A Séance in Franklin Gothic

by Jessa Archer

  And the noise was even more oppressive than the heat. I’d been to rock concerts that weren’t half as loud. The pinched expressions on the faces of most of the people in the back rows suggested that they were all wishing they’d brought earplugs. Up in the first two or three rows, however, the situation was quite different. The band, which deserved far more credit for its energy than its ability to carry a tune, was accompanied by a dozen or so people adding their own percussion to the mix by stomping, dancing on the hard-packed earth, and banging on small tambourines. Some seemed oblivious to the group rhythm, intent on marching to the beat of their own internal drummer. Many of them were singing. I didn’t know the particular hymn, but a few people in the row in front of us were singing along.

  In the very center of the stage, leading the song, was Abel Davenport. He wore a dark-blue short-sleeved shirt with a loosened tie. His hand was still wrapped in gauze, and he seemed to be the only person in the room not drenched in sweat, which made me wonder if the large silver watch on his wrist was actually one of those personal temperature regulators like one of my friends had back in Nashville. Or maybe he had a portable air conditioner hidden inside the wooden pulpit in front of him.

  No snakes were visible, but I did spot a silver pitcher on the table off to the left of the pulpit. A large Bible, propped up on a stand, was at the center of a table covered by a white linen cloth.

  To Davenport’s right, a middle-aged woman in a plain cotton dress hammered away at the piano with great enthusiasm. Two younger guys, who looked like brothers, were on guitar and drums. Large lights on stands pointed down toward the stage. There were three different cameras, all aimed at the performers. A fourth video camera was stationed up in the loft. The guy with the pointy little beard was behind that one, panning from the stage to the audience and then back again.

  I also spotted quite a few familiar faces in the audience. Wren must have been people-watching as well, because she nudged me with her elbow and nodded to the other side of the aisle, where Patsy Grimes sat between her mother, Teresa, and Jesse Yarnell. Teresa seemed to be enjoying the service a bit more than the other two, possibly because she was old and in need of a hearing aid. Wren’s neighbor, Clarence Morton was seated in the row behind them, with his new wife, Elaine, who must have felt me looking at her. She turned around and waved when she saw me, pointing up at the camera in the loft with an excited grin. Well, I guess that answered the question of why she was here and probably why most of the other visitors in the barn were too. If Jesse was in the diner when Davenport stopped in to talk about the film crew, the whole town would have known before sundown.

  My guess was that Davenport had made a similar stop at a few places over in Maryville, dangling the possibility of fifteen minutes of shared fame, plus the added thrill of watching people do something dangerously stupid. The result was a barn that, while not packed to the rafters, was still close enough that a little creative camera work could probably make it look that way.

  “Do you see Eli anywhere?” I asked Wren.

  She shook her head. “Derrick Blevins just came in the back door, though.”

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I spotted him leaning against the back of the barn with the group I’d seen outside. I hadn’t realized it in the dark, but he must have been with the one with his arm around the girl.

  The music blared on.

  “Someone needs to prop those open,” Wren said, nodding toward the two doors on either side of the barn. “Otherwise, one of the dancers, or one of the old people like Patsy’s mom, is going to pass out.”

  She was right. I closed my eyes and fantasized about moving to Alaska. Or maybe Antarctica. I’d cut a hole in a thick sheet of ice and dive in. Even a long drink of cold water would be heaven right now.

  And maybe that’s how they convinced people to chug from that silver pitcher. Sure, there’s a little bit of strychnine mixed in. But on the plus side, it’s cold and it’s wet. Drink up!

  I suspected that the stifling heat was intentional in other ways, too. One purpose of Native American sweat lodges was to trigger visions and spiritual revelations. Plus, the heat would probably have a soporific effect on the snakes. When I worked at the News-Journal in Nashville, I’d written a standard filler piece one October about the pleasures—and perils—of hiking during the autumn months when snakes were abundant and active on the local trails. As cold-blooded creatures, snakes have more energy in moderate-to-warm temperatures because their bodies can’t adjust to extremes. If the environment is too cold, they become sluggish, and on especially hot days, they have to find shade quickly or they will die.

  Had this place triggered Tessa Martin’s interest in herpetology? I thought that was likely. Maybe she’d discovered that the snakes were being mistreated? As much as the creatures creeped me out, I didn’t like the idea that Davenport might be purposefully harming them in order to make them more docile for his ceremony.

  The music ended, and the people who had been dancing in the aisles returned to their seats. Lights inside the barn slowly dimmed. Reverend Davenport wiped his brow, then stashed the handkerchief back into the pulpit and picked up the microphone.

  “Everyone here tonight,” Davenport began, “is searchin’ for somethin’. Searchin’ for faith. Searchin’ for peace. Searchin’ for the healing light that can only come from someone who walks in absolute harmony with the Lord our God.”

  My phone vibrated against the wooden chair. It wouldn’t have been audible during the music, but it was loud enough in the new silence that the redheaded woman in front of us turned to give me an annoyed look.

  The call was from Ed. “Hello,” I whispered, slinking down as much as I could into my chair. The woman turned back again, with a look that suggested lightning bolts were about to strike me from on high for daring to use my phone in church.

  “And…you can’t talk,” Ed said. “I’ll send a text.”

  He cut the call. I held the phone in my hand this time, but it still made a slight buzzing noise when Ed’s message came in.

  “Turn. That. Thing. Off,” the redhead snapped in a low voice.

  “Mind. Your. Own. Business.” Wren gave her a smile that I knew well, one that was pleasant and yet somehow still managed to suggest that trouble would surely follow if you continue to cross her.

  The woman sniffed indignantly and quickly turned back to the front. I clicked on Ed’s message as Reverend Davenport continued to enumerate, in his most dramatic tones, the many things for which the people currently gathered in this hot, sticky barn were searching.

  Back in Thistlewood, however, the search was now over.

  Tessa Martin’s body had been found.

  ✰ Chapter Seventeen ✰

  I stared down at the message. Even though I’d seen her body, even though I’d known deep down that this was how Tessa Martin’s story would end, what I’d told Jeff and Brenda Martin was the absolute truth. I’d hoped—really, really hoped—that I was wrong. I’d even tried to make myself believe I was wrong, make myself believe that Tessa would roll back into town with some guy she was seeing, amazed that her friends had actually fallen for the prank. Worried that she was going to be grounded for all eternity. Anything but this.

  Wren nudged me hard enough that I was sure it wasn’t the first time she’d attempted to get my attention. I started to hand her the phone, but then I realized she was pointing at the pulpit.

  Elijah was now entering the stage, carrying a wooden box that he placed on the table to the left of the Bible. Davenport was still droning on about people who were searching. He still hadn’t mentioned air-conditioning, even though I was quite certain it was at the top of everyone’s list.

  Davenport placed one hand over his eyes and began to sway slightly. That was apparently the cue for the musicians to begin. The tempo was slow at first, building as Davenport increased the speed of his rocking back and forth.

  “…see someone here tonight, someone who searches. A sister who searches
for the healing light for her daughter, a daughter with…I think it’s her kidneys that are weak. Her kidneys are failin’. Have failed. She’s on dialysis, has been on dialysis for years, and she’s been seekin’ a donor but…”

  “That’s us!” a woman in the third row screamed, raising both arms above her head. Her long dark hair fell nearly to her waist. She turned toward the Davenports and—probably not coincidentally—the cameras. “That’s us, Reverend Abel. That’s us! My Mindy needs your help.”

  My jaw dropped. I turned to see an identical look on Wren’s face as she stared at Meredith Tucker.

  “Oh, no.” Davenport shook his head, as the music dropped back to a soft, slow hum in the background. “It’s not my help she needs. My faith, even if my faith can move the very mountain upon which we stand, it could not heal her. How old is your daughter, Sister?”

  “Twenty-one,” Meredith said. “Stand up, Mindy baby. Let the reverend see you.”

  Mindy stood and gave a trembling smile to Davenport, who nodded gravely. “My child, you’re old enough that my faith, and even your mother’s faith, imbued though it may be with a mother’s pure and abiding love, cannot heal you. If you want to leave your pain and suffering behind, if you want to live a long, healthy life in the Lord, you and you alone must find the faith that moves mountains.”

  Wren huffed and whispered, “She looked pretty darn healthy earlier today, don’t you think?”

  I nodded. “She sure did.”

  Elijah Davenport continued to stand at the table, his hand resting on the wooden box. It was about two feet high and looked a bit like a large toolkit. I had the sense that Eli’s mind was somewhere else entirely. He reminded me of someone working behind the counter at a fast-food place or at some other routine, soul-sucking job where the best remedy was to let your body stand there in the uniform and do the mundane tasks while your mind goes on vacation to literally anywhere else.

  “Can y’all join me up here at the altar?” Reverend Davenport said to Mindy and her mother.

  Meredith and Mindy climbed the three steps leading up to the stage where Davenport was waiting, with his face composed into a sympathetic smile. “As I said, child, you and you alone must find the faith to pull that healing power straight into your body. You must find the faith to walk in complete and absolute harmony with all of God’s creatures, even the most feared and reviled.”

  Mindy nodded solemnly.

  “Allowing a believer to take up serpents is not a decision that we come to lightly at the Church of Divine Signs. You saw what happened with Brother Perry earlier, and it was indeed miraculous.”

  A few murmurs circulated through the audience—praise Jesus, hallelujah, amen.

  “Apparently we missed the opening act,” Wren said to me. In front of us, the red-haired woman’s shoulders twitched like she wanted to turn back and reprimand us again. But she was apparently smarter than she looked, because she held her tongue and kept looking straight ahead.

  On the other side of the aisle, Patsy and Jesse had their heads together, whispering. Patsy’s face was visible, and she looked almost as stunned as Wren and I had when we saw Meredith in the room.

  “But Brother Perry has been one of us for many years,” Davenport said. “Like any mere human, he is not without sin, and he slips and falls from time to time.” Another murmur, this time of soft laughter, circled the room. “But I knew that his faith was strong, that he could take the poison into his body and allow it to work a miracle. I knew the Lord would take that poison and alter it within his body to heal that slipped disk in an instant, hallelujah, amen.”

  Those at the front of the congregation and a few others echoed Davenport’s last two words. A few others, however, were beginning to look a little concerned. That included Jesse, who was now counting something off on his fingers as Patsy watched.

  Davenport continued, “The Church of Divine Signs welcomes strangers who join us in search of the healing power, but we need to be certain, absolutely certain beyond any doubt, that your faith is strong, my child. We need to know without question that you are willing to take up the reviled serpent, the creature that God placed upon this earth to test our very souls, to pierce the heel of mankind so that we sicken and die in the absence of faith. And so I ask you, Mindy, as you stand here before this community of believers…are you one of us? Do you have faith to move mountains, to allow God to work a miracle in you and through you for His glory?”

  Mindy nodded, raising her face to the light so that her long coppery hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Yes! I believe.”

  “Then pray with me.”

  Apparently pray with me also meant sway with me, because the music began to swell. Davenport gripped Mindy’s upper arms in his hands and began to pray as they rocked from side to side, although I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I don’t think anyone else on the planet could have either.

  The music picked up, and members of the congregation began to shout along with it. Davenport raised his arms and asked everyone to stand. “You cannot heal this child through your faith, but you can lift her up with your love and support as she asks for the strength to take up the serpent, just as our Lord took up his cross.”

  Meredith sank to her knees and began to wail. I suspected this was, at least in part, to make sure that a few eyes remained on her, even though the spotlight was on Davenport and Mindy.

  “He just makes me mad,” Wren said between clenched teeth, no longer bothering to keep her voice down. “I truly believe that prayers can heal, but this man is making a mockery of everything holy. I don’t think for one minute that girl is sick.”

  I didn’t either, but the question was, what could we do about it? There was a part of me that wanted to jump to my feet like the person at a wedding when the minister asks if there are any who object. But I had a sneaky feeling that at least some of the people at the front of this church were true believers. Others, like Brother Perry and his miraculous no-longer-slipped disc were probably in on the scam. Both groups would likely come after me and Wren if one of us decided to no longer hold our peace and yell out our objections. And I thought the odds were very good that some of those coming after us would be armed with snakes.

  I leaned toward Wren and said, “Last night at The Buzz, Mindy told me that they were in town for a gig. I thought she meant a temp job of some sort. But it looks like an acting gig to me.”

  “Hope they didn’t quit their day jobs,” Wren said. “Because I’m not finding either one of them the least bit convincing.”

  I’m not sure what cue he’d been listening for, but something seemed to snap Eli out of his trance. He opened the box, reached in, and pulled out first one snake, and then another. Both appeared to be rattlesnakes, and both quickly coiled themselves around his forearms.

  The congregation, or at least the section not immune to this sort of stuff, sucked in a collective breath as Eli moved toward his father and Mindy. Eli was cautious with the snakes, but not any more so than you’d be with a sharp knife. The snakes did look a bit lethargic, although otherwise I would have said they looked healthy.

  Likewise, I would have said that Mindy seemed a bit dim, but not downright stupid. And definitely not crazy enough to grab a poisonous snake, no matter how promising the “gig” might be. But her hand was reaching out toward one of the snakes.

  There was a movement in my peripheral vision from the loft. To my surprise, the camera up there, the one being operated by Pointy Beard, wasn’t pointed at the stage. It wasn’t pointed at the audience, either. It was aimed directly at the door. Derrick Blevins was standing off to the side of that door, talking to someone on his phone.

  Then a familiar voice from across the aisle yelled, “Stop! Is that you, Meredith? Meredith Capps?”

  Meredith stopped mid-wail to stare at the man standing in the middle of the aisle. Jesse was wearing his usual baggy-seat jeans that couldn’t quite contain the belly he’d earned from eating pretty much every meal at Patsy�
�s Diner.

  When Meredith didn’t respond, he said, “It’s Jesse. Mac’s buddy. You remember me, don’t you? You said that girl’s twenty-one, and I’ll be danged if her hair ain’t exactly the same shade as my sister Debbie’s. At least before she went gray and started dyein’ it. I barely drink at all, so my kidneys are prob’ly fine. If she needs a kidney, and I’m a match, it’s hers. And if I ain’t a match, one of my kin should be. No need in the girl takin’ this kinda risk.”

  The music gradually trailed off as everyone stared at Jesse.

  “I don’t know that man,” Meredith said to Davenport. “I don’t know him.”

  Mindy wasn’t looking at her mother. Her eyes were locked on Jesse.

  “Mindy,” Meredith said sharply. When her daughter finally looked her way, Meredith gave a pointed glance toward the cameras, and then said, “I don’t know that man. This is your chance, baby. Your chance to…to be well again.”

  Jesse just stood there, looking confused and a little hurt. Patsy grabbed his hand and pulled him back down into his chair.

  Eli was still holding the snakes, which seemed a little more agitated now that the loud music had stopped. Davenport motioned toward the pianist again, and she launched right back into the song she’d been playing as Davenport grabbed Mindy’s arms again. “Are you sure, child?”

  She cast a hesitant glance toward Jesse, then looked at her mom, and then back at Abel Davenport. “I’m sure,” she said with a firm nod.

  Despite all of the drama going on at the middle and front of the barn, I noticed that the loft camera was still aimed at the rear entrance. Derrick Blevins was no longer on the phone, but he looked worried.