Evil Agreement

by Richard L Hatin

  “I rinsed it out first,” said the hostess as the two women opened the bouquet and arranged the flowers inside. As they finished with that task, Korie’s eyes went wide.

  “My customers,” she said as she turned away and hurried towards the dining area. She slipped the note into her waitress’s skirt pocket without opening it.

  “Please put them in a safe place will you, Heather?” said Korie from over her shoulder as she hurried back to work.

  “Don’t worry, I will,” said Heather.

  Later that afternoon, Aaron walked out of the Bank of Boston with an old tattered leather bound book under his arm. He reclaimed his car from the bank parking garage and after several more minutes, he was once again on the Southeast Expressway heading south towards his condominium back in Middleborough.

  Later, instead of heading to his condo he found himself heading back to The Royals Restaurant. He decided he needed to see Korie. Over the last few miles he practiced several versions of an apology. He took the leather bound diary with him into the restaurant. The hostess was new—at least Aaron didn’t recognize her from the night before. He requested a table in Korie’s section of the restaurant and at the window if at all possible.

  The hostess said he could have such a table in a few minutes. As he stood in the waiting area he looked inside the dining area and could see Korie moving from table to table. Aaron enjoyed looking at her. She had a graceful way about her. Her face carried a natural smile that made her look radiant.

  “Sir, sir...Your table’s ready. Sir, I said your table’s ready,” said the hostess.

  “Oh, yes, thanks.”

  “Follow me, please.”

  As Aaron entered the dining area, Korie immediately noticed him. She gave him a warm smile.

  “Here you are, sir. A window table just as you requested. Enjoy your dinner. Your waitress will be with you in a moment.”

  “Thanks.”

  Aaron sat at the table. He placed the leather bound diary to the side of the table. Korie came to his table with a pitcher of water. She filled his water glass.

  “Look, I want to apologize to you for my drunken condition last night. And I want to thank you for your kindness in seeing to it that I had a safe place to sleep it off.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. It is not a problem, really.” Korie standing before Aaron shifted her feet. Their eyes met. He wanted to say more but felt uncomfortable. She wanted to tell him she really liked him but she was unsure of his feelings.

  “Well, anyway, tonight’s special is ...”

  “Wait, why don’t you surprise me? You order for me.”

  “I can’t, I...”

  “Please. Oh, and no alcohol tonight. I need a clear head. Look, I picked up the diary that my mother wrote about,” said Aaron as he placed his right hand on the old tattered book.

  Korie looked over at the diary. Then she looked back at Aaron.

  “All right. I’ll be right back.”

  She turned and left. As she walked away he admired her legs. They were slender and seemed to him to project the delicateness of a ballet dancer.

  Aaron pulled the diary over and carefully opened it up. The inside cover had faded inscriptions in several different hand writings, which read:

  The words of this journal are the true and honest account of my life, Irene Powell, formally of Sutton, Vermont. Born March 11, 1842. Died May 1, 1870.

  This journal holds the account of my life as well, Constance Morgan Powell, Born December 1, 1862. Died Approximately June 1892.

  Colleen Day Powell, Born June 22, 1877 and died December 30, 1911.

  My life and accounts by Sarah Miller Powell, Born July 7, 1900. Died February 10, 1931.

  Mary Fulton Powell, Born August 2, 1920. Died June 1, 1941.

  Elizabeth Corbin Powell, Born September 17, 1940.

  Aaron Corbin Powell, Born November 11, 1966.

  Aaron took out a pen from his inside jacket pocket and added next to the entry for Elizabeth Corbin Powell the inscription that she died on May 14, 1997.

  At that moment, Korie returned with a bowl of steaming hot clam chowder with a small bowl of oyster crackers.

  “You’re going to love the chowder. We’re sort of known for our chowders. It’s made from scratch.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, anyway, I’ll be back later, enjoy.”

  Aaron took a small handful of oyster crackers and dropped them into the soup. He picked up his soup spoon and carefully took a taste, after blowing upon the steaming soup settled in his spoon. Its taste was delightful. Aaron now returned his attention to the diary, as he slowly ate the clam chowder. He was soon deeply engrossed in the accounts of this, his family journal. Starting at the beginning, he slowly turned the delicate pages. They were well worn with the edges creased and slightly torn in several places.

  Time seemed to fly by as he studied the accounts of Irene Powell, his great grandmother several times removed. He learned more about this coven, devil worshipping cult. He read about the several attempts to locate her and how she eluded their efforts.

  “Shit, I just can’t believe this,” he thought. His mind was swimming with all sorts of images.

  He skipped ahead several pages into the diary to an entry by Colleen Day Powell. It was dated August 4, 1907.

  There was a strange man who visited the house today. Mrs. Cullity spoke to me about this gentleman, who came calling and asking about me. She said, she told him nothing. He said he was a long lost relative from Vermont. He told her I had come into some property and he was sure I would want to be informed about my good fortune. He insisted he had traced me to this house through correspondence with relatives back in Vermont. He left his card and directed Mrs. Cullity to be sure I received it. He said I could reach him at the Mayflower Hotel.

  Mrs. Cullity said the man seemed to her to be untrustworthy. She inquired at the Mayflower with her good friend Mrs. Hobbs, as to the circumstances of the man who called himself Mr. Harper. It seems there was no one registered at the Hotel with that name. There was a gentleman there who resembled Mr. Harper but he had given his name as Mr. Carpenter. Mrs. Hobbs says all of her girls, that she is responsible for, are afraid of this man.

  I’ve not written to anyone in Vermont, ever. How did they find me? What circumstance has led them to me?

  The next entry read August 5, 1907.

  I went to the Mayflower Hotel today. I had to see this man for myself. Mrs. Hobbs let me wear a maid’s uniform and I worked with her daughter, Cynthia, cleaning and fixing rooms. When we knocked at Mr. Carpenter’s (or Mr. Harper’s) room, there was no answer. Cynthia used her passkey and we entered the room. It looked as if no one was staying in that room. The bed was proper. The room was as fit as could be. However, as we were taking our leave this Mr. Carpenter walks into the room. His eyes fix upon both of us. We excused ourselves and moved past him to the door. As I left the room, I looked back at this man who is now facing the mirror over the dresser against the far wall. His face is knotted with anger, but the reflections of his eyes were unmistakable. They were like two black coals set into the place where a persons eyes should normally be. His eyes were just as mother said they would be, black and lifeless. It is the Keepers of the Evil Agreement, they’ve come for me.

  Korie had returned to his table and removed his soup dish. She brought him a salad. It was covered in a dressing that gave off a light bouquet of deliciously blended spices with olive oil.

  “Is the diary interesting?”

  “Yeah, very.”

  “Well, anyway, your entrée will be ready in a few minutes, Mr. Bond.”

  He smiled at this playful reference to their first meeting last night.

  “Great, I can’t wait. Can you tell me what it will be?”

  “That would spoil it for you.”

  “Fine, I do like surprises,” said Aaron as he flashed his usual smile.

  Korie turned and left, but as she walked away she thought, I can’t believe I used t
hat corny Mr. Bond line again. He must think I’m so duh...fake.

  Little did Korie know that Aaron really liked her playful reference to James Bond.

  He returned his attention to the diary and read on.

  The entry was dated August 7, 1907

  .

  I packed my things and left the house today. It was so nice living there these past four years. Mrs. Cullity has been like a mother to me. I had no choice. I couldn’t put the others in danger. These coven people, who seek me, killed my mother and I know they would do the same to me. I will not be their handmaiden in bringing Satan to walk upon this earth. That evil man came around again last evening. He was insistent. Mrs. Cullity said if he didn’t leave she would call for the police to dispatch him. He said he didn’t want any trouble. We all could see him standing outside the house, across the street, under a gaslight, until late in the evening when he disappeared. At six o’clock in the morning, I packed what I could carry in one carpetbag and hurried to the train station. I left Chicago with very little. Mrs. Cullity said she would send the rest of my things when I get settled. The train ride is making me sleepy, but I dare not fall asleep during the nighttime. I am looking forward to meeting Mrs. Cullity’s younger sister, Miss Whitehouse. New Orleans sounds like a magical place. I pray I shall never see those cold black eyes ever again.

  Aaron began to carefully turn the pages in search for an entry that would detail how Colleen Day Powell’s mother, Constance Morgan Powell, died.

  Korie returned to his table with his entrée. She had brought him a thick cut of swordfish broiled in garlic and butter. It was presented on a plate with a generous helping of baked red gourmet potatoes accented with a sprig of parsley. She had also brought him a side dish of summer squash.

  “It looks just great, Korie.”

  “Thanks. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Do you have any herbal tea?”

  “Yes, we do. I’ll go and check on the flavors.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Just surprise me again.”

  “So, you like surprises, do you?”

  “It would seem so from what my life has been like lately.”

  “Any surprises in the diary?”

  “Plenty. I sure would like to talk to you about them. What time do you get off tonight?”

  “Well, tonight I don’t have to work until close, I get off at ten.”

  “Great, would you join me for a late dinner or coffee or whatever?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, she smiles, and says, “Sure I guess so. Oh, listen, thanks for the flowers, they’re great.”

  “I’m glad you liked them,” he said as he reached over to her and softly touched her right hand.

  His touch felt like an electric shock without the electricity. Sweeping her hair back behind her ears with left hand, she smiled and looked away. She felt a blush coming on.

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “What?”

  “I get off at ten o’clock!”

  Korie quickly turned and left to attend to the other tables in her area. All she could think about was Aaron. He was special, she just knew it.

  Aaron returned to reading the dairy and enjoying his meal.

  Later Korie stopped by briefly with his tea. The tea was a red zinger, strong, but without a biting aftertaste.

  “Got to run, I’m behind with a couple of my tables,” said Korie as she dashed off to attend to a table of six, just two tables away.

  Aaron filled his time by sampling excerpts from the diary. The stories seemed to be woven from a common thread, tales of how his ancestors were pursued from one end of the country to the other. There were words of fear, hatred and anger and there were words of strength, courage and hope.

  The night seemed to just melt away.

  Just as Aaron was finishing his second cup of tea, Korie sat down across from him. He looked up and smiled at her arrival.

  “So, Korie, are you done for the evening?”

  “Yeah, and not a moment too soon. My feet are killing me,” she answered with a tired exhale of air.

  “Can I order you something to eat? Perhaps a cup of coffee?”

  “Not really. The kitchen is starting to close down anyway.

  Look, I’ve got an idea. About a mile and a half north of here, along

  Ocean Boulevard, is an ice cream stand that stays open until eleven o’clock. It’s got the best homemade ice cream on the Cape. I sure could go for a large scoop of double fudge chocolate ice cream.” “Sounds perfect,” said Aaron.

  He picked up the check and the diary. He began to head for the cashier when he remembered he hadn’t left a tip. It was an awkward moment to say the least. He started to turn back to leave a tip when Korie caught him by the arm.

  “Hey, I don’t want you to leave a tip for me. If you want to leave something for the busboy, that would be fine. Were friends, remember? If you’ll buy me that ice cream we’ll be even, okay?”

  Aaron smiled at Korie and took her arm in his as they headed to the cashier. Moments later they were in his car driving up to the ice cream restaurant. The flowers he had ordered for her earlier in the day were wrapped and lying on the backseat.

  “Over there, see it, Otto’s Ice Cream Parlor.”

  “That’s the place?”

  “Yeah, you can park right in front.”

  He pulled his car to a stop almost directly in front. They both got out of the car and walked across the sidewalk to the takeout window. A large lady was sitting on a stool behind a sliding window screen. She was wearing a red and white checkered uniform that seemed way too tight for her. She was chewing gum at a furious pace. Her hair was dyed blond and she wore far too much eye makeup. She was reading a heavily thumbed copy of Cosmopolitan.

  “Hi, Ginger,” said Korie.

  “Well, look it here, it’s Korie. Where have you been keeping yourself, honey?”

  “I’ve been putting in some long hours at the restaurant.”

  “I know the feeling, believe me. But the money sure is good, ain’t it?” she said as she slid off of her stool.

  “Ginger, let me introduce you to my friend. This is Aaron. Aaron...Ginger.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ginger,” he nodded.

  Ginger slid open the window screen and reached out for one of Aaron’s hands. He was caught somewhat off guard. She snatched his right hand with her right and immediately turned his hand over, palm side facing up. She began to trace the lines in his hands with the index finger of her left hand. She wore an eclectic collection of rings on each finger of both of her hands. Korie laughed at her friend’s antics.

  “Ginger is a palm reader. She says that by reading the lines in the palm of your hands, she can predict your future. Well, Ginger, what do you see?”

  Ginger’s mind flashes with a burst of images. The images are of a child tied to a large flat rock. A huge knife is poised directly over the child’s torso. There is chanting coming from dozens of people surrounding the flat rock. Their eyes are solid black, glassy, cold, and evil.

  Ginger feels a chill grip her and her entire body quivers from the chill. The images have now faded away.

  “Well, Ginger? Is Aaron going to become President of the United States? Is he about to take a long trip? Is he going to meet someone beautiful?”

  Regaining her composure, Ginger releases Aaron’s hand. She wipes her own hands on her apron.

  “Uh, he’s going to be famous, real famous,” she answers with a less than hearty smile. She doesn’t want to look either one of them in the face right now. If she does, she believes she would just burst out what she had just seen in her mind’s eye.

  “So, Korie, the usual?”

  “Yeah. Aaron, what about you?”

  “I’ll have a scoop of maple walnut.”

  Ginger turned her back on the two as she prepared their order.

  “Isn’t she something?”

  “Yeah, something,” said Aaron.

  He had also experienced the same mental
images, only his version was a good deal fainter. One thing is for sure. He felt her fear. For the time being, he decided he would keep his thoughts to himself.

  In a moment their order was ready. Aaron paid for the ice cream while Korie took their ice cream, along with a couple of paper napkins.

  As they were about to leave for Aaron’s car, Ginger called to Korie.

  “Korie!”

  Korie leaned over the counter. Ginger leaned forward as well.

  “Korie, you be careful honey.” Her eyes conveyed a sense of concern.

  “What do you mean? Is it Aaron?”

  “No, no, it’s ...well...it’s just that. Oh, I don’t know. Just be careful, for me...okay.”

  “I will. Look, he’s a nice guy...he just lost his mother. Anyway, we’re just friends.”

  Korie’s look of reassurance didn’t deliver the intended effect. Nevertheless Ginger squeezed Korie’s arm and managed a smile for her.

  Ginger shouted to Aaron, who had just about reached his car, “You take care, Aaron. It was a pleasure meeting you, honey.”

  “Thanks, I will. It was nice meeting you, too.”

  When Korie got back into Aaron’s car, she handed him his ice cream along with a napkin.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Just girl talk. Nothing important.”

  11

  The Game Warden’s car pulled to a stop in front of Sammy Porter’s house on

  Weston Street. There were lights on in every room on the first floor of the small cape. “Want me to come in with you?” said Walter.

  “No,” said Sammy with a tone of resoluteness the Game Warden had not noticed before. Sammy was riding shotgun.

  “Leave him be,” said Judy Perillo from the back seat. “He’ll be just fine. She reached up to the front seat with her right hand and ran her fingers through Sammy’s hair.

  “Thank you for all of your help. I’m sure I can handle this,” said Sammy as he exited the car.

  He didn’t hesitate but strode boldly to the front door of his house. The front door swung open and Sammy’s mother stood in the doorway. She wrapped Sammy in her arms. She then looked out to the Game Warden’s car and gave a wave.