by Londyn Skye
“Lord, I feel like I’m dreamin’,” she said when she pulled back and looked at him again. Their commotion began to rouse the other slaves from their sleep. They woke up to the sight of dim lanterns and several uniformed men standing in the slave quarters.
“How’s Lily?” Corrina asked James.
“I wish I could tell you. I don’t know. We got separated the night we left here. I haven’t seen ‘er since then.”
A look of disbelief came over Corrina’s face. “Lord, that was my worst fear. That Griff fella’ came by here askin’ ‘bout y’all years ago. He left before I could tell ’em what happened. I been prayin’ he’d find y’all every night since that day.”
“And I’m convinced that your prayers and mine will lead me back to Lily when all this war madness is said and done.”
“Me too.”
“But listen, we don’t have a lot ‘a time to talk. I need you and Henry to wrangle everyone togetha’. Y’all take your blankets and load ’em up with food and clothin’. Make sure it’s light enough for y’all to throw ova’ ya’ shoulda’ and carry easily.” James pointed to a few of his troops. “These men are gonna lead y’all to a group that’re waitin’ to take ya’ to safety, okay?”
“Yessa’,” Corrina replied.
She, James, and Henry then began waking up all the other slaves and helped them gather their things as quickly as possible. When they finished, James’s men began guiding everyone out the back exit of the plantation, toward several wagons that were waiting on them.
Corrina and Henry stopped on the way out and stood before James. “Masa’, James. This mean we free now?” Corrina asked.
James put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m no longa’ your masta’, Corrina … and neitha’ is my fatha’. Accordin’ to the orda’s of the president of the United States, you’re free.” He looked over at Henry. “You’re all free.”
Corrina’s tears were instant. “Thank you for all your sacrifices,” she said as she embraced him.
“I’m honored to now be the one at your service,” James replied, reciprocating the hug.
Henry then shook his hand. “Thank you, Mas– James. Thank you, James.”
James nodded, feeling proud to have delivered on a promise that he had made to them years ago. “Hurry, I want y’all to get to safety before daylight.”
“Yessa’,” Henry replied, his eyes welling with tears.
Corrina hugged James one final time. “You take care of yo’self, ya’ hear?”
“I will.”
Corrina finally released him and followed behind one of his soldiers toward a new life.
When all the slaves on his father’s plantation were gone, James stepped back inside of the dilapidated slave quarters and went into Lily’s old room to look around. It triggered a flood of memories, some fond, some not. He recalled lying down with Lily as a boy, while she hummed lightly and ran her fingers through his hair to help comfort him right after his mother’s death. They were huddled together under the blanket he had given her, one they made love underneath years later. James then glanced in another section of the room and recalled that Auntie had passed away there … and so too had Rose. With that memory, an instant blend of sorrow and rage began to twist James’s insides and constrict his lungs. He suddenly tore himself from the room when he began to feel like he couldn’t breathe. He bolted out of the exit, bent over, and placed his hands on his knees, fighting to catch his breath.
Harrison rushed over when he caught sight of James seeming to hyperventilate. “You all right?” he asked, placing his hand on James’s back.
James stood up straight after a moment and looked up at the slave quarters again. “Where’s the kerosene?” he asked Harrison, rage evident in his eyes as he glared at the run-down dwelling.
Not bothering to question his motives, Harrison went and retrieved a can of kerosene and returned to the slave quarters with it. He stood next to James, who was still staring at the building in a trance. Austin, Wilson, and a few other soldiers walked up behind James, all waiting for him to set the slave quarters on fire. With Rose’s final moments playing in his mind, James snatched the kerosene from Harrison’s hand. He then suddenly walked away, leaving his fellow soldiers baffled.
James most certainly wanted to torch something. But this thing was no inanimate object. This thing walked, talked, breathed, and killed for entertainment. This thing was responsible for creating the catalog of memories that still tortured James’s mind. This thing was responsible for taking the life of his only child. This thing, James was convinced, had crawled its way out of the nightmarish place that every Christian feared being condemned. James was now ready to send this thing back to where it had slithered from.
“What the hell’s the lieutenant doin’? We gotta get outta here,” a soldier said to Austin. The soldier made a move toward James to go and stop him.
Austin grabbed the soldier’s arm and halted him. “This is his fatha’s plantation,” Austin explained.
Knowing the extent of what his father had done to Lily and Rose, the soldier relaxed. He immediately understood the personal nature of this particular mission for James. Austin told the few troops left to go back to the wagons and finish helping get all the slaves to safety. Harrison, Austin, and Wilson then began following behind James, ready to back him up, if need be.
On the way toward his father’s front door, James walked past the whipping tree, where Lily once hung by her wrists limp, nude, and bleeding badly. The visions of her being violently beaten by Jesse began to remind James of the words of William Werthington: In some rare instances, it would better serve the whole of society to put a vicious, rabid, animal down to save us all from being unnecessarily infected with its disgusting disease … always remember that. James certainly had not forgotten those wise words. In fact, it played on a constant loop in his mind, along with the visions of extensive damage his father had caused to Lily’s body. It had James’s rage at boiling levels by the time he bounded up the steps to his father’s front porch. When he reached the top, he dropped the canister of kerosene. He walked around the sides of the house and began bashing in all the windows with the handle of his rifle. Just as he had wanted, the shattering of glass awakened the thing he had come for.
Jesse flung his front door open and was greeted by a man whose inner beast had broken free from its chains. The vengeful look on his son’s face startled Jesse a bit, but as usual, he did not let it show. Instead, he reciprocated with an ice-cold glare of his own.
“I could blow your head off right now…” James began.
Jesse raised his shotgun in response. Before the muzzle was aimed at him, James smacked his father in the face with the handle of his rifle. The blow fractured Jesse’s jaw. He stumbled backward and dropped his weapon as he grabbed his face in agony. James reached down, took his father’s shotgun, and tossed it behind him into the grass. James then aimed his rifle at his father’s head. “I’d highly advise you to cherish these last few breaths…” He grabbed his father by the hair and forced him to look him in the eyes. “’Cause I’m sendin’ you back to hell tonight.” He then threw his weapon aside too. “But I’ll be damned if you go easy.”
A bullet suddenly grazed James in the shoulder. He looked up and saw his brother, Jacob, standing at the top of the stairwell, his smoking pistol still raised. Jesse used that moment of inattention to attack James. He lowered his shoulder and charged at him. Jesse was still surprisingly strong for his age. The force of his blow sent him and James flying from the porch onto the ground. Jesse landed on top of his son and began punching him repeatedly in the face. James took his father’s blows like he was being fed candy, though. He suddenly stopped Jesse’s flying fist with one hand and began squeezing his neck with the other. James’s eyes were squinted into hateful slits, as he glared up at the sight of his father struggling to breathe. He then rolled his father over, got on top of him, and began choking him with both hands. The more Jesse struggled, the tighter Jam
es squeezed. He did not want to stop until his father’s lips turned purple and blood vessels burst in his eyes. James wanted him to feel what he had put his mother through for twenty miserable years. When Jesse’s eyes began to roll back in his head, James suddenly released his grip. “Catch your breath, you sack ‘a shit.” He leaned down in his father’s face. “I ain’t nearly finished with you yet.”
Jacob had finally made his way downstairs and rushed out of the house to come to his father’s aid. The very second he exited, Harrison lowered his shoulder and tackled him in the side. The blow caused Jacob to drop his weapon. He and Harrison then began to tussle on the porch and eventually fell over the railing. The force of the fall caused them to break the grip they had on each other. Jacob took the opportunity to scramble toward his pistol, but Harrison placed his boot on his back and stopped him. He grabbed Jacob by the hair, rolled him over, and let him come face to face with his revolver. Austin and Wilson ran over with some rope, dragged Jacob to a tree, and tied him to it. Knowing James would want to determine his brother’s fate, they left him there alive. For now, Jacob could do nothing but watch his father suffer, much like he had forced James to do the day his father had beaten Lily.
After Jacob was disabled as a threat, Harrison, Wilson, and Austin collected all the weapons that were dropped. They then trotted over toward James, who had finally stopped choking his father.
“Get up, you son of a bitch!” James demanded. Coughing and gagging, Jesse rolled over and tried to crawl away. Before he got far, James kicked him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him. “I said, get up!”
When Jesse fell over onto his side, James began kicking him repeatedly in the ribs, offering the same mercy that he had to Lily while she was with child. Jesse had fractured one of Lily’s ribs during that assault. James violently shattered all his father’s. Grunting with every blow, he then suddenly began to stomp his father’s face, like a cockroach that refused to die. Over and over again, he stomped until he was completely winded. When he suddenly stopped to catch his breath, Jesse tried to cowardly crawl away again. The fact that he still had the strength to move further angered James and refueled his energy. He snatched his father by the hair and dragged him like a ragdoll over to the whipping tree. He tied a rope around Jesse’s wrists, and tightened it until his hands began to turn purple. James then hoisted him up off the air with a single pull, took his knife out, and sliced every stitch of clothing off his father’s frame.
Breathing hard through clenched teeth, James suddenly froze and stared at his father, looking as though his soul had suddenly departed from his body. Jesse was all too familiar with the coldness in his son’s eyes as he stared unblinking at him. That soulless death glare was one that preceded every brutal killing Jesse had ever committed. He realized in that moment that he had passed that wicked trait on to his son. Cowardly tears then suddenly appeared in Jesse’s eyes. Because, with that wicked trait, he knew the barbarism that was next to come.
Boiling rage suddenly snapped James out of his death glare trance. He walked over and grabbed Jesse’s signature whip; one he had used to maim the backs of countless slaves over the years. James stepped directly behind his naked father and drew his favorite torture weapon back as far as it would go. An explosive need for vengeance then propelled his arm forward, as he growled like a savage madman. The initial lash landed with a violent snap across Jesse’s back, stripping him of a thick layer of skin. Years of pent-up rage fueled every brutal sling of the whip thereafter. James refused to stop until he evoked the same desperate pleas he had often heard from his mother while being brutalized by Jesse’s fists. He wanted to draw from Jesse the same pain-filled tears that he had constantly caused to cascade down his beautiful mother’s cheeks. He wanted to revel in the look of terror on his father’s face, like that of the many slaves he had tortured for sport. For the lifelong mental scars his father had given him, James lashed his back. For every slave he had ever killed, James lashed. For killing his mother, he lashed. For destroying his friendship with Lily, he lashed. For the near-death beating he had given Lily, he lashed. For killing his baby … again, again, and over again, he hurled that whip across his father’s back, with the unbridled strength of a man who had gone completely insane.
The thought of holding his lifeless baby had tears streaming down James’s cheeks, as he continued trying to strip every ounce of skin off his father’s back. When he succeeded, James fell to his knees with exhaustion, and dropped a whip that was now saturated in his father’s blood. As if it was a work of fine art, James joyously gazed at the massive open wound on his father’s back. He then closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and reveled in the sound of him wailing like a slowly dying creature.
Austin, Wilson, and Harrison stood nearby in utter shock, after watching a son so ruthlessly try to kill his own father. They had seen James show more mercy to confederate soldiers. But the brutality they had just witnessed made it seem as though mercy was now a foreign concept in their lieutenant’s world. This was not the James they knew. This was a conscienceless madman, one who was still not nearly finished inflicting his punishment. They watched as James slowly got up from the ground. He walked over, cut the rope that held his father, and let him crumple to the ground. He then dragged Jesse’s bloodied body over and slammed his back against the whipping tree. The rough bark further inflicted intense pain on Jesse’s open wound, causing him to cry out for mercy. Again, James froze and looked down at his father; that soulless death glare was back. There was not an ounce of empathy coursing through James while looming over his weeping father. In fact, a twisted form of pride was rising inside James’s chest, as he watched a river of tears coasting through the blood on his father’s face. In that moment, James indeed looked very much like a conscienceless madman, as he stood there quietly, chest heaving, teeth clenched, refusing to blink. After admiring his butchery for a moment, James suddenly walked away.
Jesse was left there alone with Harrison, Wilson, and Austin towering over him. They were unable to pull their eyes away from the disfigured pulp in front of them. Had they not been there to witness the entire event, they would have questioned whether they were looking at a man or a mangled animal. A small part of them actually felt sorry for Jesse. But they knew that James would only ever inflict this sort of damage on a man who well deserved it. The sight of Jesse was so gruesome, Austin had to look away for a moment to keep from throwing up. When he turned, he saw James returning with the canister of kerosene. It was then that Harrison finally learned what James had requested it for. Jesse screamed in misery again as the unbearable burn of kerosene seeped into all of his open wounds. Prepared to get a preview of his father’s future in the eternal pits of hell, James then snatched a torch out of Austin’s hand.
Struggling to see through his swollen eyes, Jesse suddenly looked up at his son. “Y-you t-turned out t-to be the s-sort ‘a m-man that I could n-neva’ be … d-despite havin’ a p-piece ‘a shit f-fatha’ like m-me,” he said, struggling for air between every word. “Y-you’re the only r-reason my l-life eva’ ended up bein’ w-worth a damn anyway.” He fought hard to take another breath. “So, go on and kill me,” he panted, sounding defeated.
James was momentarily stunned by his father’s authenticity. In his entire twenty-nine years, Jesse had never once told James that he loved him. He knew it was the closest thing he would ever get to hearing such words. But the sincere confession was way too little and many, many years too late.
“COME ON AND DO IT!” Jesse suddenly demanded.
In some rare instances, it would better serve the whole of society to put a vicious, rabid, animal down to save us all from being unnecessarily infected with its disgusting disease … always remember that, James heard echoing in his head again as he wiped the sweat from under his nose. Ready take William’s advice, he raised the torch and was suddenly tackled to the ground. The blow temporarily knocked the wind out of James. When he turned to see who had tackled him, he instantly became
belligerent. “What the hell’re you doin’?!” James yelled, trying to toss Elijah off him.
Panting hard, Elijah turned back toward Jesse. James followed Elijah’s eyes to see what he was looking at. His eyes were met with the sight of Jacob on his knees. Jacob was directly in front of Jesse, staring at the axe that he had accidentally lodged in his father’s chest cavity.
From afar, Elijah had watched James brutally torturing his father. He had steadily crept closer to the scene to get a better view of the unbelievable sight he was witnessing. The way James beat his own father forced Elijah to second guess whether he had any part in his parents’ murder. From where Elijah was standing, he was the only one who saw that Jacob had slipped out of his rope, got an axe, and went barreling at James with it from behind. Elijah tackled James just seconds before Jacob lodged the axe in the back of his skull. When Jacob missed, the weight of the metal carried through and lodged in Jesse’s chest cavity. It lodged so deep that only the handle was visible. Blood now shot in spurts out of the sides of the gaping wound, in much the same way that tears shot out of Jacob’s eyes, while watching the life drain from his father’s face. Jesse looked directly into the eyes of his murderer, blinked for a final time, pushed the last of his tears out, and never opened his eyes again.
While Jacob was collapsed in overwhelming grief, Harrison, Austin, and Wilson walked toward Elijah and James to help them up. James slapped Harrison’s hand away and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He was legitimately angry that his brother had accidentally stolen a moment that was meant to serve as justice for Lily, his daughter, his mother, and every slave that his father had murdered. James did not care that it was a sick and twisted form of justice either. He wanted it for his loved ones. And he wanted to be the one who delivered it.
After sitting there a moment, James suddenly hopped to his feet, pulled his pistol from his holster, aimed it in Elijah’s direction, and pulled the trigger. The bullet sailed over Elijah’s shoulder and struck his brother square between the eyes. Jacob dropped dead on the spot. Austin, in turn, dropped to his knees. He immediately went into shock after seeing his arm dangling by nothing but muscle tissue. Jacob had yanked the axe out of his father’s chest and wielded it toward all five men in a blinding rage, nearly hacking Austin’s right arm off. James ran to his aid and quickly tied a tourniquet around it to stop him from bleeding out. Everyone then helped rush him to the medical tent back at their base.
