“Did the young man they’re looking for do something to him?” Maxwell asked.
“He may have tried to light him on fire, but those injuries were superficial, so yes, but he didn’t kill your uncle, if that’s what you are thinking. Someone else did that weeks before he was brought in. Your uncle had injuries to his face, mostly his nose. I’m sorry you have to hear this, but if you’re coming anyway, I should warn you. Half of his nose had been cut away. That wound got infected, and it worsened for at least two to three weeks. The infection spread, and by the time he got here, there wasn’t much we could do. He died early yesterday evening, the antibiotics didn’t have long enough to work, and he was very weak. I’m sorry, it’s sad seeing family pass, I know, but in times like these-“
Maxwell hung the phone up and breathed a sigh of relief. “Looks like the right one killed you, asshole.” He muttered as he headed for the kitchen in search of leftovers and more coffee. “You tortured a girl for this bloody book, and her father got to you before you could get away. Wish he finished the job though, because we have to deal with your soul.”
That night Darren returned with his girlfriend. Unlike Zachary, he had no ire for Maxwell when he learned that their last gig had been cancelled, and hooked a rented tape recorder up to the soundboard, laying a few extra microphones around to catch the sound of the drums. He joined them, and Maxwell was reminded why Darren made such a good rhythm guitarist. He spent half of his time hopping around the stage and stoking the audience, drawing them into the show by leading them in clapping, or shouting repetitive parts of the lyrics.
The energy that had been drained during months of touring had returned, and it was good to see Darren enjoying himself. Having Miranda on guitar also freed him up to play their old Hammond organ, which led to Bernie singing the only things he had the bravery to deliver to an audience, Iron Butterfly and Doors covers.
The new lineup had their picture taken by someone from the Star, Miranda in Max’s leather pants and a vest with guitar in hand, Maxwell bending low, concentrating on a guitar solo behind her. Bernie stood beside them, looking out from the stage, and Scott was behind and above them all, drumsticks raised high, about to smash the cymbals. Darren almost got cut off on the left, sitting on a milking stool nailed to a crate, head thrown back as his fingers pounded the keys of the Hammond. The organ was cut out of the picture, so to anyone who couldn’t guess what he was doing, he just looked like a madman on a milking stool.
The next day they were on the front page below the fold with the headline:
GATHERING FESTIVAL GETS MUSICAL
Three days of playing music, spending afternoons at the beach, and getting to know the people who had come from five different countries to attend the Gathering passed. Maxwell and Miranda were inseparable. Scott and April were similarly attached.
As the evening reserved for initiations drew nearer, the number of people gathered swelled until the field nearest the main house was covered with tents, and the gravel lot beside it was filled with campers and motorhomes.
There was only going to be one show on initiation day, and it ended before noon. The heat and humidity fell on the Webb farm, and the barn was like a furnace before the morning was through.
Miranda’s shirt was off, revealing a bikini top underneath before the set was half over. Scott and Maxwell made a joke out of it after they finished playing Radar Love by kicking their jeans off and finishing the morning in their boxers.
The large crowd, larger than the barn could hold, all broke up as they finished their last song for the day: Feel Like Making Love. Maxwell and Scott put their pants back on, then followed Bernie and Darren through the small door at the back of the barn. Miranda was right behind them.
Maxwell patted the hood of his black and white 1958 Edsel on his way by. “We’re going to have to take the boat out tomorrow, make sure everything’s running.”
“That’s yours?” Miranda said.
“Every last foot of it,” Maxwell said. “I can’t keep riding my Harley on gravel,” he said, taking Miranda’s hand. “Can’t keep testing my luck like that.”
“About time,” Bernie said. “I’ll help you tune it up.”
They only made it half way to the beach before a Mercedes tore into the circular parking area in front of the public bathroom building, nearly running several people in swim suits, carrying coolers and towels down. A tall, middle-aged dark haired man in a suit got out of the passenger side and zeroed right in on Scott. “Who’s that?” Miranda asked.
It took a moment for Bernie to see it, he hadn’t run into the man since he was a child, but he realized who it was as Bernie said his name. “Steven Sands, he’s April’s dad. Trouble.”
“And the only family to be kicked out of the circle,” Maxwell said. “We were kids when it happened, but that didn’t stop my father from going on about it.”
“Scott,” he said, slamming the car door and pointing at Bernie. “Where’s my daughter?”
Scott stepped forward and said; “you’re looking for me. I haven’t seen her since last night. She left late.”
“We haven’t seen her, not last night, not today,” Steven said. “Did she say where she was going? Who she was getting a ride with?”
“I was asleep,” Scott said. “When she left I was already asleep.”
“You’re free to look around, I’ll go with you, we’ll get everyone looking,” Bernie said.
“I’ll hit the gravel lot, check the motorhomes,” Scott said.
“You’ve done enough, thank you,” Steven said, opening the car door.
“Wait,” Bernie barked, striding towards Steven. “If you’re going to cause trouble, you’re going to leave. You’re not welcome here. I’ll go look with you and you’re leaving your car here.”
“I should have recognized you right away, you’re as tall as your father, just as indignant too. That’s not going to help you in the world, son,” Steven said. He looked at Maxwell then. “April’s not the real reason why I’m here anyway. You have something that belongs to me, boy.”
Maxwell crossed to the car, Miranda stuck to his side, still holding his hand, but he let it go. He stopped to stand beside the front bumper of Steven’s car. He could see Angelo inside, acting as chauffer. “What would a puffed up suit want from me?”
“The Libro de Puertas, the Book of Doors, I paid Angelo twenty thousand dollars to have an errand boy fetch that for me. I hear nothing for months, then that it’s in town, and that he can’t give it to me.”
Maxwell felt the weight of his mistake then, and understood why the Elders did not want the book to find the man who paid for it’s retrieval. Steven Sands was the last person he would trust with the book and shard, he’d rather give it back to Panos. “The money is between you and Angelo, and the rest is mine, bugger off.”
With a quick, practiced hand, Steven slapped Maxwell across the face hard enough to turn his head and cut his inner cheek against his teeth. “Don’t you dare speak to an elder that way, young ma-“
Maxwell stepped forward with a fast, straight jab with his left fist. Steven didn’t have any warning or time to respond. His hands started to go up after the shocking strike to his mouth. Steven, easily half a head taller than Maxwell and broader shouldered, staggered back. “Seems you’ve mistaken me for one of your kids, geezer,” Max said before slapping one of Steven’s upraised hands away and hitting him in the nose so hard with his right hand that he felt the crush of cartilage under his knuckles.
Steven staggered backwards, and Maxwell pushed him to the ground with only the slightest effort. A quick fist struck upward, catching Maxwell in the cheek too lightly for him to care. He waved the hand away and swung as though he was trying to pound through Steven’s head to hit the ground.
He got three shots in and stood up, straightening his bloody rings. “Dad told me all about you, cunt. Beats his kids, beats his wife, even smacked Bernie there once while visiting, but just once.”
Ang
elo started to open the door and Maxwell shot him a furious glance, pointing a finger. “Back in the car! We’ll roll this piece of shit back into the passenger seat, and then you can roll the fuck out of here.”
Maxwell knelt down to pick Steven up by the front of his jacket and smirked at the sound of the large man whimpering. He had him on his feet, leaning against the back door, Bernie, stoic-faced, opened the passenger door and helped him in. Blood ran from his nose freely, his mouth was a bashed, broken mess. “New generation coming up,” Maxwell said to Steven and Angelo. “We’ll look for your daughter, but she’ll decide whether or not she goes back to you.”
“I’ll give you fifty thousand,” Steven struggled through his injuries, spitting blood at the dash as he spoke. “For book.”
“You’re going to want to keep your head up,” Maxwell said before slamming the door.
“Holy shit,” Scott said as the car began reversing.
“What was that?” Miranda asked as she picked up his right hand.
“Nothing good about that man, maybe his kids turned out different, but he’s rich because he makes sacrifices, deals with dark things. I went too far though, way too far.”
“I wanted to try to stop you, man, but he was a blood fountain on the ground before I had time to think,” Scott said.
“I think you have a piece of his tooth here,” Miranda said, picking a small white square from a cut on his finger, beside his ring.
“Da’ told me never to punch for the mouth,” Maxwell said. “Going to have to wash this up, get chunks of his cheeks out of my rings, too.”
“About time he got his,” Bernie said. “I don’t like seeing anyone stomped, but he had that coming.”
“What did he do?” Miranda asked.
“When I was young, maybe nine, I was visiting their house,” Bernie said. “Playing with April and Trent, her older brother. April broke a vase when she was trying to give it to her father with a bunch of wild flowers she picked from the yard. There was broken glass all down the stairs, and she cut herself. She started balling, I think she was more scared that she was bleeding than badly hurt, so he came down, gave April shit, and when her brother tried to help, Steve gave him shit for not watching his sister. Then he slapped him. He bumped into me and I fell down the stairs. When my father and Maxwell’s dad came to get me, I had a cut on my forehead, and they could sense something was wrong in the house, even past an abusive dad.”
“As if that wasn’t enough. The Circle demanded to get a look at the house, and I don’t know what they found, but he was cast out a few days later. I still went too far,” Maxwell said, looking down at the small patch of blood on the gravel.
“I’ve never seen anyone move that fast,” Miranda said. She seemed stunned, still holding his bloody hand.
“I’m sorry you saw that. I’ve got an impatient side that only comes out when I’m about my father’s business and I know I’m standing in front of a killer.”
“We don’t know that, Max,” Bernie said, a warning in his tone. “April can say it, she’s his daughter, but no one has proof.”
“I’m starting to believe it,” Maxwell said. “But you’re right. Head down to the beach, I’m going to clean up in the main cabin.”
“I’ll clean you up, but no more of that,” Miranda said. “I get that sometimes it’s easier to just lose it, but you don’t have to. You’re not alone here, no one can corner you.”
“You’re right,” Maxwell said. “I get that way, and I worry I could be like him.”
“Okay, that’s not what I’m worried about,” Miranda said. “I just don’t want you to do something you can’t live with someday, or get thrown in jail.”
“One drunk tank was enough,” Maxwell said.
“Story there?”
“Got drunk, wandered off, got caught pissing against a wall, ended up in custody until the morning,” he replied.
“Detroit,” Scott said, laughing.
“Not my proudest moment,” Maxwell said.
“Good weekend, though,” Bernie said. “Detroit was fun, we got to see the Stooges, met Iggy Pop.”
“You met Iggy Pop?” Miranda asked.
“Yeah, nice enough fellow, too,” Maxwell said. “Give you the shirt off his back if he’s happening to be wearing one.”
“I’m going to go look for April,” Scott said as they got to the veranda of the main cabin.
“I’ll get out there too,” Bernie said.
“What just happened?” Gladys said as she came through the door with Samuel. “We were just on our way out and someone said you were in a fight with a man in a suit?”
“Steven Sands paid us a visit. Pulled up, started asking about the book and his daughter. We’ll have to keep an eye out for her, make sure she turns up sometime today.”
“What about this fight?” Samuel asked, his voice not as strong. The air was becoming more difficult for him.
“He gave me a slap, so I put him down, put him in his car and they got out of here.” Maxwell pointed at his slightly reddened cheek and Miranda’s eyes went wide.
“He got you,” she said, “Looks like one of his rings cut you.”
“Still bleeding?” Maxwell asked.
“No, it’s small,” Miranda said.
“You know that’s going to come back on us somehow,” Gladys said. “You should have come to us.”
“I was afraid he would turn the whole place upside down, don’t blame him, mind you, but he didn’t want one of us to take him around. He wanted to go on his own. He was more interested in the book anyhow. Then things turned when he tried to treat me like one of his kids.”
“I understand, Maxwell, there’s history,” Samuel said before taking a labored breath. “Just let us take care of Sands, all right?”
“Absolutely,” Maxwell said.
Gladys shook her head. “We’re going to Sam’s trailer to play some cards in the air conditioning.”
“Maybe have a little wine,” Samuel said with a mischievous smile.
“Behave, you two,” Miranda said.
“Oh, I can handle him,” Gladys said as they passed them on the stairs.
After Maxwell’s right hand was cleaned up and his rings were washed, he joined Scott and Bernie as they searched for April. Word went out that there could be someone lost on the farm, and before the sun set, every tent, camper, motorhome, both beaches, the nearby woods and all the cabins were searched. There was no sign of her.
XII
Morley Parker retired from the Ontario Provincial Police three years before he set foot on the Webb Farm on that humid day. When word reached Archer Hardware that there was a missing girl, and the police decided not to look for her because she had habit of going off on her own, he rallied his oldest friends, Patrick and Richard Young, to join him in helping with the search. They followed him in their pickup truck without hesitation.
Seeing the Webb Main House on the top of the hill almost made him smile. He was always invited to the smaller holiday parties there, and the few he attended were lighthearted, enjoyable affairs.
His wife, Carrie, didn’t like the place much though. She believed there were rituals performed on the farm, that the family was involved with paganism. Morley knew it was true, but he didn’t share her dark impression. To him the Webbs and their friends were naturalists who brought some old, different religions to Ontario from Europe, and they were always helpful when called on in the community. They kept their beliefs out of any public activity too, so if you didn’t know better, you’d assume they were just down to earth, good people. Their absence in church was the most noticeable difference.
The spread of tents in the broad field nearest to the road was bigger than anything Morley had ever seen. He was a little happy his wife hadn’t lived to see such a large gathering of pagans, she would have crossed herself, got back in her car and driven as though the devil were on her heels. “I’m going to the main house, Rick,” he told his long time friend. “You mind findi
ng Allen or his son, Bernie for me? They’re probably directing the search.”
“No problem, we’ll stay close just in case you find Allan first.”
Morley walked up the main path to the house, noting that most of the visitors seemed busy, they wore serious expressions that told him that everyone had taken up the cause. April may be a rich girl, but she seems well liked, was his first thought. The sun was getting low, there were two hours of daylight left at the most.
He returned his attention to the path, favoring an ache in his knee he hadn’t felt since he was still an Officer. He remembered the last time it acted up; he reported to an address where a family had discovered a box of old dynamite in a basement crawlspace. Walking that greasy wooden crate up the stairs and out of their home was the most nerve-wracking minute of his entire career.
“Pardon, Officer,” said a tall priest coming down the path. He had a half dozen young children following him silently.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Morley replied, startled. “How are you, Pastor?” He asked, fishing for a name.
“We’re doing well, kind of you to ask,” the Priest replied, smiling broadly.
“What brings you and this little flock to the Webbs?”
“Just taking my orphans for a stroll, they’ve been cooped up for a while, I’m afraid. I’m glad I did. It gave me the opportunity to offer the little support we can for April.”
“God giving you any advice on where I might find the girl?” Morley asked.
“Oh, you won’t need his help to find her. A good thing, since I haven’t heard from him in a while. He is mysterious in his way.”
“Sure. I haven’t seen you around, are you new to the Parish?”
“I was here some time ago, and am just returning. It is good to be back though. So much has changed,” the Priest said, looking across the field at the bottom of the hill. The sunlight came out from behind a cloud then, and he seemed to grow pale. “We should be getting back, I don’t want to tire the little ones.”
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