Will Baker is Dead, Episode 3 - "The Pain of Time"

She blinked a few times, thinking back over her loss.  The sun had not yet come up, yet she laid there awake.  “What am I gonna do without you, baby?  How am I gonna make it?”  The woman felt her chest, a pain in her heart not unlike the one that claimed her husband all those years ago.  As Veronica turned over in bed and looked at the picture on her mantle, the one next to her old, red digital clock flashing in the darkness, she sighed.  Veronica had been without her husband over ten years now, and it was always nights like this when she missed him the most.  Talking softly and slowly to her husband, though to speak above a whisper would give away the illusion, “I miss you, Archibald.  I miss you, bad.  Happy anniversary, love.” 

            The old lady had given over to the fact that she would never get back to sleep now.  Even if it was just past 5am, the sun would start nosing over the horizon within the hour, and she could never sleep through that.  Between the light skies and the birds, it would take a miracle for Veronica Davis to sleep past 7am these days.  She spent the first hour getting herself ready for the day.  She put the rollers in her hair first, because today was a special day.  And it was going to be a tough day.  It’s always best to look your best when the days are at their worst.  Veronica had always told Archie Sr. that, and now she tried real hard to tell herself. 

            The house was as quiet as usual, but this morning Veronica had to work at keeping the volume down.  Her grandson, Archie, was in town.  That is to say, he was further in town.  His parents, his dad being Veronica’s son, lived on the other side of town towards the more suburban parts of Horizon.  The cynics called it “Metro Horizon,” since everything out that way seemed to revolve around the only other real city close enough to count.  Her son, Archie Jr., had said that they wanted to stay close to her with his father gone, but not close enough to buy the then vacant, brand new house across the street.  Now, a nice young couple lived across the street and occasionally looked in on Mrs. Davis to make sure she was taken care of, and her daughter-in-law would bring the grandson by to visit and to give her some alone time.  She knew how the game worked, but Veronica didn’t mind.  She’d been around long enough to see that you take opportunities when they’re given, no matter how ill-meant they are. 

            Now Archie (technically the Third, but he didn’t go by that) slept late in the summer, and Mrs. Davis didn’t want to wake him up.  So she took her morning tea out to the front porch, rollers still in and all.  By now, the dark blue sky had tints of orange, just peeking up over the tree line and the new houses across the street from her.  Or at least newer. 

Mrs. Davis and her husband had moved closer to town back in the late fifties after they married and after some problems had come up in the old neighborhood, but then the town caught up to them a good forty years later.  By the time builders were asking to buy their home, Archie Sr. had been dead a few years, and she couldn’t stand to part with it, so Mrs. Davis stayed put where she was.  This had been their home for so long that she couldn’t stand moving.  Archie Jr. kept telling her to move in with them near Atlanta, but he wouldn’t be willing to buy the house across the street from them.  They eventually compromised, but it took some work on her part. 

So as he slept, Mrs. Davis sat on her porch and admired the waking neighborhood she found herself in.  It was a nice place, full of beautiful gardens and well planned out sidewalks.  Most of the driveways had cars no older than three or four years old, most of the houses had kids no older than a year.  And here was Mrs. Davis with a ’78 Buick she couldn’t stand to part with and a twelve year old sleeping in the back room.  Not to mention the fact that she was a good fifty years older than the average homeowner on the block.  It made her laugh, usually, thinking about how little she really fit in the neighborhood she predated and had lived in for so long.  Today, it just made her think about how much she missed the man who made her belong. 

While the sky was still dark enough to dream, she slipped back in her mind to the day their lives were set.  They’d dated a little while, the much coveted Veronica Wallace of Horizon and Archibald Davis, but they’d broken up because he lied to her about his job.  Most importantly, he didn’t actually have one yet and had been spending all of his money from his last job on her.  Well it happened that there was a barn dance that night a little ways out of town, and so Veronica wanted to go and dance off the blues that he’d given her.  And as small as the town was, all the young men had heard of Archie’s bad fortune and made their way out, too. 

About halfway through the evening, with Veronica dressed in the finest thing she could come up with, and about fifteen guys asking for a dance, Archie walked in with coveralls and a wrench.  “Veronica!  Veronica!” he called to her, hoping to find the beautiful lady who escaped him before someone else did.  “Veronica, I need to talk to you.”

“What do you want from me, Jonah?” 

Uncharacteristically ignoring her attempt at annoying him, “Veronica.  I love you…don’t talk yet.  I love you, and I’m not gonna let this go.  I lost my job, and you’re right, I should’ve told you, but I thought that would send you away.  I lost my job, I didn’t quit.  They couldn’t pay me no more.  And I got a new one.  I spent all week looking for a new job just to get you back, and I told them I would do whatever they needed, at whatever price, and woman, I’ve got a job down at the mechanic’s.  Is that better?  I’ll work at whatever I have to.  I will work at whatever it takes to get you back.”

“Well congratulations at being employed Mr. Davis,” in mocking tones, “but that isn’t enough.  If you could go back and tell me the truth from the first, it might be enough, but this isn’t.  I’m sorry, Archie, but it won’t work.”

“Come on, V.  I didn’t tell you because I wanted to spend my money on you.  I wanted to spend my time on you, and I knew you wouldn’t let me without a job.  I could’ve gone another month on what I’d saved up, but I got a job and I’m trying to do it your way.  Please, baby, give me another chance.”

“No.  There’s nothing you could say or do, and that’s it.”  Truth is, she wanted him just as bad as he wanted her.  That’s why she hadn’t danced with a single one of the men, but she wouldn’t let on.  It was about then that the perfect song came on for Archibald, as “Fats” Domino started wailing out “Ain’t That a Shame.”  Without so much as asking, Archie walked over and picked that girl up in his arms.  While the big man moaned over 78, Archie spun the little lady around on the floor and kept doing what he could to win her over, but it had already been done.  By the end of the dance, he was forgiven, and by the end of the month, she was Mrs. Davis.  And had been ever since.

She came back to herself in time to see the nice young couple across the street, Will and Jules Baker, kissing each other goodbye for the day.  Veronica was especially fond of the young wife, Jules.  Jules would often come by and talk about gardening with her, and Veronica didn’t mind dispensing a few tips ever since she’d been out of the game with her bad arthritis.  In fact, she felt good about helping such a nice young woman grow such a beautiful garden, even if Jules did manage to overtake the longstanding record that Veronica held with such pride.   They were a beautiful couple, and seeing them this particular morning made Veronica feel a little better about the state of the world. 

After a while, she went in to replenish her morning tea and check on Archie, who still slept.  Veronica carefully pulled the rollers out of her hair, keeping that perfect curl that she held on to with unflinching strength.  As with most things in her life, it was how Archie Sr. had loved it, and so that’s exactly how she kept it.  The rest of the morning went about like this, calm and smooth.  Around 9am or so, Jules came over to just chat.  They talked about husbands and love and what Mrs. Davis spied from her porch that morning.  They talked about Archie and how he was growing up, seeing as how Mrs. Baker had really helped him out in her first year at the elementary school, getting him some help with these bigger boys that were picking on him.  But mostly, they talked gardening.

The poor girl was fretting about moles in her garden, something that Mrs. Veronica knew nothing about.  Veronica thought for a second, but she’d never dealt with them.  In fact, Veronica had never heard of anyone who’d ever had to deal with them in Horizon, but she wouldn’t let that affect it.  But she was not to let the girl who had done so much for her go without some help, even if it was made-up. 

“Not usually, no, but one or two occasions I did.  They lost me the ’83 Garden of the year, I don’t mind you knowing.”  Actually, she lost the ’83 contest due to a fight between her and Archie Sr. which led to him tearing the garden up, but Jules didn’t need to know that.  “But after a while, I learned to put a little pepper in my garden.  Yes, black pepper,” trying to really sell the story.  Veronica could tell that Jules wasn’t buying it.  “Put a little black pepper in the soil around your plants and it’ll keep those bugs out of your garden for a whole season.  It messes with their noses, and all those blind diggers have to see with their noses.” 

She had thought for a minute about the most plausible thing she could make up to tell her, as Veronica had never dealt with wildlife of that size in her garden.  That didn’t mean she’d never heard of solutions, but none of them were ever tested.  She’d heard of certain flowers that warded off moles, but they were all ugly or smelled bad.  She’d heard of other insects you could introduce to the environment that might prevent their taking up residence, but it was never advised to put extra bugs in the soil, because you never know when your flowers are their meal.  After a few seconds of hesitant stalling, she finally settled on something that almost made sense, and that was mixing black pepper in the soil. 

“I…guess I’ll give it a try.  Thank you, Mrs. Davis.”  Jules didn’t seem to believe it too well, but Veronica heard no complaints or protestations. 

“Anytime, my dear.  And don’t you forget what I was saying about your husband.  That’s a good solid love you’ve got there.  Hold on to him.  One day he’ll be gone like my Jonah,” she added, still unable to get him off her mind.  “And you know what they say.  The men always die first.” 

“I surely hope so, Mrs. Davis.  Well you have a good rest of the morning, and I’ll see you later.” 

Jules walked away with a smile, which came across about as odd as her answer to Mrs. Davis’ joke, but it was nothing to fret over.  For another couple hours, Mrs. Davis sat on the porch and read the paper or just admired the kids who would run by from down the street and wave at her.  Being the only older woman on the block, she became a surrogate grandma for the kids who could walk about freely, often making cookies for them.  But today, she got to be MawMaw again while Archie was in town. 

“MawMaw, what’s for breakfast?”

“I was thinking about making you some macaroni and cheese like you love so much.  That sound good?”

“For breakfast?”

“Well when you’re breakfast isn’t until close to 12:30, then yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Mamma V.  I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” he lied, perfectly accepting the habit he survived off of so well. 

“Let’s go on in there and get you something fixed up.  Then I’m gonna take you to town in a little bit.  We’ve got some errands to run.”

After the two had lunch, Archie, or Jonah as he liked to go by now, with his macaroni that kids love so much and Mamma V with her simple sandwiches, they got ready for their trip to town.  Making a big lunch for Jonah made MawMaw, or Mamma V, or whatever he felt like calling her, feel like old times when she’d make this big lunch for the whole family on Sunday afternoon, usually involving collards and corn and all sorts of tow from the garden.  Today, some little plastic pasta and semi-fresh liquid cheese mix was her feast, and her favorite customer ate it all up.  “Now, you go and finish getting dressed, put on some clean shorts, and we’ll go to town, okay?”

Jonah loved going to town with Mamma V.  It was more fun with her than with his mom.  They always went to the busy stores in the city where she would have to watch him with both eyes and keep him tied to her hip almost.  Veronica would let him run in and do things for her and pick up something special for dinner all by himself.  Horizon Groceries was a safe enough store to allow for what would pass as carelessness most anywhere else.  “Jonah, son, can you run in and fill my prescription and pick up a roast for dinner?  I’m gonna go over here to the bank and it may take a while.  You’ll finish before me, so when you do, I want you to come on over to the bank.  Do you think you could walk safely across the parking lot?”

“Yes, MawMaw.  I’ll see you in a little bit!” 

And as he ran off towards the store, she shouted back at him, “And make sure they don’t short change me this time on the medicine!  They’ve come up about three days short going on a year now.”  Unsure whether or not he heard her, Veronica Davis went on over and parked by the bank.  It wouldn’t take her long.  Just a few minutes to go in and put some money in savings from her social security check.  She had already prepared her deposit slips and everything. 

“Well hello there, Mrs. Davis.  How’s my favorite neighbor today?”

“I’m doing real well, Mr. Baker.  Saw that wife of yours this morning.  She was looking real pretty in them gardening clothes.  Makes me wonder what you’re doing here instead of being home.”

“Well someone’s gotta make money for her to buy gardening clothes, Mrs. Davis.”  The two laughed, while he rang up her transaction.  “I could set my watch by you, Mrs. Davis.  Every week, right at lunchtime, I see you come in here with this check.  You know you can do this online now, right?”

“Child, if I knew how, I might.  Save my knees having to walk up here.”

“Still dealing with that, eh?  How’re the pills working for you?”

“Oh, they help, alright.  But it’s still there.  Some things you just can’t fix, Mr. Baker, I tell you.”

“I know how it is.  So is Archie staying with you this week?”

“Oh yeah, he’s over at the store picking up some…”

“Mr. Baker, I’ve got a man on the phone here, says he’s looking for a Bill Walker.  I guess he means you?”  The secretary in the back office came out and interrupted their cordial conversation.  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, hi Mrs. Davis, but he said it was important.”

“Yeah, it’s for me.”  Explaining it to Mrs. Davis, “A few of my clients keep getting the name wrong.  It’s been happening since elementary school, back when your husband would come in and make lunch on occasion.  In fact, I think he was the first to do it, and all the other kids picked up on it.  Drove me mad,” he reminisced, turning back to the secretary, “Yes, let me finish with Mrs. Davis, and I’ll be right there.”  He had the artful way of switching up his voice, speaking genially and almost like a Southern gentleman talking to Mrs. Davis, then with a professional starkness as he worked with the young lady from the back offices. 

“Well I’ll get out of your way, then, and you can go take care of your work.  Have a good afternoon, Will.”

“Thank you, ma’am.  And here.  Take a few lollipops for Archie.  He’ll like these.” 

She’d almost forgotten about him and where she had to go next.  “Oh, he don’t need anything like that.  Thank you, though.”  On her way out, Mrs. Davis passed by Ames Laurence, the owner of Horizon Groceries, probably coming in to work on payroll for the next week.  The two both lived on a pretty standard schedule, so this happened on occasion.  “Ames, how good to see you again!” 

“Good to see you, too, Mrs. Davis!  How’s Jonah?”

“Oh, he’s good, he’s good.  I’m on my way to pick him up now over at your store.”

“Well, I won’t keep you.  Have a good evening.  Come on in and see me some time.  I’ve always got a special stash of pastrami waiting to make those sandwiches you do so well.”

“I will real soon, yessir.”

Veronica thought about walking to the grocery store, after all, it was only right across the parking lot.  But with her arthritic knees, and her having been out of medicine for almost a week now, it just wasn’t going to work out this time.  So, she drove on over to the other side of the lot, and parked right up front where she could.  Now it was time to put her old self to work.  Ever since she was younger, back when she first met her Archie, Veronica had a way of working men over.  She always thought that she’d lose those feminine whiles as time wore on, but it only got better.  She learned the old secret that no matter what age you are, a woman has a way of speaking to a man that can block his mind of whatever else he should be thinking.  When she was young, it was her beauty that did it.  As she got older, it was that subtle maternity that got men wanting to please her.  Even if she got old, that never did.

She was certain that she’d given Jonah enough time to get her prescription and enough time to buy some roast, and he should be well in position now.  For the last few months, Mamma V had had her suspicions, but now it was time to see what they came to.  She walked slowly inside to the manager’s desk, just standing where she could see the cameras for the store.  There was the stationery camera that covered aisles two through seven, the overhead that saw aisles six through thirteen, and the one over the deli.  There was the stationary camera that watched the offices where the money was kept, and another stationary that watched the parking lot.  Then there was the rotating camera that watched behind the store.  That was the one that Veronica needed to see. 

“Brannon James, how are you?”  Veronica saw a young boy who used to bring her papers to the house.  Or at least he was a young boy, then.  Now he was a bit older, working as a manager and stock boy at the grocery store.  “And how’s that brother of yours?”

“Mrs. Davis, how are you!  I’m good, I’m good, just working here and making some money for the summer.” 

“Well you’re doing a fine job, Brannon.  You’re doing a fine job.”

“Well thank you.  And Nick’s doing well.  He’s getting ready for his senior season of football this year, hoping he can attract some school’s attention.” 

This conversation went on and on for a few minutes, keeping up casually about school and friends.  He even went so far as to mention a girl to Mrs. Davis, something she hadn’t planned to elicit from him during their façade of speech.  All the while, she kept glancing up at the cameras.  On the one she wanted, the rotating camera behind the store, she saw Jonah standing there for no apparent reason.  She tried not to give away her real purpose, keeping up appearances with the boy.  He talked on about where he wanted to go to school, ignoring the line of customers behind her.  Ignoring his job, really.  For a while, he almost asked her to go on, but Veronica started playing the helpless lady.  “Now I came in here looking for my grandson, have you seen him?”  And it worked like a charm.  He called an associate to go look for him, keeping up conversation, letting the camera rotate back and forth.  And after a good five more minutes, she had her answer.

There, on camera, Veronica’s heart broke.  She’d known, but never seen.  And now that she’d seen, she didn’t want to.  There stood Jonah, talking to a large man, probably about 6’5” and very stocky, and he pulled the cap off of her pills.  The camera rotated away, looking back to the loading dock, then back to Archie, folding up a few hundred dollar bills and putting them in his pocket.  She tried to hold herself in, and she succeeded at least until she got to the car.  She explained away herself to Brannon by remembering where she’d told Archie to meet her.  As most old women do, she managed to hide her feelings until she made it away from the store.  But when she got to the car, when she hid herself away, poor Veronica felt the disappointment of a failed child once more.  She felt how it was when her own son had gone away and dropped out of school, only for her to force him back in a month later.  She felt how it was when her oldest daughter shouted at her and promised never to call her again.  She felt once more how it was when, all those years ago, her own husband died without saying goodbye or “I love you,” that day, and it was as fresh this day as it was then.  Her heart was broken in only the way a loving mother’s could, and it was all her fault.  It was her medicine, and her folly that let this boy become prey to the sins of the world, and she had to end it now. 

After another hour, Archie came back to the car.  She had tears on her face, but the heat let her pass them off merely as sweat.  “Good timing, Jonah, good timing.  I just finished up.  You ready to go home?”

“Yes, MawMaw.  Let’s go!”  And so they did.  With a smile on his face the size of a cow’s tale, and a box in his hands, the two slowly moved on back home.  Jonah ran in real quick to put on some playing clothes, taking the box with him, and Veronica poured some tea to take out on the porch with her.  Jonah carried the box out there with him, ready to join her for some tea, and ready to give her something special.  “MawMaw!  I want to show you something.  I want to show you something!” 

“Come sit down, Archibald.”  She spoke in plain tones, bereft of emotion.  It wasn’t the anger in her voice that made him feel uneasy, but rather the void of kindness so often found there. 

“What’s.  What’s wrong?”

“Just sit down, Archibald.”  Her empty voice, giving way now to the beginnings of a heartbreak she had no intention of laying upon her young grandson, the boy too young to experience the depths of the world he had already witnessed and partaken in.  “I need to talk to you.”

“What is it, MawMaw?  What’s happened?”

“I saw you.  I saw you, Jonah, I saw you.”  She began to quiver, but had not yet fallen.

“What?  What did you see, what did you see?”  She could tell he knew, but wouldn’t give up himself so easily.

“I saw you with that man behind the store, Jonah.  I saw you!  What were you thinking, selling my pills?  How could you do this?  I thought I’d…I’d done better on you than them, Jonah.  How could you do this to me?”

“MawMaw, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…I have something I wanted to…”

“No.  If it came from that money, I won’t take it.  You leave now.  You leave.  Come back in a few hours, and your mom should be here by then.  I’m calling her to take you home, then you’re telling her everything.  I don’t want to see you, Jonah, so just go.  I won’t watch for you.” 

Jonah didn’t speak a word as he walked away, tears ready to come from his eyes.  He walked down to the sidewalk and just left, soundlessly.  When he was finally out of sight, after Veronica had watched him leave with each step, she cried and cried, the proverbial tears of blood staining her dress and weakening her tea.  The old woman tried to stand and go inside, to keep the world from seeing her pain, so evident on the floor.  As she stood, edging out of the chair she had stood from so many times before, the ground dropped out from underneath her.  Poor Veronica, unable to see the steps before her, fell down the stairs and into the street, with not a soul nearby to help her up.  The work crowd wouldn’t be coming home for another hour, and both of her neighbors across the street were gone. 

She laid there for what could have been an eternity, and finally tried to pull herself up the stairs.  No matter how hard she pulled, it was no use.  Her rigid knees kept pushing coarse against the bone, and her split side, made worse by the frailty of age, no longer worked.  She rolled in and out of the world, seeing her husband, her grandson, and her neighbors, not understanding where she stood or sat, not knowing what was wrong.  In her head, she heard the voice of a man long gone, “Happy Anniversary, girl.  Now get up, love.  Get up.”  She tried to stand, but couldn’t.  She tried to move, but couldn’t. 

“Help me, Archie.  Help me, Archie.  Oh, God, help me, Archie.  I can’t move, help me, Archie.”  And an arm came under her, helping the small lady to her feet, and putting her in a chair.  “Oh, thank you, dear.  Thank you, baby.  Oh, I missed you, Archie, oh I missed you baby.  Come here, let me kiss you again, let me kiss you.”  She spoke out of her mind, and Jonah did what he could to calm her down, but she still wasn’t right. 

“I’m here, MawMaw, I’m here.  I called the ambulance, they should be coming here soon.” 

“Oh thank you, Archie.  Go get me some water.  Go get me something, baby.”  Eager to help his Mamma V, he ran in to the house and left her there in pain, even though she couldn’t feel it in her mind.  The woman sat, looking out across the street, seeing the shadow of her house in the street, and a man she knew from his days at the grocery store coming out of Will and Jules’ house.  She saw him and his hands, standing out against the plain white of his shirt, now stained in a dark red that anyone with eyes would know at sight.  She called back for the boy, screaming for the phone.  Calling out to him, now remembering who it was standing there with her, fully in mind due to the panic she realized and the urgency of the happenings at her door. 

“Someone, please.  Someone, come quick,” she cried at the phone in her hand as the operator picked it up.

“911, yes ma’am, we got your call, Mrs. Davis.  An ambulance is on the way.”

“Forget the ambulance, you idiot, I can wait.  I think someone’s dead!”

“Excuse me?”

“I just saw Robert Evans run out of the Baker house with blood on his hands.  I think he,” taking stock of the cars that were home, “…I think he killed Will Baker!”  

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I would love to hear what y'all think so far!  Write me on Facebook, let me know, and please keep reading.  I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you've started to develop your own ideas about what's going on in the town of Horizon.  Next week, in Episode 4, I plan on showing you a little bit more of the aftermath in "Epilogue, Part I" (Title Pending).  I know, the numbers and the timeline are getting difficult, but hang in there!  And as always, if you don't already, follow me on Twitter at 42Cobras!  And thanks for reading!

Will Baker is Dead, Episode 2 - "Compliance"

The slow Summer sun rolled across her floor, softly climbing up the bed, until after a few minutes it landed gently on her troubled face. Jules had not slept well, but she was awoken by the morning sun and the consequential birds all the same. Her heart and mind were both very heavy from what occurred just the day before, and how permanently those occurrences would taint today and every day after. Blinking once or twice to put out the sun, Jules brushed her hair back off her face and turned in her bed. Her next lie was as strong as the words that backed it up, as she lovingly ran her fingers across the man in her bed and smiled, speaking sweetly and softly to him, “Good morning, William. What would you like for breakfast?”


She used to be one for sleeping in, but two years of teaching had finally pushed the habit out of her. Now, the sun was her alarm clock all summer long. It didn’t help that her husband was responsible for opening the bank sharply at 8am. She had to get up and ready so he could. Just as the sun was her alarm, so was she for her husband. The poor man was helpless when it came to mornings. As smart as he was, and as well as he did in college, she had gotten used to calling him every morning to make sure he was up and ready for class.

Jules sat at the mirror doing her make-up while Will took a shower. They say that when two people are married, it requires the sacrificing of habits and old ways of life. Jules preferred quiet mornings where she could get ready in peace with the sound of the day coming on her slowly. Will preferred the morning show on WHRZ, the usual country station giving way to a morning full of classic rock and weekend hits. At least at present it was playing some Tom Petty, so Jules had a little bit of a compromise with fate, it seemed. Even still, this was nothing like his habit of constantly whistling the same old sad bar songs, his favorite being “Wurlitzer Prize.” Jules married Will because he was smart, had talent, and showed few of the country habits of most of the men in Horizon. It would figure that he would wait until after the honeymoon to show the worst one off.

Still, as Jules looked in the mirror, it took all of her strength not to cry. There sat a beautiful young woman of 25, long blonde hair and perfect features, wanting nothing more than to smash the image ahead of her in judgment for who she had become. If not for the music and the shower, she very well might. In the last month or two, she had grown too used to the empty mornings and the empty house that came with Will travelling. She had grown too used to filling her time with other friends and falling back into her own habits that when he was home, she couldn’t stand to revert. The conflict of heart that she presently faced with the courage of a warrior would only last so long until one side won out. A good few minutes after she finished applying the make-up, Jules still sat looking ahead in silence at the person mocking her from the other side. The person she was destined to become, one way or another. It was either that or a future of half-living and half-loathing. The question was which half merited the loathing?

After she mustered the courage to stand, Jules donned her favorite white bathrobe, the one with the cotton fuzz texture to it, and made a light breakfast for her and Will, balancing the bacon with some fresh fruit. If they were planning to have a baby soon, Jules needed to work on her dietary skills. The bacon popped and sizzled, occasionally catching her on the hand or her bare feet. If anyone had managed to look in through the open window, it would seem like Jules was participating in a perfect, mid-summer morning. The aroma of bacon melded with the dissipating rain that washed away in the sunlight after last night’s storm, creating a unique atmosphere, perfect for conversation. It would be, the one morning that she had hoped to avoid such things.

“That smells delicious, baby. And what’s this? Honeydew? I am spoiling you with the grocery budget.”

“I have my own money I can buy exotic fruits with,” laughed Jules, attempting to live up to her usual playfulness. “Now sit down and eat before you leave, it’s gonna be a long evening before dinner.”

“Really? Which one of us has a late night commitment?” Will asked, somewhat genuinely as he had a tendency to forget appointments.

“Oh, uh…don’t you have to work late tonight?” Knowing full well that he would be off at 6pm as usual, “And I don’t want you going hungry in those late meetings, or gorging yourself at some expensive lunch with a client. Just you remember that we don’t have the money that your people do, and if we’re going to start a family soon.”

Will smiled in his own way, looking down at the melon and grapes. “That’s right, we can’t waste that eighty-thousand a year I bring in, of course coupled with the meager salary of a hard working, slave driven third-grade teacher. We’ll be in the poor house before you know it.”

By now he was up behind her, running a hand across her stomach, approximately where a baby would first show. His left hand held hers while she tried to finish the bacon, his head nuzzling hers out of the way to get a peek at it. Jules, already shaken from the talk of families and babies, grew quickly uncomfortable with the cheery demeanor of her husband. He had been notoriously sullen over the last two months, and now it was as if he had woken up on Christmas morning to find a new car with a free plasma screen inside. He was happy, and it bothered her.

Almost on the verge of tears, she eased him off with a nudge. “Oh, baby, come on. It’s early, and they don’t need me at the bank for another thirty minutes. It’s Monday morning, and honestly, who needs to go to the bank at 8am on Monday morning.”

“Small business owners and other hard working people at the foundation of America’s economy. That’s who,” again smiling, even though she spoke with tears just beneath her eyelids, somehow expressing the sentiment of a Fox News reporter. “But if you’re serious about some time apart, let’s go fishing this weekend. Forget the fish fry. You and me, we’ll go fishing up at the lake, or we’ll go down to County Line River. What do you say?” She hated herself for doing it, but Jules knew that talk of fishing would get him out the door and gone in a hurry. He hadn’t fished in years, not since his sister died, and she knew it. It was a horrible trick to pull, but she couldn’t stand the new, loving husband he was trying to be. If the charade were to work, she had to keep thinking of Will as cold and apart, and that wouldn’t happen when he was talking of hooky and soothing her robe.

Without a word, he went back to breakfast and finished his fruit quickly, not waiting for any bacon to add. The air grew thick between them, mostly due to the silence enforced by Will’s hard eyes and his forceful forking up of apple slices. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to think of something we could do, and it…it just came out. Baby? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. If you plan on gardening this morning, be careful. The rain washed through it pretty hard, and everything’s awfully damp. The flowers oughta be in good shape this afternoon, but the ground is still pretty soft. Try not to ruin the grass.” He grabbed up his coat and pushed on to the door, it seemed intent on leaving without a goodbye. But at the touch of Jules’ hand, he tossed back a sincere and almost apologetic footnote on his warning. “Just…be careful, Julia. I love you, and I just want to watch out for you. You know that right?” He had turned back to look her in the eye, but had to lift her chin to get there. “You know that, right?”

“Right. I’ll see you this afternoon, baby. Be safe!” She shouted out to him as he walked to the car, like something out of a cliché, but still it was enough to elicit his return for a goodbye kiss. The long kiss goodbye reminded Jules of their wedding day, but now it was of a different subtlety. It was tainted by the seeming separation of the last little while, even though it seemed to Jules the image of sincerity and felt of nothing more than the longing of love.

“See you later.” He smiled back at her and stepped into his car and off to the bank. And just like that, the hardest morning of Jules’ life was over. She dropped the robe in the laundry like a bad mask, and put on her gardening clothes. She knew that you don’t win the Horizon Garden Club award a third straight year by slacking off, so she stepped on outside, tending to her garden in a therapeutic manner. The flowers had in fact perked up a bit as Will predicted they would, given the harsh summer storm that poured through town the night before. He would know, he had to drive in from the airport in it. She checked on her tomatoes and peppers, the only edible greenery that Jules grew, and thought how good they would be on a salad very soon. Truth be told, she only had enough to make one or two salads, but something about a garden with no produce really felt out of sorts to her. Often times people would comment on how it was indeed this artful blend of vegetation and flora that made her garden so unique and successful.

Everything was fine until she came to planting her new batch of azaleas in the side garden. The soil was moist and fertile from the rain, sure, but it was also very loose as if some small animal had been digging around in it and burrowing its way through her plants. As Jules knew, it was only so much you can do to fix up a garden right once moles or the like got in there, and if she needed one more thing right now, it wasn’t losing the garden that preserved her sanity.

That being the case, Jules stepped on up and walked over to her neighbor across the street, Mrs. Veronica Davis. Mrs. Davis was an old black lady who lived in Horizon, and one of the few who lived on the strip. She had first moved out there for her husband’s work before he retired, but when he died, she never had the strength to move back. Now, she spent most of her time sitting on the front porch and watching the world around her pass on by. This was especially true in the summer when she could sit out there in the warm sun and talk to the kids who would walk by and play in the street in front of her house. At one time, Mrs. Davis had been the best gardener in town. In fact, she won the Memorial Day Garden of the Year ten times, including the first four straight, a record that Jules planned on breaking. Now that Mrs. Davis was struck with a terrible arthritis, she couldn’t garden anymore. On an occasional afternoon, Jules would walk over on the precept of having tea with her neighbor and try to winnow out a few gardening tips from her.

“Good morning, ma’am. How are you today?” As expected, Jules found her neighbor sitting out on the front porch with her tea and medicine. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I saw that husband of yours leaving this morning, and I saw the kiss he planted on you as he left.” The old lady raised her eyebrow and gave a smile, knowing that she could only get away with speaking so honestly because of her age. “I sure am glad to see young couples like y’all getting on so well. Too many folks give up on love, marriage, and family. Makes me glad. Yes it does.”

Biting back, and hiding the pain, she passively agreed in kindness. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Davis. Is Archie by this week?”

“Oh yes, his mamma dropped him off last night while you were out. He’s still sleeping. That boy would sleep on through the day if I’d let him.”

“Will’s the same way. How is Archie? Is he liking middle school?”

“Oh, yeah. He loves it. He always hated walking in a line anywhere. That was his favorite part, finding out he didn’t have to walk in a line everywhere. But don’t let him catch you calling him Archie. He doesn’t go by that, anymore. He goes by his middle name now. It’s much cooler.”

“So, it’s…”

“It’s Jonah, now. Archibald Jonah Davis, just like his daddy. And his granddaddy. It’s funny, my Jonah never did like it, but it didn’t seem right to let him abandon a family name like that, so we named our son Jonah, and he named his Jonah, and now the crazy fool goes by Jonah. I tell you, his granddaddy would have a fit if anyone called him Jonah.” The two ladies shared a laugh and some tea, but then Veronica Davis, she knew what Jules was up to. “So tell me. Is something the matter with your garden, honey?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. I was digging out in it this morning and I found what looked like a burrow. Did you ever have trouble with moles or anything?”

“Not usually, no, but one or two occasions I did. They lost me the ’83 Garden of the year, I don’t mind you knowing. But after a while, I learned to put a little pepper in my garden. Yes, black pepper,” she said, answering the doubting expression of Mrs. Baker. “Put a little black pepper in the soil around your plants and it’ll keep those bugs out of your garden for a whole season. It messes with their noses, and all those blind diggers have to see with their noses.”

“I…guess I’ll give it a try. Thank you, Mrs. Davis.”

“Anytime, my dear. And don’t you forget what I was saying about your husband. That’s a good solid love you’ve got there. Hold on to him. One day he’ll be gone like my Jonah,” she said with a twinkling in her eye that likely came from a tear just as much as her own happy memories. “And you know what they say. The men always die first.”

As the two laughed out a goodbye, Jules headed on back to the house, and then to the store to pick up some pepper, against her better judgment. If anyone in town had an idea of how to fix this problem, it was the original green thumb herself. So after Jules cleaned herself up and got ready, she went on down to the store and commenced shopping. She couldn’t help but think about Victoria’s parting words, though. How she should cherish the man in her life while she had him. Jules wondered what more she could do to cherish the man who had left her alone practically for the last two months? This morning aside, even when he was home, Will seemed to be across the world from her. And she couldn’t cherish Rob because it was just wrong.

Even being back here at his old store was difficult. Jules remembered the time that her and Rob stood in the backroom of the store avoiding the rain. He’d promised to drive her home after work, and she was soaked from head to toe. She wondered how different things would have been if she would have kissed him that night. Nothing had told her to, nothing had hinted to her that it was a good idea, but she just knew now that he had wanted it. He had wanted her. But she never gave in.

Jules moved down each and every aisle, looking to make sure she didn’t need anything else other than her mole deterrent. She knew right where the pepper was, but something about the domesticity in wandering a grocery store felt right to her. As Jules rounded aisle six, past the fresh seafood section, she spotted Mr. Laurence, the store owner. It was frightening because she had thought it was Will at first, as they were both of the same height and build, both fairly tall men with slim shoulders and appropriately thin brown hair, and she knew they had been mistaken for each other in school on occasion, so that made it a little easier on her. Oddly enough, her first thought wasn’t at how odd that Will wasn’t at the bank, but rather at the fact that he was wearing an apron.

Mr. Laurence’s wife had gone missing about a month back under strange circumstances. Police said there was “evidence of a struggle” and that she in all likelihood had been forced out of her home, but nothing further was ever found. Naturally, suspicion fell on Ames Laurence at first, but nothing could really ever be proven. Jules was good friends with Melissa, Ames’ wife, and never believed him capable of hurting his own lovely bride.

“Hi, Ames. How are you today?”

“I’m doing well enough, Mrs. Baker. How are you?” His response was full of the false cheer of a man in denial, mixed in with the false demeanor of a businessman addressing a friend between the hours of 9am to 5pm.

“I’m doing alright. Say, Will and I were planning on having a fish fry this weekend, would you like to come over?”

“I sure do appreciate it, and you know we’ll gladly sell you all the fish you could want back here behind aisle 6, but I can’t. I don’t think Will’s too happy with me right now.”

“He doesn’t blame you for what happened, Ames, you know that.”

“I think he really does, Mrs. Baker, he really does. You know how he felt about Melissa. They were close friends, once. But I didn’t hurt her, and I certainly didn’t kill her.” She had been referencing something else, trying at all costs to keep the conversation away from Melissa for the poor man’s benefit. Then again, thinking back to the girl you allegedly ran over while drunk back in high school wasn’t a much better memory. Either way, it was a rough road to hoe.

“I know, Ames, I know.” In an attempt to smooth the moment, Jules decided to change directions a bit. “Hey, you’ve been to the Caymans. How are they? I’ve been wanting to go ever since we got married, but Will’s been reluctant. How can I convince him to take me next Christmas, maybe?”

“It’s really nice. The water’s 80˚ all year and the locals are very friendly. And it’s tax free, so he should like that. Melissa and I went on our honeymoon a few years back and it was…it was nice.” And for the second time today, Jules had managed to bring a man to tears at a sad memory. The difference is, this one was an accident.

She put a calm hand on the man, growing smaller with each defense he was forced to give, and each moment he was forced to relive. Melissa’s disappearance hit him hard, but he had a business to run. Ames’ father opened the grocery store many years back, right after he moved to Horizon as a young man looking for a place to make a living. It made him quite a living, too. In all the years that Horizon grew, and in all the changes, no outside grocery store ever survived within earshot of Horizon Groceries. It did so well that when Ames inherited the business at an early age, he was able to buy up some land and build a shopping center around the grocery store. They had a small jewelry shop, some niche restaurants, and a Great Clips. Every small town has to have a Great Clips. Ames had even sold the land that Will’s bank was now occupying.

“But look at me, blubbering like a baby on the floor. I’ve gotta get back to work, but, uh, do you need help finding anything? Do you have everything ready for the fish fry?”

“No thank you, Ames, I have everything. I’m just looking for some pepper for my garden.”

“I can’t say that’s the most normal thing I’ve ever sold, but okay. If you need any help, ask. And if you see that friend of yours, Rob, tell him I really wish he’d come back and manage the stockroom for me. It never has run as well as when he managed the back.”

Putting out a civil smile, “I’ll certainly do that.” And that’s what made up her mind. Jules had been debating all day whether to go see Rob or not, after last night’s events. She found herself in his arms once out of fear in a storm, and out of loneliness from her husband’s missing touch, but it was wrong. It was sullen and soiled, and she couldn’t find herself in the same position again, but she had to let Rob know it was off before he did anything foolish.

Rob lived a little ways out of town, past the stores and neighborhoods into what was still old Horizon. He preferred the more spread-out part of town, and embraced every aspect of it. Jules used to love the barbecues he would hold for friends and family on the farm during the summer. She loved seeing the rows of corn and his hayfields, not to mention the goats and one cow. Rob was a born farmer, and now that he lived on his own small farm and was able to make a living as a fireman one day out of every three, it was no surprise to anyone that he chose this path.

Jules drove out to Rob’s farm, trying to remember if this was a B shift day or a C shift day. Rob had been C shift for about a year now, and since then Jules always seemed to know what day it was on the county firemen’s schedule. Rob was as much a born farmer as he was a fireman. He had the build of one, kinda tall and broad, with a good head on his shoulders. He did well enough at school to leave town for college, but he never did enjoy that world as much as his own back in Horizon, so he came back and became a fireman pretty quick. And he fit right in with those guys, many of them locals around town. Many of them were the same firemen that had carried him home after he woke up drunk in his truck back in high school, or who helped him get that motorcycle out of the lake so he wouldn’t have to call his Dad and explain what happened. And they were the same firemen who were there when the chaplain told him about his Dad’s wreck. It was the place where he belonged, and it was the place where Jules wanted to belong with him.

As she pulled up to the front of his house, a small one level with a farmer’s bell out front that used to belong to Mr. Evans, his father, Jules ran through the gameplan in her mind. She was to go in, tell him it was over…no, it would never happen again, because for it to be over meant that there was something going much longer than a few hours, and that wasn’t the case, so it would never happen again, then she would leave and go home and make her husband a big dinner, explain everything, and beg him for forgiveness. That was the plan.

Jules stepped out of her car and was immediately assaulted by the summer sun, high up in the sky now, signaling the hottest days of the year and the hottest part of the day. By the time she reached the front door and rang on the doorbell, she was already sweating a little around her sunglasses. She knew how Rob hated those gaudy sunglasses that covered most of her face, so she wore them intentionally to ward him off, hoping to avoid his unimaginable charms.

“Hey, baby, come on in, it’s burning up out here. If I’d known you were coming I might’ve cleaned up a little better.” Rob leaned in for a kiss from the married woman, but she pushed him back and just walked right on in, talking as fast as she could.

“Look, Robert, we can’t do this ever again. It’s over.” Crap, she said it. “It’s over between us, and this can’t happen. I love my husband very much, and I can’t let you do this to him. He’s a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this.”

“That’s not what you were telling me yesterday.”

It’s true. Before this morning’s show of affection from Will, poor Jules had spouted all of her deepest longings to the old friend over coffee the night before. They met up at a spot in town for drinks so she could vent, and they ended up behind the grocery store after the rain started to come down.

“I was wrong. He’s not a perfect man, but he is a good man, and I won’t have it anymore. You’ve always given me these, these sideways looks and winks, and I can’t resist you.” She didn’t mean to say that. “I can’t stop you, and I have to. You can’t let me do this to Will. I love him.”

“Are you trying to convince me or you of that fact?”

After a moment’s pause, “Stop it, Rob! If you’re really my friend, you’ll leave this alone!” It almost scared him a little to see her all fired up, as Jules was usually a more reserved woman, but he knew first hand the passion that she could unleash when she so desired. “Just stop. It’s done.”

“Do you remember that night a few years back when you were stuck out in the rain behind the grocery store? And I promised to give you a ride home, but you were all soaking wet and had to dry off in the back room? Do you remember that?” She did. “I think about that all the time. And I think you do, too. I wonder, what would’ve happened to us if we would’ve gotten together that night?”

Sheepishly, “I don’t think about it, and I don’t know.”

“I think you do, baby. I think you do.” He moved in ever closer, and whispered in her ears when he was finally close enough to do so. “I would do anything to keep you with me. I can’t let you go, Jules. I just can’t. It took me so many years to get you here, I can’t let you leave me.”

Deep down, Jules admitted the need she had felt for Rob, and the need she knew now would only be filled by what he could give her, but it was still wrong. What she wanted was wrong, but she wanted it nonetheless. “How do we do this, Robby? How do we do this? I have to be in your arms, but I can’t.” Jules finally crying, admitted to Rob what he already knew.

And in his own way, in his own soft and soothing way, he whispered back to her, “Sssh, sssh. It’s okay. The first time, the first time is passion. The second time is compliance.” She looked up with a strange sorrow in her eyes, analyzing his words, making sure she understood what he meant. Then she kissed him.

A little while later, she wasn’t sure how much later, Jules woke up to Rob standing on one leg fiddling with his shoe. The late afternoon sun played with her hair and danced in her eyes, as she lay on Rob’s bed facing the window. After a soft giggle and a flip of her hair, Jules asked, “Where do you think you’re going, Robert Evans?” Frightened at her being awake, the poor lecher lost his balance and fell. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry, are you okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” the fireman groaned out as he pulled himself up off the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Robby. What time is it? Oh wow, I need to be going. I guess I fell asleep. See, this is how it’s supposed to work. You don’t leave me alone, it’s your house. I’m the one who leaves. I’ve gotta go home and get dinner ready Will.” And then she noticed the odd silence in the room, as Rob looked down at her and didn’t speak for a minute. “What’s wrong?” And still he wouldn’t speak. “Rob, what’s wrong?”

“You need to get dressed.”

“Rob. What is going on.”

He bit his lip, and then Rob told her the news. “Baby,” he said, taking her hand, “I just got a call from the station. They found him laying on the floor.”

“Be honest with me, Rob. What are you saying? Who’d they find? It’s not Will, it’s not Will.” She denied it, still not having heard the news in full yet.

“I’m sorry, baby, it is, it is.” He had to fight her to keep from hitting him. “You need to get dressed now, we have to go.”

“No! No! It’s not, it’s not!”

“I’m sorry, baby, but they found him beaten to death on the floor. It’s your husband. Will’s dead.”



Next Week: Episode 3, Friday at 4pm (or so)


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to know what y'all think. Who's guilty? Who's responsible? Who is victim and who is villain? Feel free to leave comments on here, Facebook, or Twitter. And if you don't already follow me on Twitter, it's @42Cobras. Until next week, and thanks for reading!

Will Baker is Dead - "Prologue"

Jules Baker, a lovely young woman of 25, stood outside the house with her friend Rob. Rob tried to comfort Jules as best he could on the front lawn of the two-bedroom home on the strip. Kids on bikes watched from the street corner three houses down. Veronica Davis sat on the front porch with her grandson, watching the house across the street. The first news crew stood watching the house from the curb, safely outside the police line. With the news crew, most of metro-Atlanta watched from wherever there was a TV. That aside, the world outside the house was moving on as so. But inside. Inside the house lay the mauled body that had been identified as Will Baker.



Jules and Will had been married for a little over three years now, having married right out of college, and had lived on the Main Strip of Horizon for almost the whole time. The strip was set-up like this. Everything East of the church was storefronts and little shops. Everything West of the church was houses, ever since they built the pastorum back in 1974. Most of these houses were small one-levels for old retirees or newlywed couples just getting started. A new “neighborhood,” most simply a section of houses, was added about every five years. By now, the neighborhoods on the strip stretched almost three miles out of town, only interrupted by the occasional school or gas-station that went up in-between phases, with one large section devoted to Horizon High School, built well out of town at first to avoid traffic complaints. But in all those years, through all these changes, there had never been a murder on the strip, especially not one that elicited terms like, “gross disfigurement,” from the police and media. The horrific murder of Will Baker was something the people of this town never expected to see. After the strange disappearance of Melissa Laurence, an old friend of the Baker’s, a month or so back, the people were on edge. But now, faced with the unimaginable murder of Will baker, they were terrified.


Will and Jules had a great life here. She taught at the elementary school when it was in session. Will was also a real academic type, working down at the new bank in town. He studied Physics and Finance in college, graduating in the top percent in both classes. They kept a clean house and, to everyone’s knowledge, had planned on having a baby soon. When Jules had time, she worked with her husband in the garden. For two straight years now, they’d won the Memorial Day Parade Garden of the Year. As the parade route wound through “downtown” Horizon and on through the strip, an inspector would ride one of the floats and judge each numbered garden along the way. Twice now, they’d come out on top. Jules had planted her rosemary and pansies, behind them fennel and columbines. The array of colors, as splendid as it was, spoke poetry as it craftily surrounded a single daisy. Jules could look now on all of these flowers in her garden, but could now only think of the ones that would adorn her husband’s grave.


As Jules ran her mind through all of her future worries and now ever current problems, she though on the most difficult one. Who could have killed her husband? Jules had trouble thinking of anyone who would want her husband dead. He’d had his problems, and had seemed worried about something that morning, but it couldn’t have lead to this. And she thought of the one possibility, but how could he have done it? It was impossible that he did it, because…well he just couldn’t have. But she couldn’t tell anyone. If anyone asked, especially the police, how could she tell them he was innocent without making him look even worse? All that Jules knew right now was that she could never let anyone know about her affair with Rob. She had just lost her husband, she couldn’t bear to lose the most important person in her life. But as afraid as she was to lose Rob, she was even more afraid to think he could have been involved with her husband’s murder.


She had known Rob her whole life. They were good friends, all throughout school, but only friends. That’s all they’d ever been. It wasn’t even really an affair to her. It had only happened twice. Will had been obviously troubled in the last month, spending more and more late nights at the bank or travelling for them. The new bank had some big clients out of town, and it was his job to keep them happy. With him gone, she felt vulnerable and in need.


Strange how she’d never seen Rob as anything more than her friend until her husband began distancing himself. In high school, they would spend afternoons together walking down the street, him to the grocery store for work and her to tutor at the elementary school where she now taught. They talked about the future and college, and when that future arrived, they would call each other on the weekends, seeing each other when they could. Rob even came up for a football game once, but the visits stopped when Will and Jules started dating. He said it didn’t seem right, though she never could tell why. Even after everything that had happened with them, and everything that Rob had said just that afternoon, there was no way that he’d killed Will Baker. How could he have when she was with him?


Jules asked Rob to leave, fearing the appearance of evil. Even the hint of that word, evil, convicted Jules of her complicit role in Will Baker’s death. Perhaps her straying from the path is what caused someone to kill her husband. As absurd as it is, she believed it. All around her, the world fell apart. The news crews filming her house, the police moving in and out the front door, all the neighbors politely avoiding her gaze. Jules Baker stood alone on the lawn, forgetting herself and her past, focused only on the fear at hand.


“Mrs. Walker?” No answer.


“Mrs. Walker?”


“It’s Baker, officer. Mrs. Will Baker.”


“My apologies, ma’am. Could you come with me? We need you to come down to the station to identify your husband’s body conclusively.”


The summer sun cast that dark blue and sky orange that only comes when it is light even late into the evening, as the evening turns to night and the fireflies come out. She followed Officer Rodriguez to the car, and as she glared back once more at the house, she saw them bringing out the covered stretcher. As the Coroner’s people carried him away, the evident truth pained Mrs. Baker. Her husband was gone, and she was obviously to blame. It was all because of her that Will Baker is dead.

Next Friday, Episode 2 featuring Jules Baker. 

If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to leave a comment in the comments section.  It's a little early for theories, but if you must, go right ahead.  I hope y'all enjoy this, and I look forward to releasing episode 2 next week.  Thanks!

Now Announcing "Will Baker is Dead"

Tomorrow at 4pm, I intend to go live with the first chapter in a brand new project, a summer serial called "Will Baker is Dead."  This serial will be an experiment on my part and a very exciting new project.  The overarching story here is about a small town tragedy in my now established stand-in of Horizon, GA.  The story begins with the discovery of a dead body at the home of Will and Jules Baker.  The rest of the story is geared towards discovering what exactly happened.  Each episode, after the prologue, is going to follow a different character and their experiences through the day we are first introduced to in the prologue, the day in which a murder occurs in the quiet town of Horizon, GA. 

I know that I'm a few days past my self-imposed deadline of June 7th, but this project has been a long time coming.  I first came up with the basic concept a few years back, but never really did anything with it.  Now, I've finally got the story and the characters I want, and it will be coming to life in about 16 hours.  I hope you all thoroughly enjoy the story, and please do not hesitate to let me know what you think.  Thanks!

Adam W.
Phil. 3:12-14

PS.  If you don't already, go follow me on Twitter as 42Cobras! 

Without Further Adieu, I Present to You..."Have Souls, Will Travel"

And finally, I deliver on my promise to post the long awaited short that I've been working on since November, "Have Souls, Will Travel."  I've started some preliminary work on my serial that I'd like to do during the summer.  To put it this way, if I don't post anything from that by June 7th, there probably won't be one, but I'm working on it.  I'd like to make it weekly throughout the summer, so we'll see how well that works out.  I look forward to seeing what y'all think of this one.  Please leave comments, say something on Facebook (Adam Wynn) or Twitter (42Cobras) and let me know what you thought.  Until we meet again, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight!

PS.  Just a warning, this one's a little long.  It spans 13 pages on Word single-spaced, so good luck reading it.  I didn't want to split it up just for ease's sake, so I hope the length doesn't become a problem.  In a while, I may try to add a link to the GoogleDoc for it.

"Have Souls, Will Travel"

Back before the Depression, before the war in Europe, the older folks in Horizon know a story about a town that was deceived.  It was 1910, and we were but a young village.  The people had lived there for nearly twenty-years, but there wasn’t a formal, legal management in place until a few years prior to this.  We weren’t official yet.  The people were still trying to get a feel for how a proper city should be run.  We were fifty-years into the reconstruction of the South, and it wouldn’t do to have some cotton-picker fresh out of the fields run the town.

            The first four years of municipality saw a council run the town’s affairs, but some started to believe that a singular decision making body would best serve Horizon, GA, so it came about in the autumn of 1910 that the council begrudgingly began to look for a mayor.  A few names had appeared, from the council mostly, but none with weight enough to sway the city in a vote.

            Around the same time, there was another position in the town that needed filling.  In the old Southern towns like Horizon, a good preacher can make all the difference.  There was the oneBaptist Church on the main strip, but no one seemed to go.  The old pastor skipped off with the offering from a month of Sundays a while back, and the old-people had lost their faith in the old place.

            Even when the revered Rev. Jacobs stepped in to fill that vacancy at the pulpit, his obviously temporary return did nothing to bring back the fold.  Most distressed by this was the good reverend’s grandson, Young Jacobs.  His parents were killed by the cold only a week after his birth, and before he could be named, so the reverend just knew him as Jacob.  Because of his parents’ death, Jacob grew up in that little country church where his grandfather used to preach.  His nights always ended with grandfather reading stories of scriptured past from the pulpit, Jacob playing the part of congregations on Sunday.

            At the time, Jacob enjoyed the solo sermons.  It was time he could share with his grandfather, and he could hear from the Word that he loved deeply.  Now, though, as Young Jacobs grew into a man of 15, he knew what the empty Sundays meant.  He saw a city drifting down the wide path, and a grandfather getting even closer to his final homecoming.

            This particular Sunday found Rev. Jacobs preaching to an audience of two, between the Lord and his grandson, from Titus and James 2.  The old man, as frail and tired as he was, still had the fire of a preacher to him, and with the most attentive audience he’d ever had, Reverend Jacobs brought the Spirit out to fight.  But in the heat of his heart, his heart gave out.

            Even if Young Jacobs had been the back-row Baptist sort, the flight he took to be with his grandfather would still have been more than enough to keep the man from hitting the ground.  Jacob took up a spot next to his falling hero in seconds, the moment his stance began to waiver, keeping old Phillip Jacobs firm at the pulpit.

            The young man carried this mountain of faith, this weighty one to bed and laid him down in comfort and rest.

            “Bring…bring me…” poor Jacobs, struggling through his words.

            “Here.  Here is the water.”

            “No!”  As Phillip Jacobs tossed it away with the momentary fervor of a traveling evangelist.  “I don’t need that!  Bring me that Bible, son.”

            Young Jacobs, now understanding, brought him the Word. 

            Phillip held the Book to his chest, close and tight, half in prayer, half in warning to the child in tears before him.  “Lord, take me on now.  I have done my work, and I have run my race, and I have done it in Your Name.  I pray, Lord, that you send someone to this town who will defend them from the evil one.  Defend them!”

            He stopped to breathe, often forcing out this final prayer as one shutting the last wind out of a dry, cracked bellows to enflame the vital fire for the last time. 

            “I will find someone to save this city, Father.  I will find someone.”

            With a tear and a sigh, Phillip Jacobs gave up his spirit.  He died on a Sunday and went on to join the great saints of the past.  He was buried on a Wednesday, and hundreds came not to miss the Reverend’s final sermon.  Young Jacobs stood at the graveside of the man he grew to model, the yellow-aged Bible in his hand, a blue-ember in his heart.  The fury of the boy, growing out of the anger of a man, brought forth words from his chest that Young Jacobs knew not a second before they were spoken.

            “Here lies Phillip Jacobs, a man of God and preacher of the Word for sixty years.  He stood at the side of dying soldiers, Union and Southern alike, as a young war chaplain those many years back.  He helped some of you fix your farms with hands and prayer back in the floods of 1882.  He buried your children and my parents in the deadly cold of 1895.  He neglected all of his own needs to bring you the Word.  He gave this place life and hope, and you all let him die!  He was the last thing keeping this town from going to Hell, and you let him die!”

            The gravediggers were the only ones left with Jacob after a moment, when the crowds dispersed speaking of a young man’s folly and inexperience.  Widow Lois assured everyone what a disappointment the young man would’ve been to his fine elder.  Mr. Loews, progeny of the plantationers, and a frontrunner for the mayorship, mourned over the loss of such a great man and the ill replacement they were left with. 

            Young Jacobs had decided he would try to take up the mantle left by his grandfather that coming Sunday.  The sign out in front clearly stated that worship began promptly at 9am, but only one person arrived from then until lunch.  Even that one, he was looking for the mayoral debates. 

            “Lord.  Your Word says that where one plus another is gathered in Your name, there you are, too.  Well it’s just me!  You here?  You hear me, Lord?!  Are you here?”

            He stepped out from behind the cross that adorned the pulpit and back into the pews, leaving his grandfather’s Bible behind.  Young Jacobs then began to pray for one to defend this town from the Devil, just as Phillip Jacobs had a week prior. 

            At that moment, as if sensing a call, the doors opened to reveal a tall and empty man, thin in frame as one who had not touched food in a decade, wearing a black flat-top hat to match a monochromatic suit of the same sable quality. 

            “Hello?  Is anyone here?”

            “None but I,” replied Young Jacobs.  “Who are you?”

            “My name is Reverend Beels.  Being a minister, I felt this an apt place to begin upon my arrival in town.  You are?”

            “I’m Young Jacobs.  My grandfather was used to preach the Word from this pulpit, but he’s died and left it to me, and no one here will listen.  I fear this town will succumb to the fires of the evil one if I don’t manage to stop him myself.”

            “Well I’m here to do what I can.  The name’s Ichabod Beels and I am a travelling preacher of sorts.  I suppose you could call it fate or providence, or whatever you will, but I would very much like to aid you on this holy crusade.”

            Jacob could not believe the turn of events that befell him.  Here stood a real and true minister at the time when the young town of Horizon would face its first true test against the Deceiver.  The minister’s grandson wanted to show off to the town what he’d found.  This was certainly an occasion to gloat. 

            “Let me go grab my coat and I’ll introduce you to the town.  They need to know who’s going to occupy this post come Sunday.”

            Now Ichabod had only been at this travelling preacher business for a short while, only about ten years or so.  But it was certainly a young man’s game, and Ichabod Beels stood to be no more than thirty-three years of age.  He travelled around to small towns primarily in the South where religion still took hold over reason.  He had most recently hailed from the village Andover, which is no longer called Andover, where the people didn’t take too well to his preaching.  The Reverend Beels felt that his little horse drawn cart may have just found a suitable home, but a trip through town would tell him just about all he needed to know. 

            “Now, son.  Don’t go tying me down just yet.  A man of divine service has no home and no place to rest his head.  I have to be certain this is where I am most effectively to do my work before I agree to stay.”  It didn’t much matter what Beels said.  Young Jacobs was determined to keep Ichabod and his tongue from leaving town, and Ichabod knew it. 

            Even on this cool November afternoon, the town streets were bustling with Sunday noon traffic.  People walked in and out of the shops in their as of yet unused Sunday best.  The single restaurant in town prepared a feast of chicken and vegetables bought fresh from the country farmers inhabiting this corner of the world.  Young mothers walked their children from store to store, each little one wondering which door held a toyshop.  Sadly for them, no store-bought playthings could be found within ten-miles of Main St. Horizon. 

            The mayoral campaign hit a stride, each viable candidate slapping his feet to the planks and flapping his jaws to the wind.  Each man cast a vision for what would make this town the next capital of Georgia.  After all, what did towns like Milledgeville and Terminus have when they started that separated them from the rest of the state?

            Mr. Loews was certain that the future of Horizon stood in progress, leaving the farmers the land that they already had cultivated, but using what remained untouched for industry and Reconstructionists.  “If those Yankees want to throw some money at us to improve the once glorious South that they destroyed, I say we take it!  The anxious crowds, eager for more fire from this modern-day Balaam.  His words and wisdom drew them up into a voting frenzy, ready to elect Mr. Loews President.

            “Now, now listen, y’all.  This is a farming community, and it should stay that way if we have any hope of surviving in this world.”  Lukas Wages, another candidate for mayor, was also the progeny of plantationers.  His family had owned half of the land that makes up everything just this side of Horizon, from County-Line River west into town.  The only difference between Lukas Wages and Mr. Loews was that Lukas still farmed, and still owned all of that land west of the river into town.  Though owning land meant owning power, it did not a public speaker make, and the people really had no desire to hear what this common country farmer had to say.

            “Joe, you and I have farmed this region for twenty years, and your family, like mine, was farming up the state of Georgia for almost a hundred or so years prior.  What in God’s name could possibly change that?”  He was quickly losing the solidly Mr. Loews crowd.  “And…and…even if it did change, what makes you think that’s what this town really needs?  Mr. Loews, here, he just wants to run all the farmers here out of business so he can buy up their land!” 

            And there it was.  Lukas Wages unwittingly made the one political move that scared the capitally minded Mr. Loews.  Not only was it the bitter truth, but it was enough to scare the farmers back to Lukas.  His only saving grace was that crowds are indeed fickle and easily swayed.  In this case, all he needed to sway was their attention.  “And behold, here comes the lamb who takes away the sins of the world.  If it isn’t our resident fiery preacher, come once more to condemn us all to fire and brimstone.”

            “I condemn no one, Mr. Loews; it is you who condemn yourselves by ignoring what my grandfather tried to teach you for the last half-century!  You condemn yourselves by abandoning God!”  Young Jacobs once again found himself defending his grandfather’s church to these soulless creatures.  They would mock and ridicule the memory of such a great man in his presence, and Young Jacobs wouldn’t stand for it. 

            “Boy, none of us has abandoned God, so much as we have abandoned that God-forsaken box you so loosely call a church.  That place died with your grandfather, and there is no way that you’d draw a flock in fit to lead half as well as he could,” Mr. Loews spoke, a gleeful certainty of victory tainting that velvety drawl.

            The quiet stranger figured that now would be the appropriate time to interrupt the failure that was his young friend’s tirade.  “That is precisely why he has asked me to fill in for the late Reverend Jacobs for the time being.  My name is Ichabod Beels, and I assure you that no man is condemned who enters the Lord’s church.  Follow me, and I will show you the path to life.  Follow me, and I will lead you to the promises found in the Book.  Follow me, and I will bring you the truth, and it will change your life!”

            If there was one thing Mr. Loews was capable of, it was recognizing a worthy adversary, and his fears were buzzing all about this man.  And since nothing benefits a Southern politician more than being aligned with the right preacher, “As mayor of Horizon, let me welcome you to our town, and let me be the first to sit in on your first Vesper service here in Horizon, tonight at the church down the street.” 

            Burdened Young Jacobs feared that his friend would not be able to stand this obvious challenge by the now self-acclaimed mayor, but this changed when Rev. Beels answered the call.  “It would be my honor to host yourself, and every other person in ear-shot this evening.  Though it is quick, I am a preacher.  As a preacher, I am in the business of collecting souls, and that is one business in which I can afford no delays.  Tonight!”  The crowd was in a roar, so they probably couldn’t hear him whisper to an eager Young Jacobs, “Come to my wagon immediately.  We have work to do.” 

            Once they left the fevered crowd.  Young Jacobs saw a side of the Reverend he had not yet seen.  This side was single-minded and quickly moving.  He gathered books and supplies, grabbing things up for the evening worship.  The man was asked to operate much quicker than he expected, and this night was to be flawless if his time in Horizon were to be met with any success. 

            “Ichabod.”

            No answer.  Clearing his throat and trying again…

            “Ichabod.”

            No answer.  Jacob almost thought it best to sit and wait, but then he spoke.

            “Oh, yes.  What can you do?  Just help me prepare the building for this evening.  Candles.  We need many candles.  Ah!  Yes!  And if you are to help me, you must be a duly appointed and appropriately recompensed layman.  Here, take this pen and sign here.” 

            As Ichabod handed the pen over, the wagon rattled as if kicked by the horses, and Jacobs’ hand slipped and painfully met the sharpened end of his writing utensil.  He went to wipe the blood off, but was stopped by Ichabod.  “Not that it would matter, you’ve already spilled some in the ink-well.  Just sign so I can pay you from the offering legally and we’ll move on with it.”

            The Reverend’s grandson took a minute to absorb the imposing document.  He’d never been exposed to such a legal document before, excepting when he witnessed his grandfathers will a week ago, and then his parents’ will before that.  He was only used to the language of these grave documents.  He had no idea how to take this thing now.  Unable to read it, the boy placed his red-stained signature on the parchment in his sight. 

Young Jacobs was so thankful for this answered prayer, as they headed on towards the evening.  He just knew that his grandfather would be so proud of what he was doing for the church and who he had found to come in and save the city ofHorizon.  And that made him smile. 

            “Good.  And now we can get started.  Carry these things into the building and we’ll get a move on.  We are going to need lots of candles.”

            The scene was set, the good reverend was ready, and the people were arriving.  The young man had never doubted Beels’ ability to set a stage, prep a church, or deliver a sermon, though he had not yet in the meager eight hours of their acquaintance seen any evidence of this, but he was ashamed to admit some doubt in this most recent mentor’s ability to draw a crowd.  If the reverend Ichabod Beels were capable of anything, it was drawing a crowd. 

            The people flocked to see him.  Not only did the vastest majority of Horizon arrive to witness the coming of a new voice from the dessert, but there was standing room only for the late arrivals from all over Myrtle, the Springs, Chinquapin Grove, even a few from the capital!  Word spreads quickly, of that there is no doubt. 

            Unlike any Southern preacher you’ve ever seen, Ichabod Beels started preaching fifteen minutes early, likely on account of the fact that even if anyone else were left to arrive, they’d have never got in.  It was good for him to do this, because the crowd was most certainly getting restless, and his voice had a way of soothing the most vicious crowd like a farmer putting down a stampede with a flute.  They eased into their seats, those punctual enough to have one, and prepared their ears for the golden speech that began to flow.

            The children who were there that day, the ones who inevitably grew into the old men who told the story, best remember the fiery tongue that Ichabod spoke with.  That is what they spoke of, but Young Jacobs latched on to something else.  While the conjured crowds heard a roaring revival, full of screaming and devil hatin’, Young Jacobs heard only what was not there. 

            In all of his words and gesticulations, the good reverend never once prayed. 

            To the casual observer, it may seem odd if noticed at all, but to a young Georgia boy raised in the ways of preaching and soul winning, well this was like going hunting with no shells.  It was like going to farm, but never hooking the horses up to the plow, or sowing a field full of salt.  To Young Jacobs, it was madness of the greatest degree.  And this headstrong kid, all his pride in tact, knew good and well that he was gonna talk to the reverend about it. 

            “That’s a keen eye you got there.  Keen indeed!  Most folks would’ve passed off on it as a …pure mistake!  But no!  Not this protégé of parables before me, no sir.  It was indeed intentional, yes.”  After the church meeting, the two soldiers of souls had a proverbial come-to-Jesus meeting. 

            “But why, is what I don’t understand.  You had all those people there.  They were leaning on every word you had to say, and you never once prayed.  Heck, I don’t think I ever heard you say the Lord’s name, not once!”

            They were both a deep red, Beels out of fury, and Jacobs out of shame.  “Not to question your wisdom, sir,” as he tried to back-peddle his way into the mentor’s good graces, “but why would you do that?  Teach me.”

            “Well, if that’s the case, then I most certainly shall.  You obviously know the story.  You know about the cross and all.”

            “Yes, yes, of course.”

            “And I am sure you pray frequently.”

            “Constantly.”

            “Then you’re familiar with how these things are viewed by outsiders.  They are offensive in nature, and we must be careful to negatively affect people with these…these…”

            “Pillars?”

            “Symbols.  After all, that is all they are is symbols.  And we mustn’t scare away the flock with a poorly drawn wolf when we can bring them in with the image of food.”

            “No, I guess you’re right.”  Young Jacobs was still less than certain, but he was willing to learn. 

            “You will learn from me in time.  You’re grown so used to this old-fashioned ministry, and you see what good it did you.  Sometimes all I need is time to break old habits, or introduce new ones.  Off to bed, now.  We’ve got a long week ahead.”  The reverend spoke of work with a confidence that his message was ready to take root. 

            “Great.  I’ve prepared the master bedroom for you, it is right above the church in the …”

            “No.  No…thank you, no.  I’ll be fine in the cart.  This place belongs to you and your grandfather, and that is a place that I will only invade during my working hours.”

            Young Jacobs went on to his room, next to the one that used to belong to his grandfather.  True, it seemed wrong to offer that man his grandfather’s bed, but Young Jacobs felt that any servant of the Lord was due his wage, and that was a clause that Ichabod Beels did not escape.  Still, Young Jacobs went to bed dreaming on these things and considering them in his heart.  When was it right to mention the Lord?  When could he display that old cross that Ichabod had moved from the pulpit?  Why would his grandfather steer him so wrong?  Poor Jacobs tossed with these thoughts most of the night, only grabbing some sleep with the promise of hard work the next day, the first of many promises that Ichabod Beels would deliver on.

            Though a decade late for the start of the century clean sweep, a mess of changes came to Horizon that month.  The potential mayors agreed to postpone the election.  It seemed a new candidate was being discussed.  For the church, Ichabod had made up his mind to replace every plank and board in that old place, starting with the pulpit.  He and Young Jacobs worked night and day, and by Sunday, the pulpit was brand new.  It looked great, and the people could feel a change in Ichabod.  He took his old demeanor and stepped it up a bit.  If his old sermons were fire, this was a blaze of holiness out to win Horizon’s souls.  That was what he always told Young Jacobs.  “You and me: We’re in a battle for the souls of Horizon’s people, and it’s gonna take all we’ve got to win.” 

            But with all of the new boards and talk of political, even spiritual revolution in Horizon, one thing never changed.  Ichabod wouldn’t pray.  Ichabod wouldn’t read from the Bible, nor would he even touch one.  Ichabod wouldn’t mention Jesus.  And although he could speak fire up from the pulpit, according to Young Jacobs, Ichabod wouldn’t preach.

            Anytime he’d try to bring it up, Ichabod would just call him a foolish young man in need of training, a fact that the well-versed young fool took as an insult.  And as with most impetuous young men, the Jacobs boy blew.

            It happened on the fourth Tuesday since Ichabod came in to town, and it was getting close to Christmas.  While Young Jacobs stewed over the so-called sermon from two days prior, moving things that he assumed were moved to make room for the Nativity scene, Ichabod broke the camel’s back.  He tried to make Young Jacobs remove the old cross from his grandfather’s church.

            Though he obviously was not there, Young Jacobs had countless times heard the story of how his father and grandfather built that cross together, first part of the church built, in-fact, from the wood that once stood on that very spot.  He heard how the two, his father only about ten years-old, prayed about how best to serve the town, and wound up building a cross, then a church to put it in.  And he would be damned before he let anyone remove it.

            “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “I can’t.  This cross belongs here.  In this church.  It’s all that’s left of my father and grandfather.  I can’t remove it.”

            “Listen, boy.  You said you would do whatever it took to help me, and this is how you can help me.  Remove that cross!”

            “I’m sorry, Ichabod, but…” as he searched for the right words, he at last spoke something that just never seemed possible when he said, “the hell I will!”

            Now anyone could attest to the fire in Ichabod Beels’ voice.  Anyone could vouch for that who had heard him speak.  But that day in Horizon, GA, Young Jacobs became the only person in the state who knew the fire in his eyes and in his grin. 

            Opened wide, unwittingly showing the point of a tooth, Ichabod Beels spoke more truth than he ever had before.  “The Hell you will.”

            There are a few moments in life when people begin to realize the first in a long string of bad decisions.  It was here where Young Jacobs began to realize that he had made the worst of all when he invited this one in to what was once a great church.

            “You should really practice up on reading legal documents, or should have.  Especially the ones you sign in blood.”  All of the legends and rumors of souls wasted on his black schemes, none meant a thing to Young Jacobs now as the Beast passed sentencing on him.  “You signed, and your mine: Mind, body, and soul,” adding some real bite to that last bit.  “You’ve got no hope, no exit, and no rights.  Well, that’s not true.  You do have the right to determine when I take you.  At any time, you can forfeit this life and join mine for eternity.  Now, if I am so inclined to offer you mercy, and I never am, you will be free to live your life from that moment on, and I can’t touch you.  Not ever.”  Now abandoning the false civility in favor of the roar he is more used to, “This is binding!  You have no way out of it, so you better just live by it.  Now do as I say.”

            To say his burden was heavy would be to say that his cross was wooden.  It was painfully obvious by the soreness on his face and the thorns in his palms.  As Young Jacobs carried that cross out to the burn pile, then past that into the woods for safekeeping, he could feel the lost link to his sheltered past slipping away.  It was all gone, or would be soon.  What hurt the most was imagining the tears on his grandfather’s face as he died.  Could he have known the fate that was to be dealt his last earthly treasure?  Young Jacobs knew that he brought sorrow to his grandfather’s death, and for that alone, he wept.

            Young Jacobs did not remember falling asleep.

            But he surely remembered waking up.

            There stood Ichabod over him, now abandoning the fiery grin he previously held for nothing but the heat of his scowl.  The cross was still where Jacobs had left it, leaning up against the most senior tree in this forested land, Ichabod’s eyes floating back and forth from the sleeping attendant to the wooden crucifix.  “We must not cling to these relics of the past, Young Fool.”

            At the word of his voice and the flick of a finger, the ground seemed to sprout flames, pushing furiously up the cross in the woods.  Nothing else in these woods that touched flame even bore a scorch, but the cross shone through like a star hitting the sky.  It was like the flame protected it’s own, or simply touched none but what it was allowed.  Young Jacobs fell asleep and drew this deceiver to his spot in the woods.  He failed to conceal the cross’ location, and now it was to burn.  Perhaps forever.  Jacobs knew not what power his new boss held, but it was far more than was contained by the boy. 

            He wanted to run, but his Master’s voice said, “Stop.”  Not so much said it, but he felt the voice in him.  He was told that this was important.  This was something he had no choice but to watch.

            If nothing else, the Beast had him by the neck.  Young Jacobs stared at the blaze until he saw nothing.  The exhaustion of anguish and the lack of air returned him to a state of death-like sleep.  After all, that is what he wanted.  There is honor to a good death, because a good death only comes from a life of meaning.  There is beauty in a good death.  The death like his grandfather’s.  Death like his father’s, intended to save the life of another.  That is what Jacob wanted, for he felt it was the best he could now hope for. 

            Young Jacobs returned to himself in the bed that his grandfather Slept in.  Without fail, Ichabod Beels towered over him, eyes of flame and red anguish looking with death upon him.  That man’s demeanor had changed, likely due to the fact that he no longer had reason to conceal his truth.  As any good preacher should, Ichabod Beels wanted to win souls.  Except he meant to win them for himself.

            The stricken boy rose slowly.  His eyes were still fuzzy with sleep and his neck was still sore from the strangling.  The headache he was sure that hadn’t been there before persisted with a vengeance.  Whatever Ichabod had done to him, he did a real bang-up job.

            “Get up,” was the curt wake-up call.  Something angered Beels.  That, or he just wasn’t a morning person, Jacob surmised.  When Jacob refused out of mere inability, the warning was returned, and make no mistake, it was certainly a warning.  “Get up.”

            “I can’t move.  You dang near choked the life out of me last night in the woods.”

            “Who says I didn’t try?  Now get up.  You’re mine until I say otherwise, but don’t worry.  My assistants tend to have a short life span.  We’ve got work to do.”

            Ichabod had heard the rumors of his potential mayoral candidacy, and he was not given to missing this monumental of an opportunity.  It was but a week before elections, and Ichabod had work to do.  He wasn’t planning on making an outright campaign, but rather arriving at the last public debate and trying to shame both candidates.  One benefit of being in his position was that Ichabod knew what to say to and about anyone.  If he wanted to catch a man off-guard, it wasn’t difficult. 

            Beels had the little subservient one hook up the team and ready themselves a trip to town.  Though they could have just as easily walked, he wanted the carriage to be visible when he made his bid for mayor.  Making Young Jacobs do a little extra work wasn’t a bad little perk, either.  When Jacobs had finally gotten everything together, they made their way into town.

            It was as if the two were marshals in some sort of grand parade as the streets waved in excitement at the sight.  “How’ya doin’ today, Preacher?” one man would shout out.  The kind lady up on the sidewalk would toss up a, “Can’t wait to hear your preachin’ on Sunday, Beels,” with a salacious smile, holding juniors hand while her husband was inside picking up the weekly supplies.  The world had noticed their arrival and wanted to celebrate the occasion.

            Mr. Loews was down at the end of the street talking to his wife, sharing glances with our kind, young blonde from before.  Lukas Wages was on his way, but he had to sell the crops from his farm to the grocer.  This late in the season, he really couldn’t afford to let them sit around for long.  The last debate was to start at 1:05pm, and the town clock just chimed the hour.  Everyone started to move downtown towards the wooden platform that once nearly hosted the Horizon public gallows.  Today would almost certainly determine the future mayor of Horizon, and perhaps just a little bit more.

            As Lukas walked up, a minute to spare, Mr. Loews took his chance to start the pot shots early.  “Welcome to our debate, Lukas.  I’m so glad that this important position didn’t interfere with your farming too much.  Why don’t you join us when you’ve got a minute, okay?” The people thought about it, and they saw the problem.  Just like Joe Loews wanted to happen, the people slowly gave up their trusting of Lukas.  If he would be (almost) late to a debate this important, what else might be impeded by his occupation?  The obvious choice would then be to go with someone who had more time.  Someone who sold his farm.  Mr. Loews, perhaps?

            The debate went smoothly for a while.  There were no real surprises.  When they talked about farming and land use, it was always Lukas for farming and Loews for selling to business.  When they talked about the future of Horizon, Lukas went farms and Loews went factories.  Obviously, they had to, seeing as how there were only one or two issues in which they actually differed. 

            The moment finally came, however, when someone broke open the debate, just like Ichabod had hoped for.  Looking for another voice to speak in his favor, Mr. Loews called on Beels.  “Do you have any questions for us, Reverend?”

            Ichabod grinned, relishing this moment where he could improve his own stock and play the political system. 

            “For you, Mr. Loews, tell me.  How do you feel about adultery?”

            The shocked silence that followed for Mr. Loews was not due just to the question he had been asked, but also in the revelation that the preacher’s red eyes stared through the soul inside him.  He could see through the veneer of flesh into the heart beating within his ribs.  To the crowd below, it was obvious that he was stunned.  No matter the answer he managed to salvage at this point, the crowd could tell that this question bothered him, and they all could tell why.  His wife almost laughed audibly.  Mr. Loews finally managed to get something about sin and how the future of the city did not include such filth.  They all saw past it.  Even Young Jacobs enjoyed it, knowing good and well what the man was doing. 

            As much as he enjoyed seeing Mr. Loews brought down to level, Young Jacobs feared the turn of Ichabod’s gaze.  It only took an insistence by the Reverend to turn the crowd on Loews, but Lukas was a good man.  There was no telling what tools Ichabod would call on to bring down the best man in Horizon.  And Young Jacobs knew this.  He knew what was coming, and he knew it would be ugly.  Although the boy was as of yet unsure how to act, he was led to believe that action was in fact inevitable.  Jacobs would have to stand against the Devil to save this man and this town, even though doing so would bring certain damnation.  It would be a sacrifice of the gravest kind, but it would be a sacrifice of the most dire kind.

            “And for you, Mr. Lukas.  I have a few questions.”  Honestly, Ichabod Beels was reaching here.  He knew that the stunt with Loews made this farmhouse American look to be a bonified saint in their eyes, and that was hardly an easy force to work against.  When he finally found the right half-truth, Ichabod Beels burned the air with his words.  “Is it true that your grandfather gave sanctuary to Northern soldiers during the war?  That he hid them and supplied them?”

            Each and every eye and ear fell on the farmer Lukas as he was caught pants down at the question.  For all he knew, that family rumor had died with Mr. Lindsay, his grandfather, ten years ago.  “Aren’t you going to explain yourself, Lukas?”  Ichabod’s accent from the Deep South…real deep…etched another level to the question.  The crowd started calling for crucifixion, it felt like to the farmer, unused to the fickle nature of the political scene. 

            “Well, Lukas?” they shouted, “Tell us!”  One particularly vulgar farmhand added, “Are you a blue baby, Lukas?”  At least that’s how the more polite people tell the story. 

            “It was…It was…We had a…There was a…my cousin.  He lived up in Union, Georgia.  He fought for them, yes, but he was born here!  He was from here!  They would’ve killed him, and he was hurt!  He would’ve been lynched!”

            The mob was at him.  Even Loews started shouting at this Yankee lover.  Strange enough, he hadn’t even been born yet when this happened.  Lukas was only about forty.  But his family was guilty, so he was guilty. 

            “And that same cousin, that Yank, was he not found shot a few years later heading over to his neighbor’s wife?  And did your own father not have a tendency to spend his nights and earnings down at the bar?”

            Lukas had been beat.  Through his schemes and lies, and sideways defamations, Ichabod Beels had vilified the most righteous man in the county.  Nobody in town wondered at how this newcomer already knew so much about everyone.  They just took it all in.  The crowds were shouting, preparing to run the poor man out of town before he could even catch his breath, he’d been flipped so fast.  Yet the reverend caught them back quick when he spoke up.  “Is there anyone else we can rely on?  Is there no man in this town worthy to lead?  Is there none righteous enough to reclaim the spirit of this place?”

            His speech was lacking for a cheer, but this was only as the people thought through what he was saying.  As always, his impassioned plea inspired them to thought, and it was exactly the thought he wanted.  “Why don’t…why don’t you do it?”  Scott Stone, the storeowner, was the first to sound the death knell.  Slowly, his utterance brought the murmurs which in turn grew to conversations which erupted into cheers.

            Young Jacobs, horrified, watched as the plan rolled out perfectly and naturally like raindrops off the tree leaves.  It was beautiful to watch, but impossible in its consequences. 

            “STOP!”

            They did.

            Every pair of eyes was on Young Jacobs.  Even Phrank, the one-eyed beggar who slept in the alleys, was watching. 

            “Can’t you people see what’s happening?  This man is…” Jacob, trying to see if now was the right time to unveil his master, “he’s playing you!  That’s what he does!  He tricked you today, and he tricked you at the dawn of time.  He’s the Devil in the truest sense, and all of you are just eating him up!  He is going to steal the souls of this town, and you won’t know until it’s too late, just like he did to me.  He wants to steal your soul while you want to make him mayor!  And I know he’s gonna send me to Hell for saying this, but I had to do it.  In fact, I’d rather you just take me now, Devil!  Beelzebub, take me now.  Send me to the Pit like you promised.  Come on!  Not like it matters anymore, anyhow, seeing as how you’ve got this fool town eating out of your hand!”

            It was at this exact moment when a human had managed to outwit the Devil.  Ichabod was trapped, and Young Jacobs had trapped him.  The look of surprise on Beels’ face told the boy all he needed to know.  You see, the deal was that whenever Jacobs wanted, he could ask the Devil to take him and, if he refused, whatever hold was on the boy’s soul would be forfeit.  Beels couldn’t take him now, or else the whole town would see that he was telling the truth.  Otherwise, he would lose this soul, and Beels knew that he couldn’t afford to lose this soul.

            “That – that power lies elsewhere.”  But the boy would not fall for those word games, no matter how hard he tried.

            “So does that mean you won’t send me to Hell?”

            “I am no devil,” he laughed, trying to convince himself and the sorely confused crowds. 

            “So does that mean you won’t send me to Hell,” he asked again, each syllable emphasized in a solidly stern manner. 

            “Not today, not tomorrow, not ever!  I will not send you to Hell, Young Jacobs!”  And right then, the Reverend knew that somewhere, a contract was consumed in its own unholy flames.  And Jacobs knew that, somehow, his burden had been removed.  He was free.

            Just when he started to relish the moment, that Trickster figured out another way to play.  “But I tell you what I will do.  I will take up the burden of mayorship, and retain my church, so that I can preach truth and protect this town from people like you who would seek to ruin it.  Those who would seek to destroy the souls of Horizon, the souls of these fine people.  And I shall run them out of town with the furious vengeance of all the power that is granted me.  You call me a devil, but I offer this proof to the contrary.  A house against itself cannot stand, and I most assuredly now stand against whatever devil is prompting you to act.  Evil like yours will not be tolerated, and it will not be suffered to rest as we pursue to force it out.  We, as a city, burgeoning and bursting into this century, will root out all evil from this pure town.  We will burn you!”

            And as the people cheered, as the Reverend roared, the boy ran.  He ran for miles, out of town, past the church, into the woods.  He ran past the fear, and he ran past the anger, knowing that his own salvation spelled doom for Horizon.  Though his bloodstained signature was gone, their blood was on his hands.  Young Jacobs ran from his God, and his grandfather, and his father, knowing that his foolish stunt had delivered them all into the hands of the Evil One.  He ran and he ran until he no longer heard the celebrations in the street and until he no longer felt the cold November air burn at his lungs.  He ran and he ran until he no longer could run.  He fell asleep somewhere in the woods, many miles outside of Horizon. 

            While he slept, Jacobs dreamed of the words he had heard some time ago, it seemed, when his grandfather passed away.  He saw him there again, lying as one already dead on the bed before him, the old-wood church still surrounding.  His words played in the boy’s dream, “I pray, Lord, that you will send someone to this town who will defend them from the Evil One.  Defend them!”

            In the dream, once more, the boy spoke to his grandfather, but now the words were different.  “I’m sorry, Father.  I have tried, and I have failed.  I couldn’t find the one you sought, and now he has them.”

            Again, the final tears of a dying man were seen on Phillip’s face, but his head turned towards Young Jacobs and he screamed with a voice no longer belonging to the dead and frail; “Defend them!”

            These unearthly screams woke the boy who had slept well past time, for it was no longer night, but early Sunday morning.  He recognized this place, for it was where he learned that his captor was in fact the Devil.  It was where he burned the old wooden cross.  Yet, even though Jacobs had seen the cross burn, there it stood.  It was not gone, and nor was it charred.  The ground around it, having been slain of hellfire, would never grow again, but this cross itself stood untouched by the flame. 

            It was then that he realized the truth.  All this time, Phillip had been talking about him.  Phillip had been talking about his grandson.  This was who he saw saving the town, and this who he had expectantly prayed for.  And for as long as someone stood up and preached the Truth in Horizon, no man could ever take this city.  No man, no devil, no one. 

            It was early Sunday, and Ichabod began again to preach.  He spoke to the people about hard work, and about giving of your self to his service.  The new pulpit, adorned with two gold candlesticks at each side, fit Ichabod well.  He was readying the altar call, shouting fire and brimstone, calling people forward to service to his church when the back doors flew open with the force of a hurricane wind, sending the full house of would be worshippers to their feet.

            “Submit yourselves to God!  Resist the Devil!”

            “What are you doing here, boy?”  Ichabod was not a fan of interruptions.  Or surprises.  And here stood both, a dirty and unkempt young man carrying some great bundle of wood that Beels did not yet recognize.  As Young Jacobs marched towards the front of the church, one foot forward at a time, with a greater purpose in each step than he had ever moved with, the old hand-carved cross came into focus.

            “Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you.  Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you.  Cleanse your hands, ye sinners,” this line echoing with conviction throughout the Church, “And purify your hearts, ye double minded.  Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep.  Let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness.”  As he dropped the cross at the front, before every soul in Horizon, directly speaking to each heart with ears to hear in that room, he found the voice that once belonged to Phillip Jacobs, the voice that could speak the Devil out of the room.  “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up.”

            Ichabod wanted to speak, but could not.  He wanted to refute this show, but he could not.

            “And I will resist you, Beels.  I will resist you.”

            The boy spoke with a newfound power, rivaling and even surpassing that of his short-term mentor.  Even still, Ichabod had to try. 

            “Do you think that any of these people believe this insane display?  Leave, boy, before I have you arrested for trespassing on my property.”

            “This church is the property of God, it is my home, and you should be leaving.  I own this building, Ichabod.  Now go!”

            “Yours?  You signed a contract that, if I do say so myself, supersedes that will.”

            “Show me.”

            And again, he had been beat.  There was no contract.  It had burned away with the boy’s release.  So there stood Ichabod powerless once more.  He had no choice but to leave and take the flock with him.  As the people followed Ichabod out, Jacobs replaced that heathen pulpit with his grandfather’s cross, the one that he had triumphantly lifted up and carried down the streets of Horizon.

            Then, he picked up right where Phillip had left off: preaching to an empty room.  It went that way for most of the next year, except when a hapless drifter would settle into the back pews of Horizon’s oldest church for a comforting sermon from the ever-faithful Rev. Jacobs.  It wasn’t until that next November when he recaptured his first parishioner.  Farmer Lukas decided that he belonged in a church in Horizon after all, and he felt that he belonged with Rev. Jacobs. 

            Ichabod would often try to incite a war with the young man, but it never worked.  He could not trap the Young Jacobs, who just kept on preaching.  He preached and he preached, slowly regaining the sheep who had come to notice something wrong with their chosen shepherd. 

            After he had lost all but a few wandering souls, the day finally came when Ichabod Beels moved out of town, abandoning the post of preacher and politician.  Though he cited work in another town, everyone else knew it to be health related.  He was growing weaker and weaker in the Shadow of Jacobs’ church, falling further and further from his former glory due to Rev. Jacobs and his thriving flock. 

            It was almost five years to the day when he finally left Horizon.  Phillip’s grandson had succeeded.  He had resisted the Devil, and he fled.  For the next sixty years, Rev. Young Jacobs served the growing and changing community of Horizon, always sleeping in that room behind the church.  He married well over one-thousand couples, including about two-hundred second-generation weddings and another fifty third-generation weddings.  He advised the politicians of the county, on one case even three governors and the President.  He counseled people through loss and grief, enduring four major wars, and the sons of Horizon leaving, never to return.  He became the life of that town, right up until the day he died. 

            It was late November of 1975 when he passed away, surrounded by family and friends.  They say he died smiling, looking over to his sons and grandsons, along with Rev. Shills, the succeeding pastor of what was now Horizon Baptist Church.  He said to each of them just this: “Defend them,” at which point he sent his soul on home. 

            People would cry, and some laugh, thinking back on what he had done for them.  They all talked of that time in the 50’s when he helped talk a drifter down from the roof of a local warehouse.  They laughed at when he said the prayer at a Horizon football game, calling the coach out on benching the best player they had just because of his color.  Indirectly, of course.  They marveled at how he kept the town from imploding during the near race riot of 1954.  And the oldest ones of them remember when he opened the church late one Sunday with word of the attack on Pearl Harbor to pray for our country, and again when word of the atomic bomb dropped in Japan so we could pray for theirs. 

            All told, over twenty-thousand people came to Horizon in November of 1975 to bury the loved and the late Rev. Jacobs.  They talked of many incidents and laughed at many stories, but the one that only a few would ever dare breath word of was the time when a young boy from backwoods Georgia stood toe-to-toe with the Devil and won.  Though it was perhaps the greatest thing ever to happen in this town, few people dare mention how Young Jacobs saved the city of Horizon, and that’s just how he would like it.  After all, who wants to admit when they’ve been deceived?

            The story is but a rumor now, the tale of old men out on gas station rocking chairs, most of them having only heard it from their fathers, but there is an oft remembered headstone in the long-lived church cemetery, one belonging to Phillip and Young Jacobs, along with his parents, that reads, “So long as a man of the Word preaches Truth in the city of Horizon, it shall be safe.”  And there is a spot in the woods surrounding Horizon that, for as long as anyone can remember, has never grown.  And no matter how old it gets, no one will dare to throw out the old hand-carved cross of Horizon Baptist Church.  Even so, these are all just old relics of an old tale that only the old men tell.