by Stuart Jaffe
“Not surprising. Every religious group has offshoots that focus more on magic or wish fulfillment, and Christianity has quite a few. When you add in the way Christianity actively courted the pagan groups throughout history, going so far as to incorporate pagan holidays and practices into Christian doctrine, it’s not surprising that something like these tragedy groups were born. We’re talking about hundreds and hundreds, if not a thousand years ago. What Isaac Brown is involved with now only bears the same name.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“For one, this is how you always tell us everything — you give us the full picture, the full history. For another, I’m your wife — be nice to me. I’m very tired.”
Max chuckled. “Sorry.”
“I’ll cut to the end, for your sake. It’s like this — there’s a pattern to these three ceremonies. Broad to narrow. The first ceremony was held at a place of broad tragedy.”
“Odd Fellow’s Cemetery — where over ten thousand slaves are buried.”
“Exactly. The second ceremony narrows it down to a large but more personal tragedy — the Lawson family massacre. Finally, it comes down to an individual. Isaac Brown is trying to build a legacy for PB, and he’ll have to spill blood at the site of a singular tragedy to get what he wants.”
“Hold on.” Now that he had rested, Max’s brain fired off. “I thought this group was doing the ceremonies so that they would all benefit from wealth and power. But you’re talking about narrowing down to an individual with a singular tragedy at the core of the ceremony. Are you saying that Isaac Brown is duping everybody in his group? That he’s doing all of this for his own benefit? He’s the individual to gain wealth and power off the singular tragedy?”
“And PB. But I don’t think the group is being duped. I suspect they all know and over the years have taken turns so that each one of them gets the benefit. Because of the moon phase requirements and the need for specific types of tragedies, the spell can only be cast once every three years.”
Max tapped his chin. “Sure. That’s why Brown had to wait all these years. Other people with seniority got to go before him. Only now does he get the chance.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“During that time waiting, they must have lost the spell — maybe the previous Soro died before telling anybody.”
“And that’s why Brown had to deal with Madame Yan.”
Stepping behind Sandra, Max kissed the top of her head. “You’ve done a great job. This is big.”
“I don’t see how. It’s interesting but doesn’t really help. From Madame Yan, we know when this next ceremony is going to happen but not where. There are probably millions of singular tragedies all over the state. At least a few hundred thousand right here within a few miles radius of Winston-Salem. How are we to figure out where the Soro Group is going to be next?”
Max jabbed his finger toward the laptop. “Right there. You found all this information about tragedy groups on authentic witch sites. I found my information directly from Madame Yan. We also know that Madame Yan instructed Isaac Brown in what he’s doing. Which means that some part of all this bull ceremony he’s performing must be real witchcraft; otherwise, the spell wouldn’t work.”
Sandra straightened in her chair. “If we find what part of the ceremony is real, and you’re thinking that will narrow down the places it could be performed.”
“All those diagrams about phases of the moon suggest being able to see the moon, so I’m guessing we’re not going to be in a cave, for example.”
“That’s still going to leave us a lot of possibilities.”
“We’ve got three days, and we have to find an answer. It’s better than nothing.”
J stretched his arms into the air as he woke. Posting up on his elbow, he scanned the office as if trying to remember where he had fallen asleep. A smile crossed his lips as he looked toward Sandra and Max, but his attention then drifted onto the bookcase. Max followed his gaze and found Drummond entering the office.
Once Drummond fully exited the bookcase, he clapped his hands together. “With a little help from my doll, Miss 1800s, I found PB.”
Everybody jumped to their feet. Max said, “That’s great. Where is he?”
“With his dad in Lexington.”
“Lexington?”
“According to Miss 1800s, the two have been sitting at a BBQ joint since the place opened for the day. Seems to me, Isaac Brown is waiting for you to show up.”
Chapter 20
NO MATTER HOW TIRED any of the Porter Agency members felt, nobody would agree to stay back. Max, Sandra, J, and Drummond all headed out to the aptly titled restaurant Lexington BBQ. It was a large white building right off a curve of Route 64. The restaurant displayed its name in bold, black lettering across the white walls facing the highway. Many considered it to be the best BBQ in all of North Carolina, it had won numerous awards attesting to this, and Max’s taste buds agreed. He had indulged at the establishment several times and never once had a bad experience.
He hoped that would hold true this time — even if they never ate a bite.
When they entered, the lunch crowd packed every seat and several people waited in line for their chance to eat. Waitresses old and young hustled plates of chopped BBQ, BBQ sandwiches, plates piled with loose BBQ, and French fries out to hungry customers. The aroma whetted Max’s appetite, and he wished he was simply taking Sandra and the boys out for a delicious afternoon meal.
He stepped to the front of the line. “Excuse me.”
“Just wait your turn, hon,” a cheery, older waitress with tight curly hair said as she hurried by carrying a plate in one hand and two plates — one on the arm — on the other.
“Our friend is already here. He came in with his son.”
The waitress nodded. “Oh, they’re in the back. Those two are quite the charmers.”
“Sure,” Drummond said as he floated on the ceiling to avoid passing through the congestion. “He’s real charming for a cult leader who likes to murder people.”
Max led the way and Sandra and J followed. The restaurant had hard tile floors and several wooden tables shoved too close together. Narrow booths lined against one wall, and every space was filled with customers and food. The music of dishes and utensils blended with the clashing clatter of overlapping conversations. It was like walking into somebody’s kitchen that had been expanded into an entire building filled with strangers.
In the back room, Max found Isaac Brown and PB at a group of three tables pushed together. PB stared straight ahead, and Max’s heart dropped. He wanted to rush over and hug the boy, but he could barely get eye contact.
Isaac had clearly tried to buy PB’s affection. The boy wore a new shirt — silk, black, with white buttons down — and he had a gold chain with a pendant that matched the symbol on the back of Isaac’s purple, ceremonial robe. But even without the fancy shirt, Max suspected PB would be enthralled with Isaac. To have his father back after all this time would fill an empty hole in him. The past would wash away and any excuse would be believed because PB wanted to believe. He wanted the chance that this might all be real. Add to that Isaac having enough charisma to win over all his followers, and Max feared he had already lost.
Isaac sat at the head of the table. No robes this time. Instead, he wore a stylish business suit like a well-off man securing a loan from a bank. He stood when he saw Max.
“There you are. I was worried you wouldn’t show.”
As they filed in, Drummond continued to float overhead. J could not stop peeking up at the ghost but neither PB nor Isaac seemed to notice.
Max said, “You could’ve called. Then you wouldn’t have had to worry.”
“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, Madame Yan promised you would find us and Gene tells me you’re a great detective.”
Before PB could correct Isaac, Max said, “His name is PB.” A grin appeared on PB’s face and a warm flush filled Max’s body from that sl
ight expression.
Isaac put a firm hand on PB’s shoulder and the boy’s grin widened into a full smile. “Of course. My apologies, PB. I can’t really expect everything to go back to the way it was. I’ve been gone for too many important parts of your life. It’s going to take some adjustment.”
Isaac spoke with a broad smile and a slight tension as if he were picking up his son from an ex-wife who had remarried. But the darkness behind his eyes could not be mistaken. In fact, as the waitress approached to take new orders, a simple glance from Isaac sent her away.
“I know we got off to a rough start,” Isaac said. “I’m not exactly what you expected.”
“You mean alive?” Max said, and J snickered. But PB stared at J with a darkness mimicking his father.
“I suppose that part was a bit of a shock, too. But the fact is that I am PB’s father, and I want him in my life.”
Sandra said, “Is that why you kidnapped him?”
Isaac chuckled as if he had received a playful insult from an old friend. With a knowing wink to PB, he said, “It’s a good thing we chose to meet them in a public place. No telling what crazy lengths they might have gone to if they thought nobody was watching.”
From above, Drummond said, “I’m watching. Just say the word and I’ll freeze him. You can grab PB and get out of here.”
J looked to Max, perhaps eager to take Drummond up on his offer. Max put out a hand to stay the boy’s enthusiasm. “You assaulted my wife and sons and tied them up in the bathroom.”
“I was with you,” Isaac said.
“Are we really going to parse words?”
Isaac pressed his tongue against his bottom lip as if he considered the question seriously. “I apologize if the men I sent to collect my son acted in an inappropriate manner. But your wife did throw a knife at one of them. They tend to react quite roughly when people threaten them that way.”
Sandra said, “If you think —”
Max spoke up to stop Sandra from ranting — no matter how justified. “PB, look at me.”
PB lifted his eyes but focused on Isaac. Isaac gave PB a short nod, and then the boy looked at Max.
Hoping his voice did not break as much as his heart, Max said, “Are you okay? You know we’re tough, so whatever he might have threatened could happen to us if you are honest, you ignore that. Tell me straight out — have you been hurt?”
Sandra said, “This must be such a shock. We’re here for you.”
PB lowered his head, but before he could speak, Isaac snapped his fingers. PB’s head shot up. They exchanged a strong look, and PB pulled back his shoulders and held his head up firm. “I’m absolutely fine.”
Drummond said, “That kid is not fine.”
“You see?” Isaac put an arm awkwardly around PB. “He’s doing just fine. He is not my prisoner or my victim. He is and always has been my son. I love him very much, and I have gone through great sacrifice so that he can live a life I’ve only ever dreamed of.”
Max stopped from speaking. He had come to this restaurant expecting that they were going to be dueling with words like swordsman using vocabulary, but he saw now that they were actually playing chess. And Max had flubbed the crucial opening moves.
In the short silence that grew while he thought, Sandra said to PB, “You don’t have to go with this man. He may have picked a public place so we wouldn’t get into a big shouting match, but it goes both ways. Don’t think that you can’t come home with us. He can’t stop that. He gave up his legal rights a long time ago.”
Isaac grinned as if he had expected that move. “From what I’m told, you have yet to finish the whole guardianship process. So I am still the legal guardian of PB. I’m certainly his father. Parental rights go a long way in this state. However, if you think it best to drag PB through the tedious, and oftentimes ugly, process of court, I suppose we’ll have no alternative. Of course, during that time, PB would stay with me, his father. You might succeed at destroying our family or you might not, but at least my son and I will get to spend a small amount of time together before you tear him away.”
This would not work. Any straightforward argument would be easily countered — Isaac had prepared for this conversation. He had anticipated what the typical debate points would be and how to answer them. And every time Max and Sandra failed in front of PB, it only pushed the boy closer to his real father.
“That’s the problem,” Max said. “Isn’t it, PB?”
PB’s brow tightened as he listened to this new tactic.
“You want your real father. And I’m not that. I’m just a pale imitation. But ask yourself — who was it that brought you food and water when you lived on the streets? Who was it that helped you fight off the bullies? Who was it that brought you the opportunity to earn a living and broadened that to your pal, J? Who was it that welcomed you into his family, that gave you love and warmth and security? When things have been tough between us, I didn’t run away. I certainly did not fake my death. I would never do that to you. I know we don’t share the same blood, but there’s more to a family than just that.”
Max put his hand out on the table, palm up. He searched PB’s face for any hint that his words had seeped through. But as the words died in the air, he felt them dying within, too. They were not enough. He needed something with more impact.
Sandra must have sensed it, too. She said, “We love you. That’s what it comes down to. We’re the ones who keep showing up. We’re the ones that you know you can count on.”
For a hesitant moment, Max thought he saw cracking in PB’s wall. He would think back to that moment many times in the future and wonder if he had said something different, if he had spoken at that exact moment, could he have changed the words PB would speak. But before he could formulate the perfect phrase, Isaac Brown once again proved to be several steps ahead.
Isaac said, “PB? Do you have anything to say to them?”
PB made eye contact with Sandra and Max. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Max said, his heart locking in his chest.
“Especially you. You started taking care of me when I had nothing. You got me off the streets, gave me a home, and even started my education. I know that it wouldn’t be possible for me to be sitting here right now without you.”
“You’re confused. I understand. But this is not —”
“The thing is that this man here is my father. I care about you all, but you’re not my family. He is. I’m with my real father now, and that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
Max opened his mouth, but nothing came out beyond a choked sound. His mind blanked.
PB turned toward J. “Sorry to leave you, but more than anybody here, I guess you’d understand. You stick with the Porters. They’re good people, and you know it.”
Max sat with his mouth agape, and he could feel Sandra and Drummond and J all staring at him. In some distant land, he heard Isaac Brown stand and utter some words about this conversation settling matters. That receding voice tied to a blurred image of Isaac as he tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table and suggested the Porters enjoy their lunch on him. He then muttered something to PB, and father and son left the restaurant.
Max wanted to walk away. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream and howl and punch the walls and shatter glasses against the wall. But all he could allow was to sit.
His emotions, however, refused him the luxury of that small dignity. The loss welled up inside of him filling his chest like a giant balloon that left no room for his lungs to breathe or his heart to beat. The pain flooded tears into his eyes.
It had been possible, if only briefly, that he might be able to contain himself. But then J put a hand on his arm and said, “It’s going to be okay.”
Max burst into tears.
Chapter 21
ONCE IT BEGAN, Max could not stop it. As his breathing sputtered out in the large gasps, tears drenched his face. He pounded the table wit
h his fist, rattling the dishes, and lowered his forehead against the cool wood of the table. His body shuddered repeatedly.
He could feel Sandra’s hand on his back and knew she spoke soft words to him, but it all drowned out in the image on loop in his mind — Isaac Brown taking PB. He kept hearing PB’s last words — I’m with my real father now. A waitress asked if she could help and the quiet, stunned stares of other customers grew heavy on his shoulders. But nothing could stop the pain-wracking sobs erupting from him.
He tried to pull himself together, but he kept seeing the look in PB’s eyes — as if Max was never more than a placeholder to the boy. A vacant glare suggesting that hall Max had attempted to create between them had been a forgery. He heard PB’s cold pronouncement again — I’m with my real father now.
J placed his head against Max’s arm which served another howling cry through Max’s throat. He put his arm around J and held him tight.
“We should leave,” Sandra said, and the words actually made it through Max’s ears.
He grabbed a napkin and blew his nose. Dabbing as at his eyes, he stood and let Sandra lead him out of the restaurant. J followed. Max assumed Drummond floated nearby somewhere.
Nearing the exit, he exhaled a shaking breath and thought he would be okay. Until he saw a family of four trying to enjoy their meals. He wanted to apologize, but the family’s little boy stared at Max with cold curiosity. It broke him again.
Time shifted. He lost a few minutes but found himself in the passenger seat of the car with J in the back and Sandra staring at him from the driver’s side. “It’s not over,” she said.
“Of course it is,” Max said. “It doesn’t matter what we do. All our options are going to lead to the end of this family. It was all just an illusion from the start.”
From the back, J said, “You’re talking stupid. PB needs us.”
“The stupid thing was ever believing PB could think of me like a real father. You saw the way he acted. He was just using us. Never really wanted to try to make it work. And maybe, maybe we could have changed that. Somehow we could have won his love over in the long run, but now — it’s too late.” Max wiped his sleeves against his eyes. “I’m sorry about all my blubbering. I knew how much I had grown to care about him, at least I thought I did, but when he tossed us away so easily — it felt like something was ripped right out of me.”
