by Aiden James
“Of course, I wasn’t there. I had a reading with Kim Wednesday night—remember?”
Oops. I had no idea she was right behind us. She must’ve snuck up, or I guess Justin and I had slowed down. Regardless, her sharp remark spurred my memory, and I recalled Fiona mentioning Tuesday morning that her childhood pal was coming over Wednesday night for a semi-annual card reading.
“Ahhh, yeah…shit. I do remember that now. Sorry,” I told her over my shoulder.
As anyone should know by now, a latent apology could get me a disparaging look—which in this case would be well deserved. But it appeared that only Jackie, Michelle, and Tom gave me the dreaded stink eye. I worried momentarily about what they had overheard from the conversation between Justin and me. The only silver lining in this awkward moment was that Ricky and Tony, along with the Thomas brothers, seemed blissfully ignorant of what had just been discussed as they pulled up the rear of our little army. As for Fiona, she looked deeply worried about something. In fact, if anyone was to ask me, I’d have been willing to bet that she was in private conference with her guides as we prepared to round the corner of the barn to reach the back side, where the folks from Tri-Cities were supposed to be waiting for us.
“Tom, didn’t you say that Ned and Shirley were supposed to meet us outside the barn?”
“That’s what they told me, Fi,” he said, and his tone betrayed his own uneasiness.
“That’s the way I understood their instructions,” added Jackie, just as tense.
Maybe I wasn’t the target of a stink eye attack after all.
“Well, I think one of us should try and call them again, since I get the feeling they’re not here,” Fiona suggested. “Maybe they’re—oh shit! Guys watch out!”
Before I heard the screams behind me, I caught a glimpse of a gun barrel pointed at my chest. A large man wearing a gray hoodie held the weapon. But while everyone around me shrunk down to their knees, I remained standing. Standing stupidly, I should say, with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief on my face.
“What-t…what in the hell are you doing here?” I stammered, taking a step backward as the gunman brought the muzzle closer to my heart.
“Now, what kind of greeting is that, Jimmy boy?” said the man, grinning meanly. “I do believe we have some lessons to discuss, as far as the proper way to greet a true southern gentleman is concerned. Afterward, we shall deliver justice to our southern land’s infidels and the mongrel cohabitating with y’all. Sound good?”
Perhaps. But only to the misinformed and ignorant soldiers already dead. I could almost hear the forlorn confederate souls rising from their unmarked graves less than half a mile away, whistling Dixie in a brisk breeze from the Branner graveyard as darkness fell around us.
Chapter Seventeen
“Why are you doing this?”
Melvin Schoels’ only response to my question was a low, sardonic chuckle as he lowered his hood. If not for the athletic sweatshirt, he would almost appear the same as I’d always seen him, sans the leather biker coat he favors. Dressed in a black bolero hat and matching shit-kickers, he also wore his ridiculous shades. Unless he had some God-given ability to see better at night, the glasses appeared to be a weakness. Even so, they made him look more sinister—especially while pointing his assault rifle just below my neckline.
“Do you know this dude?” Justin asked, incredulously, while still cowering low with everyone else. He and I had dropped our cables and connectors when Melvin told us all to raise our hands above our heads. Why he thought that any of us would be packing heat, or any weapons beyond the nail file Michelle always carried in her purse, is beyond me. But they say the most dangerous criminals are the ones who are extremely thorough. As Justin started to rise to his feet, Melvin immediately swung the rifle’s barrel toward his head. “Hey, no worries, man. Don’t do anything crazy.”
Melvin grinned and made a blast sound with his mouth that was loud enough to startle Justin. My buddy fell to the ground while covering his ears.
“Boy, you are one yella pup, ain’t ya?” taunted Melvin. “I think we’ll start the night’s festivities with a good ole lynchin’. Who here’s present and would be in favor of hanging this piece of shit?”
I heard Jackie and Michelle whimpering behind me, as well as murmurs from the males creeping up closer. I pictured Tony and Ricky getting ready to rush this muscular giant who would be a handful even if he wasn’t holding a firearm. It seemed likely that someone was going to die…and very soon. Even though the initial threat was against Justin, if the rest of us foolishly tried to overpower Melvin, we might all be dead in under a minute. Thus, if we had any chance to outfox this psychopath, it would have to happen at the perfect moment. Considering the incredible dexterity and high intelligence I had witnessed from Melvin, a great deal of luck would have to be on our side if such an opportunity presented itself.
“Ahhhh…there ain’t any takers for my offer?”
“None of us would ever do what you’re asking,” said Fiona, from behind me. I saw her stand up in my peripheral. “You are nothing but a pathetic coward!”
“Why, I am truly sorry to hear you say that, Mrs. Alea,” he said evenly. “We usually like to save the ladies’ executions for last…but I’m quite willing to make an exception for a slap-happy bitch such as yourself.”
He raised the gun barrel from Justin’s head to my wife’s midsection, which quickly became my stomach as I stepped over to protect her.
“Now, there’s a true gentleman, for y’all.” Melvin’s grin grew into a wide smile. “Maybe Jimmy here gets a facelift before we hang Mr. Pierce. How about it, James?”
I heard a terrified gasp from all three ladies as the gun barrel rose back to my chest level and then even higher. When it reached my face, the guys’ murmurs had changed to pleas for mercy…or a mixture of pleas and something else.
Who in the hell is giggling nervously back there?!
“You know, Melvin, I always thought your bass playing mimicked a banjo player,” I said, staring into the barrel’s tip. His pompous smirk faded slightly, as if he were waiting for the rest of what I believed would be my final words on this planet. At least my final words among the living. “That’s pretty cool for some musical styles, I guess. But, I always thought you missed the subtleties of what it takes to create truly good music.”
Goodbye cruel world, and my darling Fiona. I hope you know how very much I love you. I would turn around and speak the final words I have for you, and our boys, but I’m pretty sure a spray of my blood and brains would ruin the message. That’s why I’m focused on keeping this asshole’s sunglass-blocked gaze locked onto mine….
Melvin started to tremble. I was surprised that I had successfully gashed a sensitive nerve so easily. It was a roll of the dice as to what to do next, but our faint hopes had a new spark.
“Being proficient at rehashing the ‘Nashville Sound’ only gets you a guest spot on a rock n’ roll stage, my good man.”
I still worried that my mouth might be blown completely from my face. I had so little to lose, though. If I could talk crazy to this obvious psychopath long enough, maybe someone would drive past this scene along the old deserted highway, and then call the police. I prayed for our useless TCP ghost hunter friends to come out of hiding and to our rescue, although it occurred to me that they were likely dead.
“Is that a fact, you fucktard?” he hissed.
Nothing like my favorite curse word being sullied by Melvin’s hillbilly slang.
“Yes…. In truth, your bass line for Dragging the River sucks ass,” I said, while adding the wry grin that Fiona loathes.
Two can play this redneck game, I decided, and now I searched for the implode button inside this temperamental behemoth. Meanwhile, everybody but Justin began to rise to their feet again. I wished that Ricky or Tom, or even the twins had the guts and determination to make a run for it. Unless someone got away and rounded up some serious help—namely the local sheriff for starts�
��we’d all perish and be added to the growing list of Civil War ghost tour casualties. Out of the corner of my right eye I glimpsed Jackie placing her arms around my wife, who was in near hysterics. Fiona surely believed she’d lose me at any moment.
“Oh yeah?” he said, and I could tell from his nervous smile that he didn’t think I meant it. In fairness, his bass line would do in a pinch. But I could lay down a much better groove in my sleep. “The song itself suuuuckkkks!”
“Well, then I guess that means you’re full of even more bullshit, huh? I thought you said the tune was as good as the immortal Johnny Mercer’s Moon River.
“It is. That’s not bullshit…both songs suuuuckkk!!”
“Really?” I said, trying to recall why we ever bothered giving the gig to this guy without searching harder for the right player for us. “Why in the hell did you join us? Was it because you’re too frigging blind to see, and then got lost on your way to the lame cover band bars along Second Avenue?”
I apparently hit another tender nerve, and he suddenly jerked his sunglasses off. I immediately regretted my latest taunt, and wished he had left his glasses on. His eyes weren’t brown, as I had expected, and the most striking aspect was the distorted pupil in each eye. Even in the dimness, I could tell they were far from normal. The pupils floating within milky irises made him resemble a devilish barn owl—especially with his dark beard.
I wasn’t the only one who gasped in horror.
“For your information, I can see just fine. And in regard to your other insinuations, it certainly wasn’t that I desired to subject myself to your shitty band’s attempt at substandard music on purpose,” he sneered, bringing his face closer to mine. I smelled chewing tobacco…Wintergreen Skoals? Maybe that’s where he got his last name, if it turned out it wasn’t real. ‘Frankenskoals’ would’ve been a more appropriate moniker. “I needed to infiltrate your life to get a better feel for what you fuckers do in your spare time. The television station’s webpage for Paranormal This Week is quite informative. But getting a head start on killing a few folks because you shared NVP’s unpublished plans with your band mates was incredibly fortuitous.”
“So you ambushed our friend, Susan Lee—who was a distant relative of one, Robert E. Lee—like the frigging cowards you and your pussy friends are, huh?” I raised my chin in defiance, and the gloves were off—for better or worse. “You wouldn’t know a fair fight if it bit you in the ass, Melvoid, would you? Good thing the brave men that fought for your Confederacy ain’t alive today, or they’d surely spit in your yellow face!”
I delivered this condemnation as meanly as it sounded. For a moment, I was aware of nothing beyond the fierce pounding of my heart as if it were fighting to escape my chest. I’m sure other organs would’ve liked to jump ship, too, since a gun blast to decapitate me loomed on the horizon. I tried not to think of anything else. If he did shoot me, I’d try to fall forward to give everyone else a head start to run for the woods. Hopefully, they’d scatter to where he couldn’t kill them all. If most of our beloved group could escape, there would soon be an APB released statewide for a certain fugitive, Melvin Schoels.
But instead of firing his gun, he tossed it behind him and began rolling up his sleeves. I guess he intended to beat me to death with his bare hands instead.
“Quick, guys, let’s get him!”
Ricky nearly leaped over Michelle to join me, and looking over my shoulder, I saw that Tom was on his way, too. But the Thomas twins hadn’t joined them. They remained standing where they were, smiling knowingly. Before Tom and Ricky made it to where I stood, the pair had produced assault rifles similar to Melvin’s from under their coats.
“Oh, shit….” I murmured.
“Oh, shit, indeed!” enthused Melvin.
Meanwhile, Jerry and Jason loaded fresh clips into their rifles and pointed the weapons at Tony and our three females who were huddled together. Like three stooges, Tom, Ricky, and I were too stunned by the revelation that the Thomas twins were involved here to effectively prevent Melvin from picking up his gun again. Justin remained prone upon the ground, shaking his head as if he had just realized the same thing.
Those assholes were the ones who were laughing earlier. Damn it all, I should’ve known then what was coming….
“Okay, you guys win,” I said, entirely unsure of what to do next. But at least pretending to give in seemed like the last card in my deck of tricks that could buy a few more minutes. “Once again, I ask what you want from us?”
“Well…I’m going to demonstrate for all the good white folks gathered here that I am not a yellow coward, by beating your skull in with my bare fists. But first, you, Jimmy, are going to assist me in hanging the colored boy.”
I couldn’t believe how matter of fact his response was. It reminded me of the way I addressed a couple of high school kids last week, who were looking for the latest ACT prep books we had in the store. Justin did look up this time, naturally terrified that the thing he had feared for much of the past month was about to happen. Of course, I didn’t give any signal I would cooperate—not until Melvin stepped behind me and shoved his rifle’s barrel forcefully into the nape of my neck.
“The boys have brought a step ladder and a nice thick rope that should work well with that tree over yonder,” Melvin advised, whispering in my ear, but loud enough for most everyone else to hear him clearly. “Jason, my cuz, go and fetch the ladder and rope. And, Jerry, I want you to kindly bring Mr. Pierce over to the tree.”
“Cuz?” I said, while he and I stepped over to the tree. “You guys are cousins?”
“Yep, we sure the hell are!” said Jerry, excitedly. Justin tried to get up and run, as if his dire fear was suddenly transformed into pure adrenaline. But, Jerry was much more athletic than I would’ve given him credit for, and he easily caught Justin before he had a chance to fully stand up and threw him to the ground. Subdued by Jerry’s boot upon his chest, the muzzle from his gun was pressed against Justin’s throat. “We do everything together…barbeques, carousin’, fishin’, and a little huntin’, too. We especially like to hunt and kill you motherfuckin’ ghost hunters!”
“Keep moving, Jimmy, or your dear wife will go first,” said Melvin, when I flinched, as if I was about to turn on him.
I could tell that our entire NVP team was flabbergasted by the betrayal of Jerry and Jason, and surely I wasn’t the only one trying to reconcile their impressive paranormal investigations resume with the reality that it was all a very smooth ruse. Only Justin knew something was terribly wrong about the twins.
In the meantime, I was trying to devise a way to surprise Melvin and somehow wrestle the gun from his hands, as I wanted very badly to blow Jerry Thomas’s smug grin clean off his face. But, then I saw Fiona’s trembling lips as she pleaded for me to hold off trying anything. Why? After all, we were going to die anyway, right? But she mouthed this message twice, and then looked away from me, toward the highway…toward the Glenmore Mansion and the Branner graveyard.
“Jason…you got that ladder and rope, yet?”
“Yeah, Mel…. Just give me a moment, and I’ll have it set up.”
I looked toward the road in the dimness. Our only illumination came from a lone security light atop the barn once the night settled in around us. We would need flashlights in a moment—or our murdering captors would—since the tree’s limbs were hard to detect. Maybe that would buy us more time…maybe not. As for the road? I didn’t see one damned light anywhere, in either direction. We were truly stranded in the middle of nowhere, since apparently no one in Jefferson City traveled much on the old AJ Highway at night.
“Okay, Jason…you keep an eye on our little ghost hunter group while Jerry, Jimmy, and me string this feller up,” Melvin instructed, after Jason brought the ladder over and set it directly below what looked like a thick branch in the sparse light.
The gun muzzle’s pressure against my neck lessened, and I heard Melvin move over to Jerry who was struggling to restrain Justin.
He removed a set of handcuff ties from a pocket in his hoodie. I turned to watch him snap them over Justin’s wrists and pull his arms tightly behind his back. It was at that moment that my buddy crumbled emotionally, and started crying as he begged for his life to be spared. It shredded my heart, and I desperately wanted to save him, but knew if I had any chance at all I would have to wait for a clean opportunity to do so. I’d be dead before I ever reached him if I made a move right then.
“You don’t have to do this!” he cried out, and Fiona echoed his words while Jackie and Michelle sobbed uncontrollably. The rest of the guys were weeping, too, including me. Jason taunted the others, reminding Tom, Tony, and Ricky that their turn to die was coming soon. “None of us will ever tell anyone! I swear, man!! Pleeaasssee!!!”
“Boy, you think this is about wanting to keep a damned secret?” Melvin sounded incredulous, as he pulled Justin over to where the ladder waited. “But don’t worry, son, you’ll be kickin’ and gaggin’ in a moment, and by the time I take a dippin’ break, you’ll just be swingin’ in the wind. Boys, won’t that be a sight at daybreak?”
“Amen!” shouted Jerry over his shoulder.
Jason echoed it as he pointed a small flashlight toward the tree’s lower branches. Once he locked in on a sturdy branch a dozen feet above the ground, he threw the rope he carried over it and then secured the noose.
What was I doing? Aside from choking back angry sobs, I still waited for the right opportunity to make a move. I needed to knock Melvin’s gun out of his hand and somehow retrieve it before Jerry or Jason riddled my body with bullet holes. If he would just come a little closer, I’d have my chance. To further sell a vulnerability cloak over my rescue designs, I tried to appear more distraught and less hateful.