The sound
of footsteps aborted his thoughts. Quickly, he
turned off the illuminator and listened. The
sound he heard was definately footsteps. Paul moistened his lips and before James could get to
him, he spoke. "James?" James' large hand
clamped firmly over Paul's mouth. Neither of them made a sound as they waited and listened. There
was only silence. After what seemed like half of
eternity, James leaned close to Paul's ear and
whispered. "I'm going out. If I don't return, everything here is yours. Use it wisely. Be sure
to listen to my voice. Take care, Paul."
With one hand still covering Paul's mouth, he pressed something into his hand. Paul could tell by the feel, it was James' ring and pocket watch. In the darkness, James went up the ladder and carefully peeked out the trap door. It was still daylight and there wasn't anyone in sight. He went out, closing the door behind him. To Paul, it seemed like James had only been gone a second or two, when all hell broke loose upstairs. For a moment, Paul thought he might be dreaming again, but the knot of cold fear in his stomach told him it was all too real. He heard someone demanding to know the location of the man he had set free. He could hear them beating him unmercifully. Again and again, he heard James fall to the floor. Over and over, he heard the same ghastly sounds. He tried to make his body move but it was no use, he couldn't force his body to obey his commands. Bits of dried mud fell on him like the devil's own rain. There was nothing he could do but lay there and listen to those horrible sounds. James was sitting in an old wooden chair near the fireplace. His face was swollen and bleeding, his body was a bloody mass of small cuts. There was a D.O.G. on each side of him and a D.O.G. with a leather strap standing in front of him. Each time the strap hit him, the razor-like spikes cut deep into his flesh. Again, James fell to the floor. It was Charmers! Paul's head reeled as he tightened his grip on the ladder. Charmers nodded. Someone poured a clear liquid on the open cuts and a foul stench filled the air. Paul's stomach churned. The odor was familiar but no name for it came to mind. "Let's burn him" someone suggested. Charmers motioned toward the chair and the other two put James back in it. The chair had been turned enough that James was now sitting with his back toward the cabin door. The torture continued. Suddenly, Charmers began to swear. The other two guys backed away from the chair. Charmers took a step forward then planted his foot firmly in James' chest. The force of the impact sent James and the chair sliding across the floor. He landed on his side, not six feet from the trap door. He lay motionless, his eyes unblinking. Paul froze. A large black boot came down sharply on James' outstretched hand. Paul could hear the bones breaking as the boot heel continued to grind flesh and bones. James' face contorted with pain. He struggled helplessly to free himself from the agony. He continued to struggle until he finally lost consciousness. The person wearing the black boots reached down and turned James onto his back. Again, it was Charmers. Someone else held something by James' face which made him cough. He tried to roll in the other direction but the black boot came down sharply on his left arm, pinning it to the floor. This time he didn't display any evidence of pain. His face was blank, expressionless. This time, there was no struggle. He didn't move. Paul saw his eyes and realized he was looking into eyes that didn't see. He was dead. Paul couldn't stand to watch any more, he had already seen too much. Silently, he closed the trap door and carefully lowered himself to the ground. He stood there several minutes just holding to the ladder and listening. It couldn't be real, he thought. But it was. Still holding firmly to the ladder he eased himself down to sit on the ground. He wanted to block out the sound of what was happening upstairs. He tried to think of the smile he saw on James' face, but the picture wouldn't form in his mind. All he could see was the face that was now swollen and bloody. The face of the man he had come to love like a brother. Again, he tried to identify the odor. It was associated with unpleasantness but in what way, he couldn't remember. Acid, he thought. Some kind of acid. He closed his eyes and laid his head against the ladder. There was no dream world to escape to, no beach; just plain, cold reality. The noise from upstairs finally subsided. He waited, hoping to hear two knocks on the trap door, but there were no sounds from upstairs. He wished he could sleep for a whlie but that too, evaded him. If he could sleep, he could escape the horror of what he had seen. It was no use. Sleep was as evasive as the dream world had been. Carefully he stood up. Everything seemed to be responding normally. He went over to the table and turned the illuminator on low. The first thing he saw was the photograph of Rachael laying face down on the ground. Bits of shattered glass lay in the dirt around it. Paul grabbed the knife, climbed the ladder and peeked out. Daylight was fading and there was no one in sight. Cautiously he climbed out and closed the trap door. For a minute he stood looking down at the dried blood that was smeared all over the floor. There was so much of it. Bits and pieces of James' silver tunic lay scattered all around. Some of the pieces shimmered in the fading light. Something caught his attention and he reached down and picked it up. It was James' rock and it was covered with his blood. But what in the world could they have done with James? Something moved outside. With the knife in hand, he crept slowly toward the front window and peeked out. It was James. The dirty D.O.G.S.had hung him up-side-down from the rafters. Paul ran outside and quickly cut him down. He was still alive. He was in real bad shape, but he was still breathing. He sat down on the porch and held James in his lap as he wiped the blood from his face with a piece of the torn tunic. The silver threads ceased to sparkle when they became saturated with blood. "I told them...you died," were the words that came from the dying man's lips. Tears welled up in Paul's eyes as he tried to speak around the lump in his throat. "Don't talk, don't try to talk. You're going to be alright, just don't talk. I'll get the medical kit." "Wait." James managed a trace of a smile on his swollen lips as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth when he spoke. Paul continued to wipe the blood from his face and neck. "Take care." He coughed and more blood ran from his mouth. His eyes were frightenly blank as he fought to continue speaking. "My friend." James' eyes closed and his body went limp. The last breath of air escaped his lips. Paul knew that he was dead. Unashamed tears of sorrow ran down Paul's cheeks and fell on the bloody body of his friend.
* * *
Paul didn't know how long he had been sitting there before the coldness of the mountain air finally registered in his mind. In the darkness he pulled the body inside the cabin and covered it with a blanket from the cellar. He sat down on the blood splattered floor beside the body and spent the night in vigil and meditation. At the first light of dawn, Paul put the rock in his pocket and set out to chose a proper resting place for James. After only a few minutes, he found a beautiful place that rose about fifteen feet above the stream where there was a huge oak tree that seemed to be as strong as James himself. Yes, he thought, James would approve of this for his final resting place. Paul looked around the cabin and found an old shovel with only half a handle. He paced off ten feet from the oak tree and started to dig. When he had finished digging, he went back to the cabin and prepared the body for burial. Paul placed the body on a blanket beside the open grave and laid the photograph of Rachael on his chest. He said a silent prayer. "James." His voice quivered and he cleared his throat. "James Emmerson Marshall, the Fourth." He paused, searching for the appropriate final words. "I don't know much about how you lived, my friend. But I know why you died." Paul opened the pocket watch and let the sweet music fill the cold mountain air. He tied the blanket around the body and placed it carefully in the grave. As the music faded, Paul reached for the shovel....