But Max had a different move in mind. While Rolson yelled at a ghost he couldn’t see, Max and Sandra scuttled off into the darkness. Holding her hand tight with one hand, he kept the other in front, waving it around in the total darkness.

  They moved slowly. Max could hear Rolson cursing Drummond and laughing at the same time. He had never seen a man go insane before, and he hoped never to see it again — at least, not when the man holds a gun. Max’s hand bumped into something solid and wide. A stage. Like many schools, this one had built a stage at one end of the gym.

  Speaking soft right into Sandra’s ear, Max said, “Climb up.”

  Max crawled up onto the stage and felt Sandra behind. He slid forward until his head bumped a curtain. Finally, something had gone his way. Holding the bottom of the curtain up, he let Sandra crawl under and quickly followed.

  The whole thing had lasted only seconds but to Max, it had felt like minutes. He couldn’t understand why Rolson hadn’t searched for them. As he let the curtain down, however, it became clear — despite the pain involved, Drummond had continued to attack Rolson’s ward. He distracted Rolson, playing on the man’s disjointed mind, and thus, giving Max and Sandra plenty of time to escape.

  If you could drink, I’d buy you a lot of whiskey, my friend.

  Sandra latched on to Max’s hand again, and this time, she led the way off the stage. They bumped into a few chairs, but she found a set of stairs that led them into the far end of the hallway. Straight ahead, they found a door leading outside.

  “Where the hell are you?” Rolson bellowed.

  “Go,” Max said.

  They bolted to the door, slammed it open, and didn’t stop. Max pointed toward the line of evergreens up a short hill. Sandra nodded even as she sprinted ahead. When they reached the trees, they ducked beneath the thick branches and scurried close to the trunk of the nearest one.

  Rolson stumbled through the door, his gun lolling to the side. His breath puffed out in the cold air. He looked drunk and confused as he twirled around, searching aimlessly for them. But Max didn’t think the man to be as lost as he appeared. He may have fallen into a bit of insanity, but that only made him unpredictable, not unable to function.

  With a sudden shift, Rolson stood firm and stared straight into the trees. Max stared back, refusing to move a muscle, promising himself that the man could not possibly see them. Sandra watched, too, also holding still. Neither of them dared to even breathe.

  Throwing his arms out in disgust, Rolson grunted and stormed off to the parking lot. Max heard Sandra exhale and followed suit. They held still until they saw the lights from his car turn onto the main road and disappear.

  As they emerged from the trees, Drummond flew out from the gymnasium. Though dead, he looked queasy.

  “Stop hurting yourself for us,” Sandra said, shivering in the cold.

  Drummond forced a wink. “Who else am I going to hurt myself for?”

  “I mean it. I’m going to feel guilty for long enough as it is.”

  “Sweet of you to say, but you got nothing to feel guilty about. You’re my friends. Besides, it hurts but at least I get to take a jab at the Hulls — well, one of their little minions, anyway.”

  Sandra glanced off into the dark. “That minion is on his way to Baxter House to steal the gold. We’ve got to get going.”

  “Hold on,” Max said. “We’re not going to rush into this blind. We’ve done that enough for one day. It’s going to take us forty minutes or so to get to the house, which means it’ll take Rolson that long as well. That gives us some time to come up with a plan. Good thing with that is — I think I have one.”

  Sandra grabbed Max and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. “Let’s hear it.”

  Chapter 24

  Sandra pulled up against the curb a few blocks away from Baxter House. With the details worked out, the last twenty minutes of the drive had been spent in silence. Only now, as they sat in the cold, Max saw that for Sandra the silence had been one of mounting tension. She gripped the wheel white-knuckle tight and her chin quivered as she stared ahead.

  “I’ll be fine,” Max said. “This plan is a good one.”

  Sandra shifted her body in order to face Max head on. She reached over and took his hand. Her skin felt warm despite the freezing cold surrounding them. “Why are we doing this? Rolson has got to be there already. He probably has the gold. We’ve lost.”

  “Even if he has the gold, it doesn’t matter. We have to go in there. We’ve got to stop him from getting away with it. And we’ve got to get that chest for Cecily Hull.”

  Sandra’s thumb rubbed circles on the back of Max’s hand. “This doesn’t feel like other times. I’m worried.”

  “If we all do what we planned, I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. It’ll work. Besides, Drummond’s already off doing his part. We can’t leave him hanging alone.”

  Sandra looked down at their hands and said nothing. In the dark silence, Max felt her thumb moving over his skin. In response, his fingers danced along her hand. He could feel her fears and desperation all through that sliver of contact between them.

  They had held hands many times in their life together, but this felt different. This tiny connection felt stronger than any other physical contact they had ever shared. It focused all they were about to face, all their thoughts and concerns, all their history and future — all of it wrapped up into one small touch. In the same way that a stubbed toe could be more painful than a broken bone, or that a brush of the lips could be more erotic than a deep kiss, Sandra and Max’s clasped hands brought them closest to each other’s heart.

  Though her body had not moved, Max could tell that tears fell from her eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is it really this plan?”

  “It’s not the plan.”

  “Are you that scared of Rolson? We’ve dealt with tougher.”

  “I know. It’s not that.”

  “Then what? Why are you so upset?”

  With a sniffle, she said, �
��I want to tell you something that I’ve never shared before.”

  “Really? I thought you’d told me everything.”

  “Don’t be like that now. I have an entire lifetime of things that I probably haven’t told you. I’m sure you do, too.” Sandra paused, her brow tight as she prepared herself. “This is about when we got engaged.”

  Sandra exhaled a slow breath. The longer it took for her to speak, the more questions Max’s mind spun off. He couldn’t help it — the thoughts simply popped in his head.

  Had she cheated on him before they were married? Had she gotten pregnant and had an abortion without telling him? Was there some back room deal she made with the Hulls in an attempt to protect him? What could be so terrible, and what did it have to do with now? Was she clearing her conscience because she thought he might die this time?

  Sandra brought her other hand over and held Max’s between her own as if praying through his hand. “After our engagement, when I told my mother the good news, she begged me to break it off. She didn’t like you. No, that’s not true. She hated you. She said she didn’t trust you and that you were no good for me and that you would only bring me pain. Of course, I told her what she could do with her opinions. But then, she said it was more than opinion.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “That night my mother told me something I had never known about her. She confessed that like me, she had gifts. She was clairvoyant.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you serious? She can see into the future?”

  “Something like that. She never would explain too clearly how it all worked. But she told me that she could see things for us and that what she saw was filled with struggle and sadness and pain.”

  “Well, we’ve certainly had our ups and downs. We’ve definitely had our share of those things. But I don’t regret it. Do you? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Sandra’s hands pressed tighter against his. “No. Never. I love you, and I don’t ever want you to think that I would give up what we’ve had.”

  “Then why are you saying all this? What is this about?”