"We've had a girl in town turn up missing. Black female, nineteen years old. We've got a reliable witness who says that late last night, a tall fella wearing black-kinda like you-was seen putting what looked like a body in the back of a silver Lexus SUV. Just like the one parked up there by the house"
Jackson watched the man's reaction closely, looking for a facial tick that indicated discomfort or guilt. But the man's poker face did not change, though Jackson could not see his eyes because of the dark shades he wore.
"If I understand this correctly," the man said, "you suspect that I was involved in the disappearance of this young lady."
"Suspicion is kinda pointing toward you having something to do with it," Jackson said. "Where's the bald-headed man who lives here? Kinda stocky? I saw him driving through town a couple times."
"He is away. But he is not the man you want, Chief. I am the one. I am guilty."
Jackson was not often taken by surprise. But his mouth slipped open.
"You're telling me you're guilty?" Jackson said. "You're confessing?"
"I abducted the young lady," the man said. He smoothly removed his glasses.
Jackson gasped. This guy's eyes ... dear God. They were like twin black holes that sucked Jackson right into them. Jackson could not look away. A force as powerful as gravity compelled him to stand rigid and gaze, deeply, into the man's inhuman eyes.
Fella's done something to my mind, Jackson thought dimly. Reached in and taken control of it, like in those Star Wars movies, he's working ajedi mind trick on me, so help me, God.
As Jackson stood, entranced, the world receded as if swept away by a strong tide. The only reality was the man's eyes. Jackson no longer felt the oppressive heat and humidity. He no longer felt the ground under his feet and the sweat-drenched clothes that clung to his body. He no longer tasted the traces of the coffee he had sipped only minutes ago. No longer heard the soft wind that drifted across the yard.
The man's eyes were his world, his universe. They were everything.
When the man spoke again, his resonant voice was inside Jackson's head.
"Chief Jackson ... you are an honorable man and desire to serve your people, but now you will bend to a power greater than yourself. I required the young woman for purposes that you could not fathom in your mortal imagination. You will not arrest me. You will not question me further. You will not harbor any suspicion of those who currently dwell on this property. When you leave this place and continue your investigation into the woman's disappearance, you will direct your attention elsewhere. When you leave this place, you will not remember seeing me or the dogs. When you leave this place, the idea of ever visiting this residence again will fill you with paralyzing fear. You will not remember me issuing these commands to you. You will act upon them as though they spring from your own consciousness.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes," Jackson said, numbly, not feeling his own lips move.
There was a popping sound, like fingers snapping.
Jackson blinked.
He stood in front of Jubilee's gates, alone.
Such sudden terror overcame him that he nearly collapsed. It was a wild, senseless fright, like a child's fear of the darkness. But he could not rationalize it away, could not argue it into submission. He was convinced that if he stood for another second on this property, the earth would buckle and erupt open like a hungry, gaping mouth. And swallow. Him. Whole.
"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus" Babbling, he ran to his patrol car. He hustled behind the wheel and roared away, spinning up gravel.
He did not look back.
Concealed in the shadows under a maple tree, the dogs flanking him, Kyle watched the police chief flee in his vehicle.
Mother frowned upon controlling the minds of men. She believed in finding peaceful ways to co-exist with humans and manipulating them through subtle, indirect means. Mind control was only to be used in the most extreme situations.
Kyle doubted that Mother would approve of what he had done to the chief, but so be it. His father approved. Father had encouraged him to confront the police officer and command him to do his bidding.
Kyle loved his growing confidence in exercising his talents. Being in his father's presence was transforming him, freeing him. He could feel the shackles of Mother's stringent rules falling away from his spirit, liberating him to become the powerful vampire that he had the right to be. A vampire like his father.
You must claim your birthright, my son, Diallo had said. I am a ping, and you are my prince. Put away childish things and be my prince.
Kyle knelt in the grass. The hounds pressed close to him, competing for his attention. They were eager to fulfill his will. The will of a prince.
Tonight, he would hunt again for his father, and he would take the dogs.
Late Saturday morning, David went to visit Pearl, the reputed psychic whom he suspected had called him yesterday. He wanted to find out why she had warned him and what she could tell him about his father and the bizarre events that were going on lately.
Nia had given him directions to the woman's house. Pearl lived on the northern edge of town, in a small, one-story home that sat at the end of a long, dusty path ranked with oak and maple trees.
David parked at the end of the drive, beside a white Jeep Cherokee.
A screened-in porch fronted the house. David climbed the short flight of steps, to ring the doorbell. He found a note taped to the door handle.
The message, written in neat cursive handwriting, read: "I'm waiting for you in the back, David."
His breath caught in his throat. How did she know that he was coming there?
A cool breeze whispered around him, tinkling the wind chimes inside the veranda.
Feeling slightly light-headed, he walked around the side of the house.
He wandered into the rambling backyard, and it was like walking into a botanical garden. Bright flowers and lush plants grew everywhere. He saw a small figure moving amongst a flourishing rose garden, in the far corner of the yard. That was where he headed.
He was unprepared to see what Pearl looked like. She appeared to be in her early twenties. She was short, perhaps five feet tall, and petite. Her lustrous black hair was woven into thin braids that hung to the middle of her back. She had large, almond-shaped brown eyes. Her smooth skin was the color of mocha. She wore a green tank top, denim shorts, and sandals.
She's like a black china doll, David thought. However, her beauty was not the sort that brought to mind swimsuit mod els or voluptuous women in hip-hop videos. Hers was the beauty of delicate features that were sculpted in perfect balance.
She looked at him, holding a yellow rose between her slender fingers. A large monarch butterfly crept along the petals.
"I'm David Hunter," he said. "You called me yesterday."
She smiled. Her voice was soft and musical.
"Greetings, David Hunter. You arrived just when I thought you would."
"How did you know I was coming?"
"How did I know the sun would rise this morning? It was meant to happen"
He frowned. Was this what talking to her would be like? Sentences full of New Age babble?
Pearl cocked her head and smiled.
She knows what I'm thinking, he thought. She knows that I'm a skeptic.
"Why did you call me?" he asked.
"Your name was given to me. I had not known that you had moved into the town, and I dialed the number not knowing whether anyone would answer. But of course, you did."
"What do you mean my name was given to you? By who?"
"I am a only receiver, David. I receive messages, and it is my responsibility to pass them to the intended party."
"So you get psychic radio waves or something."
She shrugged. "That's a crude analogy, but yes." She sat gracefully on the ground, Indian style, a colorful wall of flowers behind her. "Sit with me, and rest"
He hesitated for a beat, then he sat, too. The scent of roses envelo
ped him.
Pearl twirled the yellow rose in her fingers. The butterfly leapt from the petals and onto her knee, like a trained pet. She gently stroked its wings.
"You definitely like flowers and plants," he said. "It's like Calloway Gardens back here"
"It brings me peace," she said. "In life, we have to hold fast to that which comforts us. What comforts you, David Hunter?"
"Learning the truth"
"What if the truth is painful?" she said.
"Then I can deal with that. For me, not knowing hurts more than anything."
"It is your nature to seek the truth, at all costs. It is an admirable quality, but you will suffer much heartache because of it. Some truths are best left uncovered-like serpents sleeping beneath rocks"
"Such as?"
She only shook her head. The butterfly crawled into her palm. She lifted her hand, and the insect fluttered away.
He wanted to get back to a focused line of questioning. This talk of the agony of learning the truth was not helping him.
He leaned forward. "On the phone, you said I was responsible, that I have to prepare. What did you mean, exactly?"
"It means what it means. The message is simple, David."
"But what am I responsible for?"
"It is being revealed to you. I cannot reveal it. Because I don't know."
"I thought you were supposed to be psychic?"
She smiled, but a thread of sadness ran through her expression. "Again, I am only a receiver. Sometimes the messages are quite detailed. At other times, they are vague. The communication is uniquely tailored for each recipient, based on what they need to hear."
"Well, mine was very vague. I feel like I've stumbled into an episode of The Twilight Zone."
"That is actually an apt example," she said. "You will be challenged to believe in that which may appear so impossible you will think you have entered another reality."
"Okay, you've got to explain what you mean by that," he said. "Please"
"Oh, David." She sighed heavily. "Do you believe that your moving to Mason's Corner was a coincidence? You came here seeking to learn about your father. Please do not ask me how I know your purpose, for to know such things is my gift. But what if everything that you have learned about your father since you have come to this town was woven into a deeper truth that you would be inclined to dismiss as impossible?"
"You've just confused me more," he said. "Listen. I've seen a ghost of my granddad that basically told me to fulfill the family legacy. I've found an old Bible with weird drawings. I've talked to people who've told me that my father faked his death. I've seen a photo my dad took at that supposedly haunted mansion. Then you call me talking about how I'm responsible for something. Maybe I'm dense, but I don't see how any of those things are connected at all."
"I'm sorry that is it confusing," she said. "But I cannot grant you any more insight on the matter. You will have to discover the meaning on your own"
He blew out a chestful of air. He felt as if he were back in his college calculus class, in which the professor would have the answer to the problem but refused to share it no matter how frustrated the students grew.
"Did my father really fake his death?" he said. "Can you answer that?"
"I haven't received an answer to that question, David. I don't know."
"Great," he said. "Then I've pretty much wasted my time coming to visit you."
"No, I have something I'd like to share with you"
"Another puzzle that will give me a migraine?" He laughed bitterly. "Do I really want to hear this?"
Her expression was somber. "I was the last person in town to see your father before he disappeared. He visited me, seeking to learn the outcome of his fishing trip. He claimed to have a bad feeling about it and wondered whether he should cancel it."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him that if he went on his trip, and followed through on whatever secret mission he was embarking on as it was clear to me that he had an ulterior motive he would pass a terrible responsibility on to you. You would be called to do something for which you had not been properly prepared"
"Are you serious?"
"Do you know what Richard's response was? `I've spent my life preparing David for what he might need to do one day.' "
"What?" David said. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. Spent his life preparing me? He was never there for me!" He had not intended to shout, but the emotion exploded out of him.
Sadness framed Pearl's face.
"That, I think, is how he believes he prepared you," she said.
Saturday was the biggest lawn-cutting day of the week for Junior. He'd begun early in the morning and steadily worked down his list of customers.
So far, he'd cut five lawns and earned sixty dollars. He loved the feeling of the knot of bills bulging in his pocket. He couldn't wait to get home and sock the money away in his secret hiding place.
Maybe he should open an account at the bank. But Mama had warned him about trusting banks. She said they took her money, and when she would go to check on it, there was less in there than she had given them. But that was a long time ago. Maybe banks were different these days.
Next on Junior's lawn-mowing list was Doc Bennett. Junior liked the old guy. He was real sharp and full of good stories.
Junior pushed his mower into the driveway, and knocked on the front door. Doc Bennett came outside.
"Morning, Junior," he said. "Sure is hot to be cutting grass"
"It don't bother me," Junior said. "I'm used to it."
"I've said it many times and must repeat it again: you're the hardest working man in Mississippi. John Henry wouldn't have anything on you"
"Who's John Henry?"
"John Henry was a legendary African-American railroad worker, renowned for his strength. He once competed in a contest to see whether he could lay track faster than a newfangled machine, and though he won, he died soon afterward"
"Ain't that something?" Junior said. "Man died racing a machine. You know they say computers is gonna rule the world one day."
"So I've heard. Say, you get about town quite a bit. Have you seen my dog, Malcolm?"
"The mutt that comes around here? No, sir. Ain't seen him."
Doc Bennett looked sad. "Malcolm hasn't come around today. I don't know what's become of him. Please let me know if you see him."
"Sure will, Doc," Junior said. He turned to start up the lawn mower, but then he looked back at Doc Bennett. The guy had a thoughtful look on his face and stared at the sky.
I'm gonna tell him what happened at the cave, Junior thought suddenly. Doc Bennett was the smartest man in town and would be able to make some sense of what Junior had seen. Junior could not get his own thoughts around what he had seen that night while digging with Andre, and Andre was too scared to talk about it.
The scary guy in black had warned them not to tell anyone what they had seen, but Junior had to tell someone. It was eating him up inside. He'd never been good at keeping secrets.
"Say, Doc," Junior said. "I wanna tell you somethin'."
"Certainly." Doc Bennett stuck his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "Go ahead, my friend."
"It might take a little bit."
Doc Bennett pursed his lips. He opened the front door.
"Then I suggest that you come inside."
Franklin had heard some amazing tales, but nothing compared to the story that Junior Hodges told him.
A nighttime job offered to Junior and his cousin by the bald black Frenchman who had moved into Jubilee. Junior and his cousin digging into a cave located on the propertyan earthen tomb filled with skeletons. A mysterious man dressed in black who, when he discovered Junior and Andre peeping into the cavern, flung them against the wall with an invisible force ...
Franklin did not want to believe it. Junior was a nice young man, but he was, unfortunately, a bit slow. Franklin did not believe that Junior was lying, but he suspected that Junior had unknowingly
embellished a few elements. Even the most intellectually sound individuals found it difficult to recall incidents in flawless detail.
Or perhaps, Franklin thought, I am afraid to believe everything this young man has told me. His story goes against the grain of my beliefs. It is easier to discount his tale than to accept it completely.
"That's all of it, Doc," Junior said, his big, callused hands wrapped around a glass of water. They were in the living room, Junior sitting on the edge of the sofa, while Franklin sat in the recliner, turning his pipe in his hands. "Do you ... do you believe me?"
Franklin chose his words carefully. "Junior, that is a rather astounding story."
"You ain't lying." Junior laughed, uncomfortably. "Can't hardly believe it myself."
"I believe that you encountered something bizarre and unsettling. But I will have to reserve judgment until I have more information."
"I'm telling the truth" His eyes were pleading. "Please, you gotta believe me, Doc"
"I believe enough to begin an investigation. I confess that I've been curious about the motives of the persons who have moved into Jubilee. Although your story is decidedly unusual, it is far too compelling for me to dismiss out of hand. I thank you for sharing it with me"
"All right." Junior appeared to be satisfied. He put the half-full glass of water on the end table. "I better finish cutting that grass. I gotta keep to my schedule."
"Of course. Anytime you need to talk, Junior, I am willing to listen."
"Well ... thank you, Doc," Junior said. He seemed to be debating whether to speak again. "Hey, what you think of banks?"
"Banks? I'm not sure I follow you"
"Would you put your money in a bank, for saving?"
"I certainly would, and have done so for decades. We have a fine bank here in town. Are you thinking of opening an account?"
"I kinda am, I guess. Mama didn't trust banks, but if you say I can trust 'em .. "He looked nervous.
Franklin was saddened. Junior was in his early thirties, and no one had taken the time to educate him on basic finances. It worried Franklin to think of what the kid had been doing with his money.
"I strongly encourage you to open an account, Junior," Franklin said. "You're a hardworking young man and need to protect your earnings. Give it a try."
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