Author: Dale Wiley
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/dale-wiley/page,18,457982-southern_gothic.html
But he could see it coming. Michael would make her wait and beg until the very last minute at which point he would deliver another damn fine, twisted novel.
And then Broderick would have the best chance he would ever get to introduce Michael to the wonders of a dull blade and a car battery.
Chapter 70
(Via email)
M-
Here is chapter one of what I have completed. You will have to come pick up the entire manuscript to read it.
-M
CREEPING VINES
Chapter One
Flickering red and orange light bathed Reverend Batchelor’s face as he approached the pulpit. The September night had cooled, but a sheen of perspiration dotted his brow from the warmth of the fire. The congregation’s faces shone in the firelight, but those in the far corners were masked in murky shadows where light lost the battle with darkness. Brimming to capacity, several stood outside the tabernacle, waiting to be blessed by his every word.
A thrill of breathless excitement ran through the crowd when he gripped the sides of the podium. His might be the fifth sermon of the day, but by God, his would be the best. The camp meeting had brought dozens of self-styled preachers to the campground, each sure they were the next Jonathan Edwards. While they knew the Word of the Lord, they lacked what the Reverend Batchelor had honed to perfection—the ability to hold the congregation in the palm of his hand.
He’d made sure the fire had been stoked prior to his entrance so his shadow would loom large on the wooden backdrop behind, echoing his every movement, making him larger than life. He took a moment to scan the crowd; men and women from all stations of life filled the rude wooden benches along with their children, while the slaves of the wealthy huddled in the back. All waited eagerly for him to begin. His powerful glare alone could convert unbelievers.
He straightened and pitched his voice to the heavens. “You are condemned to Hell.”
Reverend Batchelor paused until the last echo of his thundering voice had left the tent. Leaning forward, he scrutinized a scruffy-looking lad in the second row.
The boy trembled.
He softened his voice and spoke in a fatherly manner. “You are a sinner, a rebel against God and the wages of your sin is death.” He lowered his head in sorrow. “You cannot enter the gates of Heaven.”
His target gripped the roughly-hewn bench so tight his knuckles turned white.
Reverend Batchelor nodded as his gaze swept the crowd; their eyes widened, and their mouths gaped. He thrust his arm in the air. “Not unless you confess your sins and change your heart.”
The congregation jumped when the fire popped, sending a burning coal skittering across the dirt to smolder at the feet of those in the front row.
Prowling across the stage, Reverend Batchelor used the theatrics God had provided. “Satan owns your soul and unless you seek forgiveness from your merciful Father—” He pointed to the fire. “You will roast in the fires of Hell for all eternity.”
Time to let the whiskey makers and whores hiding deep in the surrounding woods hear his voice. “You must fall on your knees and bare your soul, laying everything before the Lord to escape this dire fate. Let God’s Word scour and cleanse you. Let Him save you from Satan’s scourge.”
He thumped the pulpit. “Cast aside the desires of the flesh and allow the Holy Spirit to fill you.”
Reverend Batchelor opened his arms as if to embrace the congregation. “I beseech you; turn away from Satan and beg the Lord, your Divine Heavenly Father, for His forgiveness.”
He stepped from behind the podium and stared through the curling smoke from the edge of the stage. “With every eye closed, every heart open, I ask you, the sinner, the backslider, and even the highest deacon of the church, to come forward and kneel in the dust before me. I ask you to acknowledge your sins and to be judged by an angry God. Confess and feel the relief of a soul set free.”
The scruffy lad from the second row bolted to the aisle.
“Brother Gribanow, please lead us in a hymn of salvation while I bless those sinners who have the courage to seek the forgiveness of their Father.”
Because instruments enticed the devil, the drone of voices commenced, unaccompanied.
The believers filled the aisle as they made their way to the altar. Husbands. Wives. Weeping children. Slaves from the Negro section. The Reverend laid his hands on them, praying for their salvation. Each repentant still in command of their tongue murmured their thanks as they left.
A claw-like hand grasped his. “You are a messenger from the Lord, Reverend. May God bless and keep you.”
The gnarled old woman before him smiled, face wreathed in wrinkles and back bent from hard labor. He peered over her shoulder and searched the crowd for the one face he desperately needed to see.
Reverend Batchelor placed his hand on the old woman’s. “The spirit of the Lord lives strong in you, repent your sins and testify your salvation.”
She bowed her head to pray, and he searched the crowd again.
There, between the second and third row of pews, stood Molly Hamilton, the desire of his heart. Their eyes met, and she looked away, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. His heart raced at her display of bashfulness. Such a pure and innocent soul was indeed a rarity.
After the meeting, he would take her by the hand, and they would walk into the woods beyond where the whiskey mongers dared to venture. He would spread the blanket he had brought with him on the ground, and then the Reverend James Batchelor would take her innocence or take her life.
Chapter 71
He had done it again. Taken her plot and turned it from straw into gold. She would make sure to get away from him this time. She accepted playing a certain role with him to get what she wanted, but she knew she could not find herself consumed again.
Meredith realized Michael needed to believe he had some control over her. He would allow her to sleep with a man provided he approved it. Disgusting and wrong, yes, but for now, she would do whatever it took.
She wrote him a short email telling him she loved the first chapter. She still had a week before her deadline. Surely, she would have plenty of time to study the manuscript and learn what turns the book would take and how closely it mirrored her outline. Maybe if she wanted to write another, she would suggest the arrangement they had created: she built the bones—no longer of a meth user—and he hung the flesh.
Her heart sunk when she received his reply an hour later.
* * *
My Dearest Pupil:
Your latest idea for a novel brings us into the territory of camp meetings. A great and utterly southern idea, one I am, frankly, sad I didn’t think of first.
Therefore, I suggest we meet at Fountain Campground near Washington, Georgia at 6 p.m. on December 14. Fountain is one of the oldest camp meetings in Georgia. In the witchy part of winter, with no campers around and the sun closing up shop early, it is a still and dramatic place, filled with the atmosphere your readers have come to love.
I need time to finish some things, but it will feel good to be back in such a sacred place.
Come alone. I will as well.
Here’s to solving problems.
Love,
M
* * *
She wanted to reply and tell him this was not acceptable. His email arrived the day before the manuscript was due, after all. But she knew she didn’t dare.
Chapter 72
When he saw the email, Broderick started the preparations. He pulled out the knives and scalpels he had collected. He would love to think he would have time to use thirty or forty knives on Michael, but he knew that was a pipe dream. He sharpened two of the knives and left one dull and rusty. He broke the top off of one of the scalpels in the hopes it would be more painful.
Then he kneeled in front of his utility room cabinet and removed “Sparky,” the car battery he acquired just for this purpose. He held the cables together and heard a satisfying zap.
First, he would hit Michael with twenty cuts and flays, a minute between each one, enough to create anticipation and fear. Then he would go for Sparky, sending jolts to his nipples, genitals, and lower lip—once to each spot so he wouldn’t go into shock. And then, if all went as planned, he would stuff Michael into a tiny closet, his underwear stuck in his mouth, leaving him to dread whatever came next.
Death would be too good for Michael Black.
Broderick felt ready. In his mind, he had practiced plunging the knife in a thousand times. He knew how it would feel.
He wanted his daughter and his life back. He could reclaim neither. He hated the pleasure he took in the preparations. But he hated Michael Black more. Michael made him into this dark, brooding, killer. Michael had coaxed his ugly side to light. Michael sucked the love straight from his heart and left a mass of black lead in its place. Michael Black had killed more than just one person that night. He killed Broderick’s grandchild, and he killed Broderick, too.
The toll had been tremendous. And it was finally time to make him pay.
Chapter 73
It took three-hours to drive from Savannah to Augusta. The Augusta FedEx’s last drop-off for overnight delivery was at 7:00 p.m., so she needed to leave the campground, manuscript in hand, by 6:15 p.m. Not much time to chat with Michael, thank God.
She didn’t notice the Ford Ranger parked on the side of I-20 as she neared her exit. She did not see the man pick up the car jack he had placed beside the road for cover. Michael’s hair hadn’t changed since the beach—still blond and short—but with the beard he had grown, he looked different. He got in his truck and followed her.
Both cars passed the next exit. Neither of them saw a car on the overpass merge onto I-20 and also head west. The truck stayed behind both of the other cars but made sure to always keep the Ranger in sight.
A sliver of the moon cast a dim light in the dark night sky and over the quiet road. Worry gnawed at her. If anything went wrong tonight, she was far away from help. How stupid of her to agree to meet him out here all by herself.
When she finally saw a sign for the Fountain Campground, Meredith turned onto the dirt road. Utter darkness enveloped the car, and her headlights barely cut through the oppressive winter blackness. Three whitetail deer leaped in from of her car before disappearing into the woods. Meredith’s heart thumped in her chest. The place was completely deserted.
She arrived at several cabins, the vapor lights dimly reflecting off their tin roofs, and parked her car. Meredith craned her neck to see if she could spot Michael. She opened the car door and walked out to stand in front of the cabins, sawdust softening her footfalls.
Michael could be hiding in any of the cabins. They all faced the tabernacle in the center. She looked at its silhouette and realized she couldn’t see five feet past it. Its ancient pine benches could hold a thousand people if they needed to, but she doubted they saw crowds like that anymore. Nowadays, they were more often used for Boy Scout camps and family gatherings.
A pinecone fell and bounced off the tabernacle roof, startling her. She gripped the rape whistle hanging around her neck and put it to her lips. But it would do no good; there was no one else within miles except her enemy. She grasped the Taser she had brought a little tighter.
Meredith had been to camp meetings in southern Georgia and knew of their slow Southern rituals and smells of fried chicken and Brunswick stew. Now, on a dark winter night, the few vapor lights only seemed to highlight the darkness like a scene from another ghost story.
Another deer jumped from its hiding place and danced into the darkness, startling her again. The woods quickly ate the deer whole, and Meredith stood alone in silence again. Where was he? She checked her phone. No service. The time approached six. Of course, he would be late.
Meredith heard the car before she saw the headlights.
He drove twenty yards into the clearing, parked, and turned off his headlights.
He grinned from ear to ear.
Victorious, she supposed, having talked her into meeting out here in the middle of nowhere.
He walked toward her like a desperado in an old western, hands to his sides, a smirk on his face. He held the manuscript in one hand.
“My pupil,” he quipped. “Why, you don’t look a day older than when I saved you from a murder charge.”
“I see you’re just as charming as ever,” she deadpanned.
“And I see you’re still chasing your dream of actually being a writer someday.”
Meredith steeled herself. Stay cool, don’t let him to get you.
“And don’t piss me off, or all of this writing could get scattered to the four corners of the forest,” Michael continued.
Meredith walked towards him.
He moved back, dangling the manuscript above her head like a dog treat. “It didn’t have to be like this,” he said.
Meredith shook her head. “No, Michael. With you, it always would end up like this.”
He moved a few steps away as if he were leaving. “So judgmental. So egotistical. So selfish. Fine, it looks like you don’t need me. I’ll see you around.”
Meredith started after him. “No. Wait.”
He turned dramatically and grinned. “Now ... I think you should beg.”
She bit her lip. Her eyes had adjusted to the light enough to see him.
They made eye contact.
“May I please have the manuscript?”
“Get down on your knees.” He stretched the words.
She did as he said. She tried to breathe deeply. She prayed this would soon be over.
“No. Say please.” He patted her on the head.
A whole ocean of sorrow rose in her. How had she ever loved this man?
He let her get up.
As she put her hands on the ground to get up, two years’ worth of tears filled her eyes. She fought hard to fend them off. She did not want him to see her cry. “Please, Michael.”
“See how easy it is when you behave?” He gave her the manuscript and beckoned her toward one of the overhead lights.
She flipped through to the first chapter to check it was the same novel. It included a cover letter he had written in her voice, and she read it hastily. Satisfied, she pulled the adhesive strip off the addressed envelope and sealed the package.
“I promise it’ll be a best seller,” he said.
She glared at him.
He grinned at her.
While she took the time to make sure everything looked correct, she couldn’t help but smell the blend of cologne and bourbon she still found intoxicating—a dangerous combination of repulsion and desire.
Meredith turned back to her car, her heart beating in her chest, the envelope under her arm.
“Gotcha!” Michael yelled, and reached out to grab Meredith playfully.
Meredith’s heart seized and she screamed. He scared her so much everything she was carrying, including the Taser, dropped to the ground.
Michael laughed wildly. “Had to have a little fun with you. For old times’ sake, ya know?” He bent down to pick up the package she dropped. Then, like a deft Atlantic City magician, he quickly replaced it with one he had hidden in his coat.
Meredith, still recovering from the scare, missed his sleight of hand.
“Here you go.” He looked her right in the eye as he straightened up and handed her the package. “I guess I’d better give you a chance to get to Augusta.”
Broderick welcomed Michael’s performance. While he focused on Meredith, Broderick crept up to Michael’s Ranger and slipped a small radio transmitter under the back bumper. Then he snuck back to his vehicle, watched them get back into their cars, and drove away.
Chapter 74
When she sped into the FedEx parking lot, the clock read one minute until 7:00. She leaped out of her car just as a sulky teenager in a blue and orange uniform put out his cigarette.
“Truck just left,” the boy said while unwrapping a stick of gum. He pointed to a truck a
bout to pull out into Augusta traffic.
Meredith ran to the truck, safety be damned. She found the angle most likely to catch the driver’s eye and screamed so loudly the whole neighborhood must have heard. Meredith saw his brake lights come on.
“Please take this package,” she shrieked, in a way more like a threat than a request.
The driver, who had probably experienced this before, didn’t even try to protest. He simply pulled out his scanner and quickly entered the information.
She handed the package to him, written in Michael’s handwriting and already marked for special early morning delivery, and sent it on its way. As she gave it to him, she realized she hadn’t even kept a copy. Idiot. But at least her dreams were intact.
Being out in the forest with Michael had drained her. With her adrenalin spent, she longed for sleep. She found the nearest hotel, a surprisingly nice Doubletree, and checked in to a room with a king-sized bed.
Why hadn’t she made a copy of the manuscript? How could she be so stupid? She had been a robot for the last month, and now she looked back on her actions, embarrassed. Really? She couldn’t have asked them for another day? Her anxiety had drained her of her common sense, and now the rest of her brain could tell her how stupid she had been.
And despite everything he had done to her, she would still love to read another one of his books, and she would undoubtedly like it. It had been nearly a year since the discovery of Quinn’s body. Maybe this new manuscript would put everything back together.
By the time she took a scalding hot shower, her vision began to return. Her heartbeat calmed, and she realized she had been in a panic—a pure terror had given her tunnel vision. In her desperation to fix her life, she had clouded her judgement and the ability to think rationally. She bit her lip and tasted blood.