The Truth Circle

by Cameron Ayers

  The combination of John’s voice, the cadence of his chant and the finger-drumming had a drone-like quality. Lamar found it oddly soothing, like ASMR relaxation. His shoulders slowly started to sag. That made Lamar’s discomfort from sitting seiza, with his legs under him, all the more acute. He could already feel the pins-and-needles sensation that told him his legs were going numb.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Lamar could hear another voice joining in the chant. He looked to his right and through the swirling mist he could just make out Coop, who was mimicking John’s chant. The harmony between John’s potent baritone voice and Coop’s higher-pitched tenor enriched the experience, even though Coop had to pause frequently to catch his breath.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Lamar stared at the flames creeping up from the interior of the funnel. There was something indescribable about the way they moved and shifted in the haze of steam. It was almost like they were dancing in time to the chant. He was starting to feel light-headed. Lamar raised his hand to rub his eyes; it felt like his hand was made of lead. He no longer felt his legs going to sleep. In fact, he couldn’t feel his legs at all.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Lamar basked in the caressing warmth of the steam. He could feel his head start to nod in rhythm to the chant but was powerless to control it. His eyes closed and his mind began to wander.

  “Heya-heyo.”

  He felt impossibly light, like he was floating. No teepee, no fire, no Lamar. Only that floating sensation.

  Lamar’s eyes shot open. He was back in the teepee, right alongside the others. He involuntarily shivered, despite the heat. He must have nodded off for a moment.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  What was that? He’d felt so peaceful, so free, so light. He was 16 again, floating on his back at the YMCA pool, watching the clouds lazily float by. And then a sudden wave of darkness, empty and all-consuming. Lamar realized his heart was jackhammering. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Lamar concentrated on the chanting, trying to remember that remarkable sensation of floating. His heart rate slowed. Before he knew it, he was breathing in time to the chant.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  The steam’s heated embrace caressed him lovingly. Lamar welcomed the sensation.

  “Heya-heyo.”

  It was coming again. Lightness. Floating.

  Beverly came to with a start. She looked around, momentarily disoriented. Everyone was still there; or at least, she thought they still were. It was so hard to see through the steam. She could still hear their guide chanting.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  She mentally chided herself for nodding off like that. She could just imagine how smug the rest of the group would act if they’d seen her drift off like some blue-hair who hadn’t gotten her afternoon nap. She wouldn’t give these brats the satisfaction.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  It had been such a strange dream, too. She was 36 again, back in the Hamptons on vacation with her second husband and their daughter. Little Darcy had begged her to go parasailing. It had seemed scary at first, as the wind lofted them higher and higher, with only a narrow bench and a metal brace bar between them and certain death. But once they’d reached 400 feet, the winds calmed, and Beverly was struck by how serene it seemed. While Darcy went on and on about how tiny everything looked, Beverly put her arm around her and basked in the wonderment of this one, perfect moment.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  But the dream had been interrupted by something. An overwhelming sense of isolation, as though she were cut off from the world. Beverly could feel a migraine coming on. Her head was throbbing in time with the chant, the kind of pounding headache she always had the morning after she …

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Beverly could feel herself getting dizzy. Her eyelids drooped and then snapped shut. It was happening again, and as before, she was powerless to stop it. That chanting voice beckoned to her younger self, asking if she and Darcy wanted to take another ride. And she answered eagerly in the affirmative. Beverly could feel the bottom drop out of her stomach as they rose higher and higher into the sky, Darcy’s little hands clasped tightly in her own. Sailing on the wind’s currents. Such bliss.

  “Heya-heyo.”

  Together. Tranquil. Free.

  Coop opened his eyes hesitantly. He was afraid of what he would find. He was back in the teepee — the steam and John’s chanting made that clear — but he couldn’t see anything on account of his fogged-over glasses. He ran his index finger across the front and back of both lenses, but both fogged up again within a matter of seconds.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Had he been daydreaming? One minute he was chanting, trying to keep pace with John, and then the next he was … elsewhere. The steam; it sapped his concentration, made it hard to focus. His breathing was ragged and uneven, like he’d just experienced a violent nightmare. What was it? Coop couldn’t remember.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  To calm himself, Coop focused his inner chi and concentrated on his spirit animal: the majestic bald eagle. That’s when the dream came flooding back. He was an eagle, soaring over the canyons, watching his shadow trying to keep up from impossibly far below. That feeling of the sun beating down on his wings as he rode a crosswind higher into the sky, gliding along a flyway among the clouds. So exhilarating. So different from the nightmare. There was no confinement, no shame, no guilt at 10,000 feet. Only the open sky and the wind at your back.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Coop could feel his mind start to wander again. He struggled to regain control, but that impossibly blue sky called to him. He could feel himself slipping gravity’s iron grip, tracing a spiral pattern as he rode an updraft high into the air. Coop could hear another voice join in the chant, very faint and far below. It took him a moment to realize it was his own. He couldn’t stop. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

  “Heya-heyo.”

  He was one with the sky, soaring higher and higher. He was wind rider.

  Ken sat bolt upright. He was suddenly back among the weekend warriors and that old fraud, all praying to … whatever. Well, them and that psychopath Wade. It still hurt to swallow.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  He must have zoned out for a moment. Weird. He remembered a dream; it had been so vivid at the time, but now it lingered on the edge of recollection. It had something to do with the twinkling lights of …

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Space! That was it. Not that sci-fi nonsense, but the real thing: NASA. His father used to take him down to Cape Canaveral on the weekends to show him what dreams were made of. Every time they watched the rockets launch from the viewing platforms, the old man would give some cornball speech about making something of yourself, so one day you could live your dreams, just like these astronauts. Ken didn’t mind. That windbag could have recited the phone book for all he cared. All he wanted was see the spacemen.

  He used to fantasize about what it was like out in space. He imagined how exhilarating it would be to experience zero G. To spin endlessly in that weightless environment with no impediments. He hadn’t thought about those simple, boyish fantasies in decades. The dream brought them back with stunning clarity.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  But something had interrupted the dream. He struggled to remember what it was. It was scary. He remembered it made him feel naked and afraid. And anything that could scare Ken Berman was …

  “Heya-heyo.”

  His mind start to wander again. That sense of weightlessness returned. He was heading back into space. All he had to do was reach out and …

  Gaby flinched reflexively. She opened her eyes
and saw that she was shielding her face with her arms as if warding off a blow. Everything around her was lost in swirling clouds of steam. She was still in the teepee. It couldn’t have been a dream. It was so powerful. Gaby touched her hand to her cheek and realized that tears were streaming down her face. Or maybe it was sweat; it was hard to tell in this environment.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Something had threatened her. She remembered that much. It had tried to hurt her. Only, she couldn’t recall what. And almost as bad, it had it intruded on a wonderful fantasy. She saw herself as a child growing up in Little Havana, bouncing on the backyard trampoline for hours on end during tranquil summer days that seemed to last forever. Only this time, when the trampoline launched her into the air, she stayed up there, hovering for several precious seconds before descending. It was so … liberating.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  She closed her eyes and could smell chorizo cooking on the grill, could hear papa calling her to dinner. She felt safe up here, like nothing could touch her. Maybe if she jumped higher, she could even escape the sinister presence that had threatened her earlier.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Gaby could feel her mind retreating back to the comfort of that trampoline. Bouncing higher and higher. Her head began to loll. Her arms sat limp and motionless in her lap. The air clung to her throat, slowing her breath. Her fears melted away as each bounce sent her higher.

  “Heya-heyo.”

  Bouncing. Levitating. Safe.

  Wade’s eyes fluttered open. He felt a prickling sensation as the steam and heat irritated the raw skin on his sunburned face. Wade studied his surroundings. Years of working in crawl spaces had given him excellent night vision, and his eyes easily pierced the curtain of steam and gloom. The others had fallen under the old man’s spell.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  On his left, the crone was gently swaying to and fro, like she was riding the world’s slowest roller coaster. Her eyes were closed and her expression radiated pure bliss. Beside her, the mouthy man sat with his arms outstretched limply like a zombie. His countenance conveyed the same joy. To Wade’s right, the fat one was rocking slowly back and forth as though he were reclining on a waterbed. Like the other two, he was off in his own little world, a smile plastered across his face. The pretty woman beside him was curled up in the fetal position, having passed out from the intense heat. Directly across from Wade was the strange little man in the robes. His arms were extended to either side, like he was mimicking an airplane. Same expression, same ear-to-ear grin.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Wade had seen this before. Years ago, Ginny had dragged him to see one of those hypnotist performers, the ones that brought people on stage and made them start clucking like chickens. He’d gone up on stage at her behest but was quickly weeded out of the process; he was simply too strong-willed to go under. The trancelike, blissed-out expressions on the others’ faces reminded Wade of the participants in those shows. He could light the fat one’s swim trunks on fire and he’d just smile contentedly as the flesh was seared right off his waist.

  Wade suspected something similar had happened to him earlier. His eyes had closed momentarily and he had experienced a brief but violent nightmare about Ginny.

  “Heya-heyo-heya-heyo.”

  Wade couldn’t understand how the old man was manipulating the others. Had he added some chemical to the fire? Wade noticed that the colors emanating from the cone of the metal funnel periodically changed, and not all of them were natural. It might be the chanting. Wade had trouble concentrating with it; he couldn’t get the singsong rhythm out of his head. It whispered ideas into his ears. Dark ideas.

  “Heya-heyo.”

  Wade shook his head emphatically. That was in the past. He tried to leave. Only, his legs wouldn’t obey him. They remained fixed in place as though they were encased in stone. He blinked and his eyes refused to open again. He could feel himself losing consciousness. He was returning to the nightmare. Ginny would suffer once more.

  * * * * * *

  John clapped his hands loudly three times, snapping the others out of their reverie.

  “The sweat is over,” he proclaimed before giving the pull chain a sharp tug, which reset the rafter poles and expanded the roof’s opening. The omnipresent haze of steam quickly dissipated, revealing a group of soaked and deeply disoriented participants.

  Beverly came to and started looking wildly around the wigwam in a panic, until she remembered where she was and what she’d been doing. Ken awoke to find his arms splayed out in front of him and quickly lowered them in embarrassment.

  Lamar’s first conscious thought was of pain. He awoke to find his legs — which he’d been sitting on this whole time — had started cramping up. He rolled onto his side and frantically massaged his spasming calf muscles, desperate to relieve the pain.

  Coop momentarily panicked when he awoke to find everything blurry and indistinct. A moment of reflection and a quick wipe of his glasses restored his vision. He noticed Gaby lying on the ground beside him, curled up in a ball. He shook her shoulders several times until she groggily came to.

  “Stop … Bill,” she murmured woozily. “Don’t … don’t touch me.”

  Coop lifted her to a sitting position as she feebly batted her arms at him, still disoriented. He saw Lamar staring quizzically at him. Lamar’s eyes seemed to reflect the same questions Coop had, as though they were silently confirming each other’s experiences.

  The departing steam was quickly replaced with the chill night air, and the perspiration pouring off the participants began to turn cold. John pulled out heavy gloves and began collecting the still-smoking lava rocks from the outer rim of the funnel.

  “What the hell was that?” Beverly exclaimed.

  “The start of your vision quest,” John replied, tossing the lava rocks one after another into the pail, where they sizzled in the last dregs of creek water. “You’ve all just taken your first steps into a larger world.”

  John motioned to Lamar, who was still massaging his oxygen-starved calves.

  “Can you get her some water?” he asked, pointing at Gaby, who was still only semi-conscious. “The drinking bucket is right by the entrance.”

  Lamar nodded and rose unsteadily, his legs still barking after so much neglect.

  “How did you do that?” Coop asked in wonder.

  “Do what?” John asked as he gingerly removed the metal funnel, which was glowing from the heat. Fire leapt from the embers as he peeled back the cover.

  “Give us that experience,” Coop gushed, his curly red locks bouncing in excitement. “I don’t even know how to describe it. It was magical, like my first tarot card reading.”

  The old man simply smiled as he fed the fire.

  Lamar returned with the water and offered Gaby a ladleful. She was fully conscious now but still dizzy, and needed assistance getting the ladle to her mouth. Gaby found the liquid to be remarkably restorative. After several more ladlefuls, she was able to sit up unassisted.

  “Feeling better?” Lamar asked her.

  Gaby nodded slowly.

  “Okay folks, it’s time we prepare to bed down for the night,” John declared, studying the sky through the opening in the roof. Stars were visible between the branches of the enormous pine tree that sheltered the teepee, and the sky was an inky shade of indigo. “I figure we’ve got 15 more minutes of light, so I recommend everyone towel off, change your clothes, and if you have any ‘business’ to attend to, now is the time. Once night falls, that door stays closed,” he said, pointing to the entrance.

  “What if I have to ‘go’ in the night?” Beverly protested.

  “Hold it,” John replied casually. “Nobody leaves the truth circle after dark.”

  “Why, does the boogeyman come?” Ken asked teasingly.

  “I’m perfectly serious,” John continued, his tone turning u
ncharacteristically stern. “Nights out here can be dangerous. From dusk to dawn, we all stay in here. No exceptions.”

  “What’s so scary out there?” Coop asked. “You said the bears were hibernating and the coyotes wouldn’t bother us.”

  “There’s things out there besides coyotes,” John replied cryptically. “Now, unless you want to sleep in soaked clothes, I recommend you all go change.”

  * * * * * *

  Lamar emerged from the Braves outhouse in a T-shirt and sweatshorts to find Ken and Coop outside the teepee, arguing about what they’d just experienced.

  “I’m telling you, the only power that old phony has is to hoodwink rubes,” Ken insisted loudly, not caring whether John heard him or not. “He keeps talking like we’ve just entered the Twilight Zone. Well, I don’t feel any different. Nothing happened.”

  “Something did happen in there,” Coop replied with equal conviction, albeit at a lower volume. “To all of us. I saw you nod off.”

  “Pfft!” Ken sneered. “Yeah, out of boredom!”

  “And you didn’t have any visions?” Coop probed.

  “If you mean ‘a dream,’ no, CEOs don’t dream,” Ken responded derisively. “We live our dreams.”

  “He took you to a higher state of consciousness,” Coop insisted. “Like in Jainism; he showed us a world free of material possessions. You’re just too proud to admit it.”

  As Lamar approached, Ken co-opted him into the conversation.

  “Yo, Cake and the Fat Man. Did you have any magically splendiferous visions back there?” Ken asked.

  “N … no,” Lamar lied. “I don’t remember anything after I fell asleep.”

  “See?” Ken said, as though browbeating Lamar into submission somehow proved his contention. “Just admit it: the geezer slipped us some of Bill Cosby’s roofies and made up a story to explain it. I’m sure you can’t wait to taste his Pudding Pop, but the rest of us would just as soon pass.”