Southern Ouroboros

by Matt Kilby

  The man who answered divided his attention between the three of them before fixing it on John, who was closest.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  John stared before he answered. “I’m looking for a pastor named Thomas Meadows.”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t think he has a church in this parish.”

  “He’s supposed to live here,” John said with something in his voice Vick couldn’t identify. If he didn’t know better, it sounded like fear.

  “I’m sorry,” the man shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

  “He’s pastor of this church,” John insisted, though it was clear he was wrong.

  “No, sir. That would be me.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Brandon Marshall. If you need help—”

  “Is there a man in your attic?” John interrupted.

  “A man?”

  “His name’s Eric Vanger.” Vick said. “If he’s here, I need to see him.”

  Pastor Marshall seemed sympathetic, and Vick was sure Eric was inside. He thought the pastor’s sigh meant surrender but glanced to John and Carly as if unsure.

  “Give me a minute,” he told them and closed the door.

  As soon as it shut, John turned to them.

  “Something’s wrong. That is a different preacher.”

  “Does it matter?” Vick asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Every time I hear that,” Carly said, “I get worried.”

  “Me too,” John said before the pastor opened the door.

  “Come in,” he told them. “I’ll take you to your friend.”

  John followed first and then Carly. Vick stood in place as if he could change his mind, though he lost that option when he told Maribeth he would bring Eric home. He stared into the pastor’s face, hoping he would say it was okay to wait outside, but the man didn’t say a word. Beyond him, Carly and John watched from the small living room.

  “It will be over soon,” John said.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  The cowboy shook his head. “This is your last chance to tell your friend goodbye. You’d deny him that to spare yourself pain? It’d haunt you the rest of your life.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be much longer now I’ve met you.”

  John shrugged. “Suit yourself, but if you stay, you’re a coward. As many things as I’ve seen in you, I never thought you that. Shut the door, pastor, and show us to your attic.”

  The man looked at Vick again and did what the cowboy said, almost closing the door before Vick stuck his foot in the jamb. He pushed inside with a sigh and waited for the pastor to walk past them to a hallway. In silence, they followed with Vick last, his feet not as convinced as his mind. He kept up until they turned a corner and stopped at a closed door. Pastor Marshall opened it on a spiral staircase leading up.

  “Your friend came to me broken,” he told them. “I did what I could, but he suffers. He needs help beyond what I can provide. My advice is to find him professional treatment.”

  “There is one way to help him,” John said. “Every part of you will resist because you’re a good man, a holy man, but it is the only way.”

  “What way is that?”

  John opened his duster to show the revolver at his hip. Pastor Marshall’s eyes flashed wide, his mouth open as he stepped back but found a wall in his way. He pressed against it as if trying to push through the plaster. He glanced at Vick and then past him as he considered running. Vick wondered what John would do if he did, if the way this happened all the other times involved the murder of a minister. Just in case, he stepped to his right to block the way. As he did, John let his coat fall closed and put his hand on the pastor’s shoulder.

  “Come with me. I want you to know this is the right thing to do.”

  “Nothing will make me think that,” the pastor shook his head.

  “Come,” John put his foot on the bottom step. “All of you.”

  No one argued or lingered behind. They followed him into the attic, Vick last again, but he gave up finding a way out. At the top of the stairs, he stopped beside John and avoided looking up. When he did, he found his best friend sitting on the edge of an inflatable mattress with his arms around his knees. His face was worn, his eyes tired, though neither were as tortured as the pastor implied. Instead, Vick saw a smile behind them as they moved from him to John.

  “Vick Hafferty and John Valance together again. That must mean the end. Or is it the beginning?”

  “One and the other,” John took out the Godstone. Its dark face glowed gray, Eric watching with sad resignation before returning his attention to the cowboy’s face.

  “I don’t need it anymore. I never did.”

  “You always figure that out late, Wolgiss. After wasting your fire on Pine Haven—all that rage cooling to ashes.”

  “Not there,” Eric shook his head. “I knew in Africa there was nothing I could do but surrender and let Sagin have his way. So I did and won.”

  “Won?” John cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

  “You didn’t notice?” Eric squinted. “Even in front of your face?”

  “The pastor,” John nodded. “Why does he matter?”

  “His name is Brandon Marshall.”

  “He told me. I don’t see the significance.”

  “You won’t when I tell you he grew up in Creek Hollow either, though then people called him Tuck.”

  Vick noticed the pastor’s wince as Eric continued.

  “He was a bully who spent his idle hours torturing a boy named Grady Perlson.”

  The cowboy’s head turned at the name. Any reaction on that blank face caught Vick off guard, enough he didn’t realize he recognized it too. The prisoner at Starks, the one Eric shot outside the sheriff’s department the day Pine Haven burned. The man who left Wolgiss inside him.

  “Why is he here?” John asked with an expression Vick couldn’t decide showed confusion or fury.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Eric shrugged. “He wasn’t any change I intended, but I don’t think he was mine.”

  “Then who?”

  “I wouldn’t think Sagin,” Eric said, “which leaves Grady.”

  “He never let him live before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. The question is what you’ll do.”

  “Me?”

  “He’s an anomaly. Misplaced in time. He should be dead, but there he stands. You won’t fix that?”

  “It isn’t what I do,” John said.

  “It isn’t?”

  “All the men I killed I’ve killed before. I follow the footprints I left the last time because the stone requires it. I never killed a Brandon Marshall or a pastor, so I won’t.”

  “Wait,” Pastor Marshall held out his hand. “I’m supposed to be dead?”

  “Killed by Grady with a pocketknife the night his father died,” Eric said. “Isn’t that how you heard it?”

  John offered a distracted nod, lost in his thoughts.

  “Heard from who?” the pastor asked.

  “A man named Sagin,” Eric told him. “At least, that’s what he calls himself.”

  “The two of you might as well be talking another language,” Vick scowled. “This guy should be dead because someone named Sagin said so, but his name isn’t Sagin. My friend is stuck in the middle. Let him go or kill him, but don’t torture him.”

  “If it was that simple,” Eric said, “I’d set him free to go raise his daughter, but I can’t. He made a choice when he killed Grady, and this is the consequence. You knew that.”

  “I hoped I was wrong.”

  “You weren’t,” Eric said. “And you aren’t wrong about what happens next. Every cycle has its end. This is mine. I’m ready to die, but I wish I could give your friend back.”

  “If you’re ready then,” John drew his revolver and held the stone in his other hand.

  “I only ask one
thing.”

  “What?”

  “A few minutes alone with Vick.”

  John’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say a word.

  “He deserves a goodbye,” Eric explained. “Eric too, after everything they’ve sacrificed.”

  “You’re up to something.”

  “Will you intervene? Stack the deck for Sagin despite swearing you wouldn’t?”

  The cowboy holstered his revolver.

  “Five minutes,” he turned to the stairs. “Then I’ll do what I came for.”

  “Fair enough,” Eric glanced from Carly to the pastor. They took the hint and followed the cowboy down. When the door shut, Eric regarded Vick with a sad smile.

  “There isn’t much time,” he whispered and stood from the mattress, coming closer, though Vick matched his steps, his heading backwards.

  “Then show me Eric so I can tell him goodbye.”

  “Shut up and listen,” Eric barked.

  Stunned, Vick nodded.

  “You haven’t processed much, but you need to focus on one thing. You can save Suzanne. Repeat that in your head with every thought. If Tuck Marshall can survive, so can she.”

  “She dies.” The weight of the words leaked through Vick’s feet.

  “Not if you listen. Find a way to stop it.”

  “Why don’t you tell me where to find her?”

  “I don’t know where she is now, only where she’ll be, but it won’t do you any good until she’s there. In the meantime, you can only wait and be ready.”

  “This is because of you.”

  “It is and I’m sorry. As tough as it is, you have to listen, because if you don’t, this will happen again. The things you’ve been through are horrible, but you can stop them.”

  “If I tell you I’ll try, can I talk to Eric?”

  Eric dropped his head in defeat but nodded. He went back to the air mattress and sat.

  “Then I will.”

  Eric closed his eyes and sat still. The moment passed like a chill, and when gone, his eyes opened. They lost their confidence, watching him with a weak tremble he couldn’t control. He appeared feverish, the worst Vick had seen him, including in the hospital with his knee hanging on by a miracle.

  “You came for me.”

  “Of course,” Vick gave up his safe distance, going to sit beside him.

  “I wish you stayed home and lived your life.”

  “I decided a life without you wasn’t much of one at all.”

  “Tell me about Maribeth. About Alice. Tell me about my daughter.”

  “She’s perfect,” Vick smiled. “I would have thought with half of you in her, she was bound to turn out ugly or stupid, but she makes the world turn. Maribeth is a great mom, but I don’t think there was any doubt she would be. Suzanne moved in to help—”

  “I’m sorry,” Eric met his eyes. Vick suspected all the things he didn’t want to know lived in his sad stare. He held up a hand and hoped it was enough.

  “You don’t need to tell me that. You never did. Even when you thought about killing me.”

  “Maybe I should have,” Eric wept.

  “What?” Vick raised his eyes as footsteps approached downstairs and the door clicked open. Five minutes had gone, but he needed more, even if every word Eric said stung that bad.

  “I’ve seen the things you’re going to do. They run through my head like memories. Killing you would have been a mercy.”

  “What do you mean?” Vick asked. Behind him, John’s boots mounted the staircase.

  “I understand as well none of it’s your fault.” The sad smile returned. Vick didn’t like it any more this time.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You will,” Eric assured him, the cowboy more blunt.

  “You’re Wolgiss. Or you will be when you touch the stone.”

  “Wait,” Vick jerked his head to look at him. “What?”

  “Its power will change you,” John continued, “and that change will allow you to live for centuries. You’ll see this version of civilization collapse and decide what takes its place falls short. None of the millions of lives born because of what was put into motion last summer will measure up to what you lost along the way, so you’ll try to change it. Your only chance will be to use the stone, which is how you end up falling back through time to eventually become a voice inside a prisoner’s head.”

  “Grady Perlson,” Vick said.

  Eric stared at his feet. “As much as I resisted, I didn’t pay attention to what he showed me. All the bad dreams were memories, but not mine. They were yours. Pete and your dad. Suzanne. I felt his love for them and regret. When I realized the truth, I let him have control. These last days are the closest I’ve ever been to you. I couldn’t ask for a better goodbye.”

  “No,” Vick shook his head. “If I’m him, everything that happened is my fault. Those people dead, my dad—I’d never do that.”

  “Never is a word no man should use until he dies,” John approached. “You destroyed Pine Haven once, your father an unintended victim to the chaos you attempted to bring to the past. To your credit, you refused to repeat your mistake, so someone took your place. He didn’t want to find out what happened when the wheel stopped turning.”

  “Who?” Vick demanded.

  “Sagin,” John answered. “We’ll go see him when we’re finished here.”

  “You have to kill the past before the future comes,” Eric muttered.

  “Indeed.”

  Vick held up a hand. “There has to be another way. If I’m Wolgiss and somehow here and inside Eric, maybe I can convince him to leave. He can possess me the way you possessed yourself.”

  “I didn’t talk myself into it. I put a bullet in my own brain.”

  The thought hitched Vick’s breath. All he had left was to bargain. “Your family was gone, but his just started. He’s barely seen his daughter.”

  “I never met mine,” John unholstered his revolver. “I’ll make my choices, you’ll make yours, and here we’ll stand, arguing over consequences.”

  “You’re letting the pastor live.”

  “Will you trade his life to save your friend?” John glared. “I agreed to spare the pastor because I’ve never killed him. I’ve killed this man plenty of times with your soul in him. Always here, always now. Nothing you say will stop me, so say goodbye.”

  “Eric,” Vick choked on the word. “What am I supposed to tell Maribeth?”

  “You’ll never see her again, but that’s okay. You can only do what you’re meant to.”

  “Are you ready?” John dipped his hand into the bag for the stone. He stepped forward to put his gun to Eric’s head. Vick trembled but couldn’t force himself to look away. He thought it was because Eric watched him, but even when his eyes closed, he waited to see them open again.

  “I’m ready,” Eric said and met Vick’s eyes a final time. “Remember.”

  The gunshot left Vick’s ears ringing, but he couldn’t do more than watch Eric’s skull bleed. He thought about Pine Haven and all the buckshot he fired into Grady Perlson. Arkin, Mack, and Jake had emptied their service revolvers. He swore in his quietest moments he saw the son of a bitch heal, but that didn’t happen in the pastor’s attic. Eric was dead, and it took his legs from under him. He stumbled to the only chair in the room and buried his face in his hands for a frustrated scream. Footsteps followed and the pastor and Carly came back, their faces wearing a matching shade of shock.

  “What did you do?” Pastor Marshall couldn’t muster any authority to his voice.

  “What I said I would,” John holstered the revolver. He dropped the stone into the messenger bag and walked to stand over Eric’s still form. “What I always have.”

  “Here?” the pastor’s eyes widened. “In my house? This parsonage is owned by the Creek Hollow Baptist Church. How do I explain this?”

  “You won’t,” John told him. “We’ll take him with us.”

  “And do wha
t?” Vick asked.

  “Whatever you want. We can bury or burn him. The swampland here will hide bones so they’ll never be found.”

  “We can’t take him to his wife?”

  “It will invite questions,” John shook his head.

  He was right. Vick tried to imagine what Arkin would say about him riding into town with his best friend’s corpse in the trunk of his new car.

  “What did we do before?”

  “We sank him in the same place where he once waited for a local boy named Henry Perlson. A research facility sits there now, but it seemed appropriate.”

  “You’re talking about Orion.” Pastor Marshall appeared grateful for an excuse to take his attention off the dead man.

  John nodded. “We need to go somewhere first.”

  “Sagin,” Vick said.

  He nodded again.

  “He’s responsible for everything that happened to Pine Haven?”

  “More or less.”

  “Good,” Vick said. “I have plenty I want to say to him. I’m sure I’ll have more after we take care of Eric.”

  “I’ve been listening for sirens,” Carly spoke up. “That thing sounds like a cannon, so they should be here by now.”

  “This is the stone’s business,” John bent over Eric, lifting the sheet to cover him. “No one will ever know what happened here.”

  “No one,” Vick echoed as he went to help. He squatted to tuck the sheet around Eric’s head, letting his hand linger on his friend’s face. If he really was Wolgiss, he was responsible for this, but according to the cowboy, he wasn’t alone.

  “If I’m Wolgiss, then who the hell is this Sagin?”

  The cowboy sat back with his elbows on his knees and studied Vick’s face. Vick was prepared to argue they were too far down the rabbit hole for anything to surprise him, but he didn’t have to. John took a breath and answered the question as plain as the rest.

  5

  Fight hard and I’ll help you meet who’s really in charge, the note said, and Joe made it his mantra. He gave it as much head space as Brad and Elaine, keeping the paper beside his bed. If there was a chance of going home, this was it. If not, he would at least find out why he was there.