by Londyn Skye
When they were near the bonfire, Duke finally let James go and walked over to the waiting posse of robed men. “Y’all grab y’ur torches,” he commanded them.
Jesse snatched James by the shirt sleeve and dragged him along beside him. “Here!” He shoved an unlit torch into his son’s hand. “Follow Duke’s lead, ya’ hear?”
“Yessa’,” James replied, despite wanting no parts of what was going on.
James watched as everyone began lighting their torches in the bonfire. He could not seem to get his arms to do the same until his father noticed he had yet to comply. “Light it goddamn it!” Jesse suddenly yelled.
James immediately thrust his torch into the flames. He then slowly followed behind his father toward a sixteen-foot-tall wooden cross that he had not noticed earlier in the middle of a dark clearing. Everyone spread out evenly in a circle around the cross as Duke made his way into the middle of the posse. He raised his torch high and began leading in a ritualistic prayer: “For God! For country! For honor! For the purity of our race! For white supremacy!” Duke chanted proudly, thrusting his torch into the air, and pausing briefly in between each phrase to allow his fellow brethren to repeat after him.
James, however, could not bring himself to repeat a word of any of it. Instead, he discreetly glared at his father with disgust, who had become so absorbed in the cult-like ritual that he failed to notice his son’s lack of participation. James knew his father to be a mean-spirited person, but as he watched him march forward and ignite the sixteen-foot cross along with his fellow cult members, he questioned if he truly knew the depth of evil residing within Jesse Adams. As the blaze lit up the night sky, it succeeded in finally taking James’s attention off his father. “For God,” James had heard the ghostly-looking group say during their ritualistic prayer. He wondered how any halfway sane person could ever conclude that desecrating a symbol of God’s only begotten son would ever serve as a way to honor Him.
Once the cross was completely engulfed in flames, Duke once again led them in the very same prayer as before. This time, though, everyone’s right arm and hand were outstretched straight in front of them, angled upward toward the cross. As they held their position, Duke addressed the group again. “We must all rememba’ that nothin’ is more important than maintainin’ the purity of our race and maintainin’ the powa’ and control that our people have ova’ our country! If we do not protect those very fragile things, our people, and the country our people built, may very well be destroyed! So, it is our sworn duty to punish anyone who threatens our mission, our reign as the leada’s of this country, our way of life, our beliefs, and most importantly… our purity! And tonight, we have a special guest who felt the need to violate one of our most sacred beliefs … And I do mean quite literally, violate!” Duke walked over and picked up the praying outcast near the tree and dragged him in his shackles into the center of the circle. “This’n here was caught in the act of rapin’ one of our women! Attemptin’ to dilute the purity of our race with his inferior seed!”
The moment Duke made his accusation, the outcast found the strength to hold his head up. By pure chance, he locked eyes with James. He then slightly shook his head in a manner that was barely noticeable. The slight movement was a clear sign to James that he had used the little strength he had left to profess that he was not guilty of the egregious crime he was being accused of. Upon his silent confession, Duke’s sadistic rant faded away from James’s ears, and he focused instead on the innocence in the outcast’s eyes. They stared unblinking at each other for the longest time. The look in his dark brown eyes began to penetrate James in a way he was not expecting. He felt as though they were like a window into the man’s soul, a window in which James could see the anguish that lingered within it. It was enough to convince him that Duke was about to punish an innocent man.
James was right. The outcast’s subtle head shake was a profession of innocence. The woman he was accused of raping was not a victim at all but was a white woman he had fallen in love with … a white woman who loved him too. He had, unfortunately, been caught by his master making love to her in an unused barn. When asked by his master at gunpoint if he had raped her, the woman tried to interject and confess the truth, but her attempt to explain was trumped by a single word: YES! To save her from ridicule and the legal downfall of her actions, the outcast lied, wanting to take full responsibility for their misgivings. When the woman who loved him attempted to speak again, he silenced her. As the outcast stood there with his master’s rifle in his face, he gazed for the longest time at the woman he loved, speaking to her with his eyes. At that moment, her eyes began to well with tears, because she knew while looking into his that he wanted her to let his lie stand, and to let him unselfishly deal with the consequences alone. He now stood in chains, in the middle of a field, with a sixteen-foot cross burning behind him, ready to face those everlasting consequences, truly feeling helplessly alone. Little did he know, though, that simply by the innocent look in his eyes, he had won the sympathy of a young man, who suddenly became overwhelmed with the need to save him in return.
Duke began marching his innocent prisoner toward the tree where his noose was waiting for him. Before they ever took a step, though, James began trying to conjure up the bravery to halt their unjustified execution. I gotta say something! Say something! Anything! Stop this! Save him! rang loudly over and over again in his head. But onward Duke marched while James struggled to find the courage to force a single word through his vocal cords.
After finally willing his legs to move enough to follow behind them, James began eyeing the knife on Duke’s hip. Grab his knife! Stab Duke! Cut the noose! Stop this! Save him! he internally yelled at himself as his thoughts became more erratic. But again, he did nothing but stand there and watch as a cloth bag was placed over the victim’s head.
James’s eyes then drifted to the pistol in his father’s holster. Just grab it! Shoot Duke! Shoot them all! Stop this! Save him! James continued to scream at himself as he became more desperate. But still, he stood there like a statue, decorating the ground beneath his feet as the noose was lowered and tightened around the outcast’s neck.
Two men stood in the darkness prepared to hoist their intended casualty up by the time James finally found the courage to object, but unbelievably it was Jesse who spoke up before he could. “What the hell’re y’all doin’?” he barked, just as James opened his mouth to object to their lynching.
“What the hell does it look like?” Duke replied.
Jesse turned his attention to the two men holding the rope. “Y’all turn that damn rope loose.”
Duke turned his attention toward the two men too. “Hoist ’em up!” he commanded.
“I SAID, TURN THE GODDAMN ROPE LOOSE!” Jesse yelled.
The men pulling the rope immediately stopped. The beating in James’s heart began to settle. He wondered if his father had finally grown a conscious in the middle of it all, or perhaps recognized the innocence in the victim’s eyes the way he had. Either way, he felt like he could finally breathe again.
“What the hell is y’ur fuckin’ problem?!” Duke turned and asked Jesse.
“This nigga’ done defiled one of our own! And yet all ‘a y’all think hangin’ ’em is enough to make ’em pay for what he did! One snap ‘a his neck and his life is ova’! Hardly no pain! No sufferin’! What the hell makes you think he deserves to get off so easy, when for the rest ‘a her life one of our women is gonna rememba’ this sick son of a bitch violatin’ her?! She’ll have nightmares ‘a him shovin’ himself inside ‘a her day afta’ agonizin’ day! And all you fuckers have the audacity to give ’em a death as quick and easy and torture free as this?!” He turned in a circle and looked at each one of his counterparts in disgust. Outside of the symphony of crickets and the crackling fire, there was silence. The look on everyone’s faces spoke volumes about the impact of his words. Jesse then turned to the two men in the background still clutching the rope. “Now I said … Turn! That
fuckin’! Rope! Loose!”
The men immediately dropped it. Jesse briefly scolded them with his eyes for taking so long to follow his commands and then turned around to address everyone else again. “If one of our own has to suffa’ for the rest ‘a her life…” He snatched the cloth sack off the alleged rapist’s head. “Then I’m gon’ see to it that this som’bitch suffa’s for the rest ‘a his too,” he sneered while staring coldly at his victim.
A sickening cheer of encouragement erupted from the entire posse. James, in turn, began to tremble all over again while fresh tears surfaced in his youthful eyes. The temporary peaceful beat of his heart resumed its chaotic pace. He took slow steps backward to distance himself from the crowd, wanting more than anything to find the courage to run, or at the very least hide and shield his eyes from whatever tragedy was about to occur, but Duke would not let that be. Out of the blue, he snatched James by the arm. “Where the hell you think you goin’, you sissified fucker?” Duke then dragged him back into the crowd of his fellow cheering Ghost Riders and held on tight to his arm, just in time to watch his father begin to deliver the twisted justice he thought was fitting for the alleged crime.
Jesse first spat in his victim’s face, took the rope off his neck, and tossed it to the two men who were originally holding it. “Y’all cut that rope into four pieces,” he commanded them. They pulled out their pocketknives and began slicing it accordingly while Jesse retrieved four metal spikes from his wagon. He then hammered them into the ground eight feet apart in the shape of a square. “Lay ’em down and tie his arms and legs to them posts,” he further instructed his brethren.
What’re you doin’, pa? What’re you doin’? What’re you doin’? Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Please! began running through James’s mind while nearly hyperventilating from the unsteady rhythm of his breathing. All the while, his father’s victim was being laid spread-eagle on his back. His hands and legs were then bound tightly to each spike. Now lying there, unable to move, fearing the sort of torture he was about to face, the outcast, as well as James, began to wish his life had already ended hanging from the tree.
I should grab a knife. Cut ’em loose! Grab a knife! Cut ’em loose! Grab pa’s knife! Cut ’em loose! I need to help him! Please God! Help him! Somebody! Anybody! Please!
Jesse walked over to his wagon and pulled out a large hunting knife. His audience watched eagerly as he made his way back over to his awaiting victim. He stepped over his body, straddled him, and then leaned down near his face. “I’m gon’ see to it that you pay for every minute you spent forcin’ y’urself inside ‘a that woman, you hear me boy?” he whispered in the outcast’s ear with his knife pressed firmly into his neck. “You gon’ learn the true meanin’ of sufferin’ t’night, nigga’.” As Jesse stood up straight again, a sinister smile crept onto his face as his method of vengeance began to excite him.
Anticipation of Jesse’s barbaric show caused Duke to break out in a euphoric cackle. As he laughed, he gripped his hand tighter around James’s arm to be sure that he did not miss a second of his father delivering so-called justice.
In the excitement of it all, Duke could not feel how hard James was trembling, nor did he notice the tears welling in his eyes. Despite his desire to run, James stood there motionless with fear pulsating through him in waves. The longer James was forced to watch, the quicker he began to feel his senses failing him. He could not get his mouth to form a single word. He could suddenly no longer feel Duke’s hand clutching him tightly. He could no longer hear his father’s words, the continued cheering, or the firing of pistols into the air. Through the blur of waiting tears in his eyes, all James could do was stare at the slave whose facial expressions reflected extreme fear, misery, and despair … and all of that before the torture had even begun.
I should cut the ropes! Take Duke’s pistol! Shoot my fatha’! Shoot ’em all! Help him! Save him! Stop this! Save his life! Why you doin’ this, pa?! Please Lord make him stop! Why can’t I move?!
Amid trying to will himself to intervene, James watched in what seemed like slow motion as his father gripped the outcast’s hand and cut away one of his fingers: the punishment Jesse thought was necessary for using it to caress a woman who meant everything to him. When the torture began, so too did an eruption of tears from James, along with an eruption of cheers from the monstrous gang around him. Not caring an ounce about the mental and emotional damage he was causing his sixteen-year-old son, Jesse continued to cut away his victim’s fingers one by one. As all the Ghost Riders’ celebrated the dismembering of an innocent man, the slave’s guttural screams were shattering James’s ears, all while his father’s savagery was shattering the innocence of his youthful soul. Never had James felt more like a coward than at that moment, standing idly by, watching his father literally and figuratively reduce a man to nothing. Despite it, he continued to dare himself to object.
I should cut the ropes! Take Duke’s pistol! Shoot my fatha’! Shoot ’em all! Help him! Save him! Stop this! Save his life! Why you doin’ this, pa?! Please Lord make him stop! Why can’t I move?!
Still unable to force his body to comply with the urgency of his internal demands, James simply stood and watched as his father cut his victim’s tongue away: his punishment for kissing the woman he loved. James tried to turn away as he sliced it out, but Duke was quick to readjust his view. He wanted to be sure that his psuedo-nephew learned the sort of things that white men needed to do to protect their superiority … the sort of things that would be expected of him in years to come.
I should cut the ropes! Take Duke’s pistol! Shoot my fatha’! Shoot ’em all! Help him! Save him! Stop this! Save his life! Why you doin’ this, pa?! Please Lord make him stop! Why can’t I move?! James continued rambling to himself while his father continued to joyously dismember his victim. With every slice of his blade, James felt his spirit being slashed to pieces along with it.
Cut the ropes! Save him! Duke’s gun! Save him! Shoot my fatha’! Save him! Shoot ’em all! Save him, save him, save him, save him! GODDAMN IT, WHY CAN’T I MOVE?!
As if he had not humiliated and mutilated his victim enough, Jesse sliced the outcast’s pants away. In one swift motion, he then cut off the portion of his anatomy that had been inside of a woman who desperately loved him. He threw the severed appendage to the ground and spat on his dying victim again. Duke finally released James and ran toward the fire along with the other Ghost Riders, shouting like hysterical madmen, celebrating the grand finale of the outcast’s persecution. Duke and Jesse then doused the outcast’s body in kerosene, picked him up, and tossed him into the bonfire. When he landed, a fireball erupted along with an explosion of cheers from everyone watching on. Every member of the secret society patted Jesse on the back like a hero, and then gathered around to watch their victim flail in the intense flames, proudly listening to his horrifying shrills as the fire slowly drained him of his remaining life.
As James watched the outcast’s life fade away, he suddenly lost control of his bladder. Despite being soaked in his own urine, he stood there paralyzed, unable to run away from the army of monsters rallying around their devilish ringleader: a man James no longer wished was his father. In the span of fifteen minutes, the atrocity he had witnessed at his father’s hands had done instantaneous irreparable damage to James’s young impressionable mind. He could not think. He could not talk. He could not even feel fear coursing through him anymore. He was simply too far lost in a black hole of emptiness to bring himself back to full consciousness of his surroundings.
James stayed there frozen in his world of emptiness until his father suddenly snatched him by the hair again. He ushered him into the darkness of the woods and pinned him against a tree with his bloody hand gripped tightly around his throat. He squeezed harder until his son’s eyes began to water, and his lips began to turn light purple. After suspending James on the edge of unconsciousness, Jesse eased his grip to allow him to breathe. He pulled his gun from his holster, and began tapping it aga
inst his son’s head. He then leaned in so that he was only inches from James’s face. “If you eva’ refer to Lily as y’ur friend again in my presence, I swear ’fore God I’ll make you watch me chop every appendage off her body one piece at a time. I’ll barbeque her ass in that fire pit and dance around ’er while she screams and squirms her way to a slow death just like that no-good nigga’ ova’ yonda’.” He cocked his pistol. “You unda’stand me, boy?!” he snarled through gritted teeth, his blood-spattered face just a hairsbreadth away from his son’s.
A waterfall of tears cascaded down James’s face when he blinked.
“DO YA’?!” Jesse yelled, gripping his son’s throat hard again.
James finally managed to nod after his father loosened his grip. “Y-y-yessa’,” he said trembling, as tears continued to roll down his cheeks.
Jesse then grabbed his son by the back of the neck and forced him to walk through the sea of celebrating euphoric madmen. Some were on horseback firing their guns in the air, praising Jesse for delivering justice in a way that made for their twisted version of fine entertainment. Jesse ignored it all, however. He was more focused on ensuring his son understood full well what would become of Lily or any other Negro he ever proclaimed as a friend. Just in case he had yet to get that message accross, Jesse marched James toward the bonfire and gave him a front row view of what remained of the man who had broken one of the sacred Ghost Rider codes.
With his father tightly gripping his neck, James was forced to stand feet away from the bonfire and glare at the bubbling remnants of a human body, all while its stench stung his nostrils. The smell of the outcast’s burning flesh began churning James’s insides and left him fighting to keep the contents of his stomach down. While trying desperately to maintain control, a piece of wood suddenly crumbled underneath the outcast, causing his body to shift in a way that it was now facing James. Those same soul-piercing eyes were wide open and, once again, staring right at him, but this time surrounded by blistering skin. Suddenly, though, those eyes were replaced by a pair that were far more familiar to James. His mind had played the cruel trick of replacing the victim’s face with Lily’s. In an instant, the fight to hold on to the contents of his stomach was over. James dropped to a knee and vomited violently. When he had the strength to stand again, Jesse backhanded him in the face for showing such weakness and embarrassing him in front of his fellow Ghost Riders.