Southern Souls

by Stuart Jaffe

  “Jackson Wheeler, come kneel before the group.”

  The man hesitated.

  “Come now. You have nothing to fear.”

  Wheeler did not move.

  “A little help,” Soro Brown said, and those on either side of Wheeler grabbed the man’s arms and escorted him to the center. One of the helpers pushed Wheeler to his knees while the other pulled back Wheeler’s hood.

  He was a young man, college aged, with a shock of curly, red hair that struck Max as so out of place as to be comical. Except the quiver in the man’s chin, the open eyes searching for an escape, the shaking of his limbs all pointed to the much darker reality. He had replaced Kevin, and the terrified expressions had come with the job.

  Soro Brown stepped before Wheeler. “You have done a great dishonor to this group.”

  Wheeler bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve betrayed our confidence. Worse, you betrayed our brother and friend, Wilson. Death by his own hand, a tragedy compounded, was a key component of what we are doing here. Without that, our success is doomed. Yet, you disturbed his body. You moved his limbs.”

  Drummond said, “I told you that Klein was pointing into the woods.”

  Sniffling, Wheeler said, “I only wanted to —”

  “We know what you wanted to do. But each must wait his turn. Casting your little side-spell to jump the line was never going to work. And it could have destroyed our efforts.” Soro Brown pulled back his hood to reveal a stern face with an odd yet warm sneer. “You will not succeed in destroying all we cherish. For we are united.”

  The circle of figures responded like a church congregation. “We are united.”

  “You will not spoil the victories we seek. For we are strong.”

  “We are strong.”

  “You will not tear down the fortress of wealth we have built. For we are unstoppable.”

  “We are unstoppable.”

  “I have fought too hard, we all have, to let an individual, weak-minded fool ruin the good we have planned. I have spent too many hours studying hard to simply allow you to harm us and our families. You are the one who will be destroyed. For we are invincible.”

  “We are invincible.”

  Max wanted to look away but stared on as if witnessing a bad wreck. “This is crazy.”

  As if an idea had suddenly occurred to him, Soro Brown wagged a finger in the air. “There is one way to redeem yourself, one way to show all in this noble group that you are indeed worthy to be part of us, one way to ensure that those you love will benefit from the greatness to come upon us all.”

  Wheeler’s head lifted, and even from a distance, Max could see the eagerness glisten in the man’s eyes. “Please tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  A venomous grin rose on the corner of Soro Brown’s mouth. He stepped closer to Wheeler like a man might approach an animal he considered his own. He licked his lips. “Why is it that you have joined us? When we succeed and wealth comes our way, what is it that you want with all that money? What did you plan for the power you expected to receive?”

  Gazing upward forced Wheeler’s tears to draw back on his face. “My daughter. She has a polycystic kidney disease and needs a transplant. We can’t even begin to afford it. When the time comes, we expect we’ll be putting a second mortgage on the house. But if this group succeeds, then we can cover all of it. We can save the life of my daughter. My marriage will remain strong.”

  Soro Brown put his right hand on top of Wheeler’s head. “And the power? What do you plan to do with that?”

  “I will use whatever I can to influence this system to become better. So that other families don’t have to suffer through the madness that my family has endured. People shouldn’t have to choose between the life of their daughter and their homes and marriages.”

  Resting his left hand atop his right, Soro Brown said, “Those are noble endeavors. Far better than many of us seek to accomplish with our gains. It makes me feel hopeful that you truly regret your betrayal to us all.”

  “I do. I do.”

  “Then you understand — our magic works by spilling blood upon a tragic land. A tragedy atop a tragedy. Sin upon sin. We cleanse the wrongs done with the innocent blood of our own.” From the sleeve of his cloak, Soro Brown pulled out a curved dagger. He held the blade under Wheeler’s chin like a sacred offering. “Spill your blood. Take your life so that your daughter may live. So that your family is forever looked after.”

  Max stood. “That’s it.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Drummond said.

  “I’m not going to sit here and watch this guy kill himself because they’ve brainwashed him. It’s close enough to murder to bother me.”

  Max stomped forward, and to his relief, he could feel the cold of Drummond at his side. As he stepped from the trees, the hooded figures turned — not startled, not a jump or even a flinch. Wheeler’s eyes lifted from the knife. Soro Brown slowly cocked his head to peer over his shoulder.

  “Mr. Max Porter, welcome,” Soro Brown said.

  Several of the figures brandished handguns and a few held hunting knives. Max halted.

  “My name is Isaac Brown, and I want to thank you.” Brown turned toward Max. He had a strong, charismatic face, and now that he stood closer, Max could see why many were drawn to listen to this charlatan’s sales pitch.With a gentle motion, he had his followers lower their weapons.

  Drummond inched closer. “Run away from this. Don’t listen to another word he says.”

  Max suspected Drummond was right, but the fact that Brown knew his name raised Max’s curiosity. “Thank me? For what?”

  That serpent smile rose again on Brown’s lips. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to thank you for taking care of my son these last few years.”

  Chapter 15

  IF ISAAC BROWN HAD SAID ANY OTHER WORDS, Max would have most likely turned tail and run deep into the forest. Instead, he crept forward like a mesmerized mark at a carnival show. Several of the cloaked figures parted their circle to allow Max in.

  “Um, partner, small problem here,” Drummond said.

  Max glanced back to see Drummond stuck at the edge of the clearing. Darting his attention from tree to tree, he sought the symbols of a ghost ward but found nothing. Still, Drummond could not break through which meant that this tragedy group knew of actual magic — or at least Isaac Brown did.

  Crossing his arms as he searched the area, Drummond said, “I know what you’re thinking, and you might be right. But these bozos don’t strike me as the kind to know anything about real witchcraft. My guess — the ward is from long ago. Sometime after Lawson killed himself here, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that witches used this place as a sacred site. They probably put on some serious wards to protect it.”

  That possibility sounded much better to Max’s ears than thinking Brown practiced actual magic. But that didn’t change the fact that Max stood alone surrounded by guns, knives, and a man claiming to be PB’s father.

  Isaac Brown clasped his hands behind his back and spoke like a professor giving a routine lecture. “I’m sure you have many questions rattling around in your brain. Chief among them — can you trust the things I say? After all, how could I possibly be the boy’s father when, no doubt, he told you I was dead — am I right?”

  “Something like that,” Max said.

  “And how could I be the poor, uneducated father I claim to be when I speak well and clearly have resources?”

  “Now that you mention it, I’m curious about that, too.”

  “Well then, while we still have a little time, let me tell you how it came to be.”

  Wheeler remained on his knees, and Max stared at the man’s face, searching for any sign of an ally. But he found none. The prone man begged Brown with his eyes and repeatedly stifled the urge to cry out.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Brown said. “You should be much more concerned about me.”

  “See that? That right there t
ells me you’re not PB’s father. If you were, your concern would be for him. Like mine is.”

  “PB? Is that what he calls himself? Well, allow me a moment to show you why I am his father. Because I’ve done everything a great father should do for his child — even if in the end, PB never appreciates me for it.”

  Max knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he could not help himself. “Abandoning your family, letting your son think you were dead, heck, letting him live on the streets — father of the year material, if I’ve ever seen it.”

  Fury flared in Brown’s eyes, but he tamped it back with a merciful, patronizing shake of the head. To his followers, he said, “Exactly like I told you. Nobody understands us. Nobody recognizes the horrible sacrifices we make. But that’s okay. We have each other. We do what we must, and we never cross the line. We never take pleasure in sacrifice. For we are united.”

  The group enthusiastically said, “We are united.”

  Brown turned back toward Max. “About ten years ago, I struggled to make ends meet for my family. Gene — that’s PB’s real name — was a fun kid, and I loved him very much. His mother was a wonderful woman, but she was weak. The life of a poor person is not easy, and Gene’s mother could not handle it.”

  “His name is PB. You better start getting used to that.”

  Max expected to be hit or stabbed or worse for mouthing off, but Brown simply nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” he said as he continued pacing. “PB’s mother dealt with our difficulties the way too many do. Drugs became her method of escape which created many more problems in our life. It was then that I heard of the Soro Group. They made a lot of bold claims, none of which I believed — what sensible person would? — but underneath the ceremony and magical claptrap, I spotted a kernel of truth. The idea that if we could all work together, we could benefit each other. This small group could help its members step higher and higher up the ladder simply by pooling our successes. That’s what got my attention.”

  Drummond pressed against the ward like a child with his face against a glass window. “Keep your mouth shut now. You egged him on enough and he’s on a roll. Keep your eyes open for an escape.”

  If Max had stood someplace else, he would have laughed. The idea that Drummond thought he had been mouthing off as part of a grand plan to get Isaac Brown to divulge secrets only hit Max with a darker truth — that he had stumbled into a deep hole and had only made it worse. The sickly sweat clinging to Wheeler’s face spoke volumes more of the danger Max faced then the half-raised guns.

  Brown continued, “There comes a point in a father’s life when he must decide to risk the things he has in order to get the things he wants. I wanted the money and power to give my son and wife a fantastic life. And I have always been willing to sacrifice whatever it took in order to achieve this.”

  “So, you started giving this group what little you had left? That seems kind of stupid to me,” Max said.

  “It would’ve been, if the group didn’t work. But it does. The rituals actually serve their purpose. The leader of our group back then was a man named Harris Coleman. He took me under his wing. He educated me. Opened my eyes to the possibilities when we all work for each other. I remember the day when he offered to teach me how to run the group, to prepare me to take his place. I remember it well because I had to make a sacrifice in order to gain that success — I had to allow my family to think I was dead.”

  Trying to act as if the guns and knives meant nothing to him, Max placed his hands in his pockets and kept his focus on the ground. “I’m guessing your friend Coleman told you that someday your family would enjoy the riches you expected to have.”

  “If I did things the right way — yes. But I did not. I found a faster route. I pushed him out of power and took over the group.”

  “Why? Why not wait a little bit longer until he retired?”

  Brown sauntered close to Max and leaned in. Speaking softly, he said, “I met an old woman who claimed to be a witch.”

  A bolt of icy fear shot through Max’s chest. Brown took one step back, and the mad look in his eyes created doubt — did the man truly know about witches or was he insane?

  “It’s true,” Brown said. “She showed me the history of these tragedy groups and that they were based originally on real witchcraft. I know it sounds impossible, but it’s all real. I also know that you believe me. Because I’ve been watching you. Don’t look surprised at that. You’ve been taking care of my boy. You had to expect I’d keep my eye on you.”

  Max had considered it over the last few years, but when PB told them of his father’s death, Max’s concerns turned only to J’s history.

  “This witch — who was she?”

  Brown shrugged. “She never gave a name. I never asked. She was a peculiar little woman, though. Lived in this amazing underground apartment.”

  Madame Yan. Max filed that bit of information away for later.

  Brown resumed his path around the inner circle. “I used the knowledge I received to build up this group, to teach them the ritual, the real one, the one that works, and we did our research. The witch warned me to keep much of the pomp in the ceremony, that I would only botch the spell if I tried it outright, and I listened. Now we have begun the process that will result in what this group always promised. Now, the sacrifice I made ten years ago can be rectified. I can actually achieve what I’ve sought, and with luck, share that with those I love.”

  Brown cut across the circle to stand directly behind Wheeler. “But I gain nothing if blood is not spilled on this tragic land.”

  Wheeler’s shoulders trembled as he bowed his head. Gasping as mucous dribbled off his mouth and nose, he said, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I want to. I truly want to help. But I can’t.”

  A sharp motion from Brown brought two of his followers forward. They grabbed Wheeler’s arms and held him tight. He screamed out.

  “Leave him alone,” Max said. “This is wrong. You’re playing with powerful forces that you do not understand.”

  “You think I’m playing at this?”

  From behind, Drummond called out, “Go. Now. Run.”

  Caught up in Brown’s story, Max had missed the opening that had been created. But the opportunity still remained. He took one step toward the gap left by those who held Wheeler. But he stopped.

  “Don’t do this,” Max said. “He doesn’t want to be part of your group anymore.”

  “That is not what he expressed to us,” Brown said. “I know you were listening. I know you heard him. He wishes to save his daughter’s life. He said he was willing to sacrifice for his family. He would hardly be the first person to lose his willpower at the crucial moment. It is why the Japanese had the honorable position of being second to a man about to commit seppuku. We as a group, as a united group, we will serve as Wheeler’s second.”

  Wheeler struggled against those holding him, and a third person stepped forward. Placing a knife in Wheeler’s right hand, the person wrapped tape around it, securing the knife in place. Ignoring Wheeler’s tears and whimpers, they forced his arm across his body, setting the blade at the left side of his neck.

  Max wanted to dash forward, bulldoze through these horrible people, save Wheeler, and escape. Part of him wanted to ignore all of it and follow Drummond’s plea — simply run off and save his own skin. He stood. Frozen.

  Brown circled around Wheeler and crouched. “You still have a chance to do this with integrity. Shed your blood and save your family.”

  Sweat and tears blended into an incessant stream down Wheeler’s face. His ragged breath matched the convulsions of his body. He inhaled long and slow, coughed and sputtered, and attempted to breathe in again. Max could see the man mounting the strength for one final act.

  “No!” Wheeler’s fierce howl cut across the night air.

  Max’s shoulders dropped. No matter how loudly Wheeler protested, it was over. The disappointment on Brown’s face confirmed it.

  Brown straightened, glanced a
t those holding Wheeler, and gave a curt nod. They forced Wheeler’s arm to move from left to right, and in doing so, brought the blade across his throat.

  The rest happened fast. The blood poured out like thick soup spewing from the side of a cracked bowl. As the dark liquid soaked into the ground, the cloaked figures rejoined hands to make their circle. Brown raised his head and chanted more words of nonsense.

  Max stood in the center of it all. He tried to put things in some kind of sensible order. But none of it made sense. How could Madame Yan have given them the secrets of witchcraft yet here they stood chanting gibberish? How could he bring about the safety of PB? Worst of all, how could he get out of this?

  He saw only one answer, and he did not like his chances. But before Max could throw his first punch, Isaac gestured to the group and said, “It is done. We have taken one great step toward our future. We have done all that is required, taken no pleasure, and we have gone no further. Be proud of what you have braved. Go home, now. Go home and rest and prepare.”

  The group lowered their heads and simply filed off into the woods. Their task complete, they did not care to remain around.

  Last to exit, Isaac Brown stopped and gazed back. “What? Expecting me to kill you? I am no monster. Only a man with the ability to help those of his flock. We do not relish the hard things we must do, but we understand the necessity.”

  “I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”

  “I am sorry that you had to see all of this. I’m sorry that I rambled on about my lackluster life leading up to this point. But, you see, all my talking has served an important purpose. A crucial step that means more to me than a childless man like you could ever know. I needed to give my people plenty of time to break into your home and get my son back.”

  He grinned as he slid into the dark woods.