Dark Justice: A Supernatural Thriller

by Donnie Light

  He climbed through the brush along the side of the road and peered into the woods beyond it. They seemed unnaturally dark, the glow of the moon unable to reach the forest floor through the boughs of the great pine trees. The ground was covered with fallen needles that had accumulated over the years. It made for quiet travel, except for the occasional dry twig that would crack under the weight of the slave. He turned north, parallel to the road, and walked quietly in that direction.

  Tobias moved as silently as possible and kept a steady pace. As he approached the area where the fire was, he stopped and looked to his right. He could make out the flames quite well through the sparse trees. In the dark, he had not realized he had drifted back toward the road and was now only about fifty yards from the fire.

  He slowly crept ever closer, until he was just beyond the circle of light. He tucked himself behind a tree for cover and watched for movement. He heard the slight breathing sounds of a sleeping horse. The horse was behind the fire, the glow almost hiding it from his sight. He could also make out the shape of a man, covered by a blanket, asleep on the ground near the fire. Just as Tobias decided to move on, he spotted two leather pouches hanging on a branch of the tree to keep animals from dragging them off in the night. They hung about fifteen yards from where the man was quietly sleeping. The hunger pangs, which he had tried to ignore, flourished wildly as he thought of what lay inside the pouches.

  No! he thought. It was too risky. He should keep going, leave this man behind.

  Food.

  Perhaps he could quietly sneak over and pluck the bags from the branch as if they were ripe fruit, he argued in his mind.

  Hunger won out over common sense.

  His thoughts were now controlled by the need for food. He pictured himself gnawing at a length of jerky as he plodded along the road. The mental picture gave him hope as he quietly approached the sleeping man’s camp. His mouth watered as he thought about the food. He was now only twenty feet away. He again looked around the camp.

  The man was still lying alongside the fire, apparently asleep. The only sound Tobias could hear was his own breathing and the subtle snapping from the small fire. He approached the pouches, keeping to the dark shadows of the night as best he could.

  When Tobias reached the tree where the bags were hanging, he noticed something that caused his blood to run cold. A second horse stood a few feet behind the first. The horse was black as coal, hardly noticeable in the dark woods. Before he could move away, Tobias heard the distinct click of a gun’s hammer locking into position.

  “Well now, what’ve we got here?” a voice from somewhere in the darkness asked. A man walked toward Tobias, gun held at waist level and pointed at the slave. “Down on the ground, darkie,” he said, “and don’t move ’til I tell ya’ to move.”

  Tobias froze, considering his chances of survival if he were to bolt into the dark woods.

  “Belly in the dirt, boy!” the voice belted out.

  Tobias hit the ground, his years of slavery causing him to instinctively act upon the order. He heard shuffling sounds from the area of the fire as the sleeping man awoke.

  “What in the name of God’s goin’ on, Vince?” the waking man asked as he jumped to his feet.

  “Got us a darkie tryin’ to steal our horses,” Vince said as he approached Tobias. “Prob’ly would’a cut our throats if we was both sleepin’. I told ya’ one of us ought to keep watch.”

  Tobias kept his head down and heard the steps of the other man coming toward him.

  “Here Lukey, hold the gun on ’im,” Vince said. “If he moves, put a hole in his hide.”

  Tobias felt the pouch begin to grow warm again and relished the now familiar energy that flowed through him. He lay quietly in the semi-darkness, keeping his mind alert for a chance to escape.

  He had just raised his eyes to look toward the feet of his captors when pain exploded in his left side, sending his breath rushing out in one harsh blast. The force of the kick from Vince’s heavy boot caused Tobias to lose his grip on the pouch and it was flung, unnoticed, under a nearby bush.

  “Is that what you was goin’ to do boy? Was you goin’ to cut ol’ Luke’s throat and steal his horse?” Vince asked, expecting no reply.

  Tobias rolled on the ground, still unable to utter a sound from the lack of air in his lungs. He fought desperately for a breath. He could feel himself slipping into darkness, unable to breathe. Tobias blacked out.

  Vince walked around Tobias then kicked him again. This time the blow landed on his buttocks. Unconscious, Tobias did not flinch.

  “Good Lord, Vince, I think ya’ killed him,” Luke said. Luke was a short, heavy man with dark beard stubble covering his face. He held the gun unsteadily, pointed in the general direction of the slave.

  Vince was a big man, nearly six-foot-four. A large brimmed hat cast shadows across his face. He knelt down beside Tobias, watching and listening. “Prob’ly should’a killed ’im,” Vince said, “but he’s still breathin’.”

  The two men dragged Tobias towards the fire and rolled him onto his back. Tobias’ chest moved slightly, drawing quick shallow breaths. His clothes were now just tattered rags and hung loosely about him. The deep cuts on his face from the encounter with the briar patch were swollen but had scabbed over. The rags that were wrapped around his stump arm were caked with mud, dirt and dried blood.

  “This boy looks like he’s been drug through a knothole,” Vince said, looking over the slave.

  “Look, he ain’t got no hand!” Luke exclaimed. His face grew pale. “Whadda ya’ think happened to ’im?”

  “Maybe a ’gator bit it off,” Vince said, grimacing at the thought. “Let’s tie him up,” he said. “He ought to be worth a little silver to somebody if we can keep him alive.”

  They drug Tobias by the ankles to the nearest tree. They leaned him back against it and lashed a rope around him pulling him snugly against the trunk of the tree, until they were satisfied that he would not get away. Then, the two of them began looking for more wood to put on the dying fire.

  After they got the fire built back up, Vince walked over to look at Tobias. In the better light, Tobias looked worse than he did the first time Vince had seen him. His head hung limply to one side, but his breathing had become smoother and steadier. Luke took a canteen from his saddlebags and poured some water over Tobias’ face. Tobias twitched and his mouth opened slightly. His tongue began to lick at the water. His eyelids trembled slightly before opening to dull yellow slits.

  “See there, I told ya’ he was still alive,” Vince said as he watched the slave begin to move.

  Luke was about to slap Tobias gently on the cheeks to help bring him around but then thought better of it, considering the ugly cuts that criss-crossed the slave’s face. He decided to try talking to him instead.

  “Hey, boy, can ya’ hear me?” Luke asked.

  Tobias’ eyes opened a little more, but the look was unfocused and confused. Luke poured a little more water over Tobias’ face and the two men watched as awareness grew on the slave’s features.

  Tobias jerked back. He shrank away from the two, cowering against the tree. His breathing became harsh once again and he gasped for air. The pain in his side was brutal.

  “Ease up now, boy. We ain’t goin’ to hurt ya’,” Luke said.

  Tobias struggled hopelessly against the rope.

  “Here, drink a little of this water,” Luke said as he poured a little more into Tobias’ mouth. He smiled at the slave, showing a row of black, rotted teeth. He was careful not to touch the canteen to Tobias’ mouth and poured from a couple of inches away.

  Tobias allowed the sweet water to run into his mouth, swallowing between labored breaths. He remained very suspicious of the two who now seemed eager to help him.

  “Who do you belong to, boy?” Vince asked as he looked into Tobias’ eyes. He turned his head to one side and spit out a wad of chewing tobacco.

  Tobias let the last mouthful of water run down hi
s chin and considered whether he should answer.

  “Speak up, boy,” Vince said, “or I’ll plant this boot on the side of your head.”

  “Richards,” Tobias croaked. “Masta Richards.”

  Vince sat back on his heels. “Richards?” he asked. “Benjamin Richards?”

  Tobias nodded.

  “Are you the slave that killed a field boss when you took to runnin’?”

  Tobias looked at Vince suspiciously, his eyes again narrowing to slits. “I ain’t killed no field boss.”

  “You lie!” Vince shouted. “Lukey! I think this here’s the slave that killed that field boss on Richards’ place a few days back. I’ll bet it is!”

  Luke began to eye Tobias like a lynching mob might have. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.

  Tobias thought a moment; he did not want to answer. Yes, he had gotten into a fight with Frederick, but he had not killed him.

  Had he? Tobias’ mind drifted back to the start of his run.

  § § §

  After he shot Martha, Richards went pale. He had not meant to pull the trigger; he had just wanted to make a point. He had lost control in front of his son and Frederick. “Raymond,” he said, barely above a whisper, “please go inside.” Raymond did not hesitate to comply.

  Tobias was on his knees, next to Martha’s body, sobbing uncontrollably.” Frederick,” Richards said, “find Tobias another place to sleep tonight and take him there. See to it that the body is buried properly.”

  Frederick approached Tobias and was trying to coax him onto his feet when Richards left the shack.

  Richards went to the stable and sat on a stool in the tack room. He felt terrible for having lost control as he had. He had always tried to lead by example, and wanted Raymond to learn that there were times when you had to be stern in order to maintain control. If your slaves and hired hands thought you were soft, they would walk all over you.

  Richards was deep in thought about how he would explain this, as he left the tack room and went to find Raymond.

  The next day, Master Richards had ordered Frederick to keep Tobias away from the twins. Richards was intent on playing the whole thing down. He wanted the twins to leave with Mary and Ralph before Tobias could say goodbye. He knew Tobias would make a scene and the twins would only be worse off having to see their father and learning of their mother’s death.

  Richards had also ordered Frederick to keep quiet and not to tell anyone what had happened. He wanted the twins to get to their new home and hoped they would never find out about the death of their mother. Soon after the twins settled into their new home, Tobias would be sold off. Richards would tell Mary that the twin’s mother had died a natural death. Soon, it would all be behind him and he would forget it had ever happened. It was just a part of the business that made him a wealthy man.

  Tobias had been in the stables that morning after Martha’s death, tending to the horses as he did every morning before he went to the fields. Ralph, who had heard nothing about the previous night’s activities, ordered Tobias to ready a wagon and two horses for the trip to their new home. Tobias hoped the twins would soon come to fetch the wagon.

  A few moments after Ralph had left for breakfast in the big house, Frederick walked in and told Tobias to get into the field.

  “But Mista Fred, Mista Ralph done told me to ready-up him a wagon.”

  “I told you to get into the field!” Frederick said, “Master Richards’ orders! Now, move!”

  Tobias pleaded with Frederick to let him stay for a few more minutes but Frederick would not listen.

  “You get your ass into the field now,” he said, “before I have to drag you out there myself.”

  Frederick untied the leather strap that held the length of whip to his belt and let the wicked length of braided hide unroll onto the floor.

  Tobias backed off and began to walk out of the stable. As he turned the corner outside the door, he heard Gabriel call to him.

  “Papa! Papa!” he called.

  Tobias twirled around and Frederick gave him a shove from behind. Tobias went sprawling onto all fours. He looked up to see Gabriel running toward him and Titus close behind.

  Both boys came to their father.

  Frederick gave the whip a snap, a sort of warning shot.

  “Into the field boy, and I mean now!” Frederick yelled.

  Gabriel was already putting his arms around his father who was still on his hands and knees. Titus was running hard but slowed as he approached, watching Frederick cock his arm back, ready to release the whip.

  Frederick pushed Gabriel away from Tobias with his foot, sending Gabriel rolling onto his side on the dusty path.

  The whip sailed. Tobias howled as it fell across his back, feeling as if his shirt had caught fire.

  Both boys leaped up and simultaneously shouted, “Papa!”

  The back door of the big house slammed shut and all heads turned toward the sound. Miss Mary was walking steadily toward the group, hefting her long dress up above her ankles to facilitate maneuvering across the still wet grass.

  “For land’s sake!” she shouted. “What is going on here?”

  She walked over to Frederick who let the length of whip fall slack at his side.

  “Just followin’ your daddy’s orders, Miss,” Frederick said.

  “I doubt my daddy told you to come out here and whip this poor negro,” she said. “Now you let these boys tell their daddy ’bye, and I’ll send him to the field when they’re finished and not a minute before!”

  “But, Miss—”

  “No buts! Go on, and get to work. I’m sure my daddy would want these boys to get a proper good-bye, so I’ll see to it myself!”

  Frederick walked over to the stable and stood in the doorway. Richards would be angry with him for letting this happen.

  “Now, you boys tell your Papa ’bye and then get busy loadin’ that wagon,” Mary said, turning to walk away. She stopped in the garden, out of hearing range but close enough to stop that brute Fred if he was to try anything.

  Tobias crawled over to the grass alongside the path with one of his boys on each arm. He pulled his boys close, putting an arm around each. For the first time, he and Master Richards had the same idea; he could not tell the twins about their mother. Not now.

  “Time for you boys to go away now,” Tobias said, trying not to cry. “Mista Ralph and Miss Mary will be good to ya’, so you listen good,” he told them. “Miss Mary has a likin’ for ya’ and someday, maybe you might be a field boss, or maybe work all the time in the big house.” Tobias squeezed them close and could not hold back the tears. The twins were crying steadily, sobbing between breaths. Tears streamed down their cheeks.

  “You two has grown into fine young men,” he said as the tears ran from his eyes. “And I’ll never forget when the two of ya’ was born. You was cryin’ and squawkin’…”

  Tobias couldn’t tell them the stories of their youth; it was too hard. He wanted to let them know he would never forget them and that he loved them. He wiped at the tears in his eyes and remembered how he and many other slaves kept from feeling so sad; they sang.

  It’s a long row to be hoein’,

  It’s a long row to be plowin’.

  Tobias fought back the choking sobs in his throat and the twins joined their father in the song.

  It’s a long way to the Big-House,

  but that’s where I’ll be a goin’.

  Them bales are mighty heavy,

  them horses a’ mighty strong,

  but we’ll keep them wagons rollin’,

  while we be singin’ a song.

  The twins looked into their fathers eyes and saw the love. They saw, and they understood. That day the twins became men.

  Tobias stood up, starting the verse a second time. He felt his legs would not carry him. His grief was like an anchor holding him in place. The boys, still singing, gave their father a hug. Although tears streamed from their eyes, the singing was joyous. Tobia
s kissed both of them on the forehead and then sent them toward the waiting Miss Mary. He watched them go to her. She put her arms around them and led them to the house. Tobias thought—but was not sure—that she too, was crying.

  Frederick still stood in the doorway of the stable. Tobias made his way down the lane. Frederick strode behind him. Tobias could feel Frederick’s stare as though it were boring holes through his still-stinging back. Tobias could hear the sound of Frederick’s boots on the dusty lane and could tell he was closing the distance between them. Tobias walked steadily and dared not look behind him.

  About halfway to the nearest of the fields, Frederick moved close enough that Tobias could hear him breathing. There had been no words spoken and Tobias grew more apprehensive of the man behind him. He expected to feel the crack of the whip, but was very surprised when Frederick looped the whip around his neck, pulling it tight enough to choke him and wrestled him to the ground.

  “If you ever do anything like that to me again,” the field boss said,” I swear I’ll beat you like you’ve never been beat before.”

  Tobias struggled against the whip, trying to wiggle his fingers between its tight wrap and his throat. Frederick pulled up on the whip, lifting Tobias to his feet. The whip was digging into his flesh and Tobias was desperately struggling for air. In an unconscious attempt to free himself, Tobias swung back with his arms. One of his elbows connected forcefully with Frederick’s ribs. Frederick winced and fell backward. Tobias fell to his knees, finally able to breath again.

  Tobias was still on his knees when Frederick recovered and again Frederick let loose the whip. It cracked across Tobias’ right shoulder and the slave jumped to his feet. He turned to see Frederick loosing the whip again but did not have time to react. The whip landed across the side of his neck. Tobias put his head down and rushed toward the field boss.

  Frederick saw him coming and readied himself for the blow. The force of the collision carried them both backward. Tobias fell upon Frederick with the force of a raging bull. Tobias rolled over and quickly stood up.