Evil Agreement (4 page)

5

The Game Warden, Walter
Yandow
,
pulled his four-wheel drive pickup truck, with the State of Vermont
seal on the side doors, along side the body of the dead woman. The young boy and
the other man had dragged the dead man’s body down the hillside and now placed
it next to the woman’s body. The two were sweating profusely from the strain.

“Go
git
their clothes and stuff,”
said the Warden to the young boy.

The other man lowered the tailgate of the pickup truck. He
climbed up into the truck bed and unfolded a large tarpaulin across the floor
of the truck bed. He jumped down from the truck and stood next to the Game
Warden. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat from his
brow.

“Let’s put her in first,” said
Yandow
.
He bent over and lifted her body by her shoulders. His big muscular hands, with
their powerful fingers, dug deep into her now lifeless body.

The other man picked her up by her knees placing her lower
legs under his arms. They swung her body back and forth a couple of times and
then tossed her body onto the tailgate.
Yandow
climbed into the truck’s bed.

“Bob, hold on to the tarp while I pull her in.”

Bob held onto the tarp as her body was dragged to the front
of the truck bed. The process was repeated for the dead man’s body.

Sammy had made three trips to recover the belongings of the
two dead hikers.

“Sammy, toss their stuff up in there on the side of the
bodies,” said
Yandow
.

“Yes, sir.”

Bob climbed up into the truck. After the dead hikers
belongings were placed next to their bodies, he pulled the oversized tarp over
the entire collection. He lifted a cement building block from the rear corner
of the truck bed and tossed it on top of the tarp to hold it in place. He
jumped over the side of the truck onto the ground while
Yandow
closed the tailgate.

For just a moment the three of them just stood there in the
summer sun. Overhead a couple of swallows fluttered about and the intermittent
buzzing sound of cicadas could be heard emanating from several different
directions. There was a slight breeze blowing from the southwest.

The young boy wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve
of his tee shirt. He bent over and picked up his rifle.

“Sammy, did you pick up the bullet casing?”

“Yes, sir. Like I was taught.”

“Now, Sammy, you’ve got to clean your rifle as soon as you
get home. Okay? I’m sure Reverend Mitchell will want to personally speak to you
about your part today.”

Sammy nodded that he understood. He was grinning from ear to
ear.
 

“You’re heading straight into town?” inquired Bob.

“Yup. I’m going to take them to Foley’s. Reverend Mitchell
will want to see them before we decide what to do with them.”

“Okay, I’ll take Sammy with me.”

With that,
Yandow
climbed into the
cab of his truck and started it up. He put it into gear and pulled away slowly
as he turned left to head back to the trail and down the mountain. Sammy and
Bob walked over to the woods where Bob had parked his U.S. Army surplus jeep.
The two of them climbed inside the jeep and were soon following the Game Warden
back down the mountain. Several minutes later, the two vehicles crossed over
the small, single lane wooden bridge that spanned the swiftly moving Sutton
River.
         
 

Yandow’s
truck turned to the right
onto a narrow dirt road to head into town with Bob and Sammy following close
behind. In this area there are only a handful of year around homes. The front
and side yards are filled with abandoned appliances, cars and snowmobiles. The
narrow dirt road twists and turns gently downward for a couple of miles, where
it suddenly meets another dirt road. Here the two vehicles turn to the left,
paralleling the westward flowing Winooski
River. This road is wider and more
heavily traveled and as a result, its surface resembles a washboard’s
roughness. This road has more homes, but the surrounding landscape is the same.
While people notice the vehicles as they drive by, no one waves or acknowledges
the two vehicles. They move along this road for a couple of miles before it
intersects with another road. This new road is paved. The two vehicles now
separate. The Game Warden heads to the right, towards the center of Sutton. Bob
and Sammy turn left and head toward the southern end of town. The two vehicles
blend in with the normal everyday traffic.
  

Several minutes later,
Yandow
pulls
his pickup truck around to the back of Ed Foley’s Washington County Animal
Shelter. The truck’s tires make a crunching sound as it crosses the graveled
back driveway.
Yandow
, a big man, steps out of the
truck. He stands six feet four and weighs at least two hundred and seventy
pounds. His belly hangs prominently over his wide black leather belt. His
matching forest green uniform pants and shirt are stretched to their limits.
His shirt sleeves display the traditional slashes indicating the rank of
sergeant. He carries a sidearm holstered on his wide leather belt. It is a
State of Vermont issued
nine-millimeter
Glock
Police Special. He leaves his
hat on the truck’s front seat. He seldom wears his hat. The underarm of his
uniform shirt is heavily stained with perspiration. His pants are also stained
with blood from the two victims.
 

Without knocking, he bounds up the back steps to the rear,
enclosed porch, pulls open the door and lets himself in.

In the faraway distance there is a rumble of thunder as a
summer storm is building in the heat of the afternoon. The storm will move
through the Winooski River
Valley cutting west to east through
the Green Mountains of Vermont.

Yandow
walks across the porch as
the floor creaks and groans from his weight. He steps inside the open back door
into an examination room, where he finds Ed Foley working on a sedated German
shepherd. Ed’s daughter Lisa is assisting him. The two are finishing up work on
repairing the dog’s broken right front leg. Ed looks up and nods to Walter who
nods back.

Lisa smiles at the Game Warden, “Hello, Mr.
Yandow
. It sure is a sticky one, isn’t it?”

He proffers a smile in return. “It sure is Lisa. I sure could
use a cold drink. Ed, do you mind?”

“Nope, go on and help yourself.”

Yandow
moves towards the white
enamel colored refrigerator tucked into the corner and pulls open the large
door. Inside, mixed in alongside various temperature sensitive drugs, is half a
case of diet cola. He takes out a can and closes the door. Leaning against the
wall, he pops the can’s lift tab and in a couple of seconds drinks down the
entire twelve ounces. He holds back a belch and burps silently to himself.

Ed Foley looks over at
Yandow
and
asks, “What have you got for me?”

“We bagged two in season.”

Lisa blushed when she heard the expression “in season.” She
knew it meant they had caught a young couple having sex.

“Where are they?”

“They’re in the back of my truck.”

“Dead?”

“Yup, old Bob
Senecal
and I took
out the man and young Sammy Porter shot the woman right in the throat. That
Sammy is a good one, he is.”

Lisa looked over at
Yandow
and said
“I dated his older brother for awhile a couple of year’s ago. They’re such a
nice family. His older brother had his share of
silencings
.
It sure was a loss when he died in that car crash. Anyway, I’m glad Sammy got
his first. It is his first, isn’t it?

“Yeah, it’s his first all right,” said
Yandow
.

“Lisa, give me a hand with the dog,” said her father.

They carried the dog into an adjoining room, where it was put
into a large cage. There were several other animals in cages in this room. They
each began to make loud, almost frantic noises as if they were pleading to be
freed. After the dog was placed into the cage, Ed took a needle out of a small
tray that was sitting on top of a cage that had a black and white short-haired
tuxedo colored cat inside. He also picked up a vial from the same tray. He
carefully stuck the needle into the end of the vial and withdrew a measured
amount of medicine. He put the vial back into the tray. Next he bent over and
stuck the needle into the dog’s side, near the now splinted left front paw.

“Lisa, could you stay with Mrs.
Kenard’s
dog until I get back?”

“Sure, Dad.”

Yandow
and the Vet headed out to
the backyard to examine the dead bodies.

“Oh, and Lisa, please call the Reverend and tell him what we
have!” said her father from over his shoulder as he led the way to the back
yard.

“I will, Daddy.”

The two men climbed down the back porch steps and headed over
to the back of the pickup. There was a cluster of flies buzzing about over the
side of the tarpaulin nearest to the front of the truck bed.

“Damn flies, they’re on to the blood,” said Ed Foley.

“I hate flies, Walter. I sure hate flies,” said Ed as he
pulled down the truck’s tailgate.

6

His waitress placed a very large plate directly in front of
him. The aroma of the prime rib drifted up from the delicious looking plate of
food. The vegetables were attractively presented alongside the steak. Earlier
the bottle of wine he had ordered had been opened and presented by a young man
from the bar. Aaron sampled the wine and pronounced it superb. He had already
consumed half a glass when his dinner’s main course arrived.
Korie
, his waitress, removed the empty salad dish and
refilled his glass of water.

“Please be careful, the plate is quite warm, you wouldn’t
want to burn yourself.”

“Thanks, I’ll be careful.”

“Can I get you anything else?” asked the waitress.

 
“No, everything is
fine, thank you.”

“Do you approve of the wine?”

“Oh, yes. It’s just perfect.”

“Very well. I’ll check back later. If you need me for
anything, just glance my way and nod.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“Enjoy your dinner!”

With that she turned quickly and went over to another table,
three tables away, and began to take their dinner order.

Aaron picked up his steak knife and fork and cut out a morsel
from the prime rib. He sampled this piece and found the steak flavor to just
burst into his mouth.

What could account for this wonderful taste?
he
thought.
Was it the cut, the preparation, or could it be the wine? Perhaps
it was the combination of all three.

He proceeded to cut several more pieces from the steak. He cut
open his baked potato and filled it with sour cream. After consuming a couple
of bites of the savory steak and a second glass of wine, he decided to read the
papers from his Aunt Laura. He unfolded the sheets of paper and began to read.

September 14, 1993

My Dearest Aaron,

These words I write to you are the hardest thing I have
ever had to do. You are reading these words after my death, because I haven’t
the courage to speak of these matters to you in person. I regret my weakness,
please forgive me.

I have tried to provide you with a generous inheritance
with which to build your life. Some of the inheritance came from my mother and
before her, her mother and so on. This wealth began in our family many years
ago and it is only proper that it remain for the benefit of a family member.

Now I must reveal to you some deep, and yes, dark
secrets that I have kept from you since your birth.

Aaron, I am not your Aunt Laura, my real name is
Elizabeth Corbin Powell. I am your mother. Your birth name is Aaron Corbin
Powell. You were born at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Boston,
Massachusetts, on November 11, 1966. With these papers is a copy
of your birth certificate and baptism papers. I legally changed your name with
the help of some friends to Aaron Bailey. I did this to protect the both of us.
If I hadn’t, your very life would have been in mortal danger.

I beg your forgiveness, Aaron. I wish that our family
had never been caught up in this horrific nightmare, but we were. I raised you
as a son, but under the guise of being your Aunt. It was a weak attempt on my
part to protect you. I know I should have spoken to you directly, but I kept
hoping that what my own mother had revealed to me was wrong. Unfortunately, she
was not wrong, Aaron. Our family has been hunted for the past seven
generations. With this letter, I shall try to give you a glimpse into your
heritage.

My dearest son, Aaron, you are the first and only male
born in our family since 1843. In 1804, the Powell family settled in Sutton,
Vermont, where they took up farming in the Winooski
River Valley.
The family was modestly prosperous and bought more land, until they owned
hundreds of acres of fertile valley land. They also began an orchard, a
gristmill and a general store. They belonged to the Church
of Everlasting Faith. In 1841, a
new pastor arrived to head this church, since the older pastor had died during
the winter of 1840 from small pox. Soon everything changed in Sutton. This new
pastor was a dark and evil person. It was widely known that he promoted fear
and paranoia in that small community.

This pastor, who called himself Elisa Porter Cummings,
began a secret cult. This cult became a church within his church. The cult grew
powerful and was very secretive about its affairs. The Reverend Cummings tried
several times to get our ancestors to join his inner flock. They resisted at
first, but after a while they began to reconsider.

Aaron, I can’t possibly speak of all that went on back
in 1843, except to say that eventually this cult took to worshipping Satan.
They offered sacrifice to him, including human sacrifice. They referred to
themselves as “Keepers.” Reverend Cummings had convinced his followers that
Satan wished to take on human form. He said that Satan had made a covenant with
everyone who would participate in this transformation, that they would enjoy
untold wealth and power, and even immortality. The ritual of raising Satan was
set to occur on October 31, 1843.
Our ancestors, led by Sarah Powell, our great grand mother, seven times removed,
turned down this Reverend and his evil followers. As matriarch, her decision
swayed the entire family who now refused to participate. The ritual failed
because the coven was incomplete, and everyone blamed our ancestors. These
coven members went to the family home and proceeded to curse and threaten
everyone. Then they nailed boards across the doors and windows, and following
that they set the house on fire. Everyone in our family died that night,
everyone, except a tiny baby girl. A faithful servant by the name of Cora
Jackson hid out in the root cellar. She dug at the side of the cellar’s dirt
walls and piled the damp clay up against the door. While the house burned down
that
night,
Cora and the baby girl miraculously survived in that cellar.

At the first sign of light, Cora managed to climb out
of that cellar with the baby in her arms. She escaped into the woods and
managed to keep moving until she had traveled several communities away. She
later was taken in by a widowed lady, a Mrs.
Marcoux
,
who lived in Shelburne, Vermont.
This lady let Cora and the baby live with her. The baby’s name was Irene
Powell. After hearing of the horrors of that dark and evil night, Mrs.
Marcoux
proceeded to adopt Cora and raise her as her own.
Cora, Mrs.
Marcoux
, and the baby moved away to Philadelphia.
Later, as she grew up, she went to a fine school for young women, thanks to the
generosity of that widowed lady.

How do I know these things, you might ask? It is all
answered for you in a diary of sorts kept by our family. This diary is for your
eyes only. It is located in a bank safe deposit box at the main offices of the
Bank of Boston. The key to that box is with these papers.

Get this diary and read it well. Believe its words, for
they are the truth. As you will see the Keepers are still active, and they have
been hunting for the descendants of the Powell family since 1843. These
descendants of the “Keepers,” as they are still called continue to be in league
with the devil. Please believe me, Aaron. Take extra care when you read this
diary. The Keepers would love to get their hands on it as well.

There is one other thing I must tell you. Our family
still owns that land in Sutton, Vermont.
We have not sold or given it up, because the land itself holds the key to
Satan’s efforts to take on human form. As long as it remains with our family
and we remain hidden from the Keepers, then they can not complete the
transformation. If we relinquish that land to someone else, then it would be
used to complete the coven and evil would win. You mustn’t ever let this land
fall into the hands of an outsider, and you must never, ever, go back to
Sutton.

Lastly, Aaron, you must one day find a good woman and
have a child with her. We must keep our bloodline going, or seven generations
of our family, and the many who have died for this cause, will have suffered in
vain.

I know this all must be overwhelming to you and I truly
wish I could have revealed this to you in person, but please believe me, Aaron,
this way is best.

Aaron, be strong and watchful, be brave and be wise,
and keep faith with all of those who went before you.

I loved you with all my heart and I hope you still love
me as well. My pain at not being able to hold you, as your mother, has been
tempered by my joy in watching you grow up into a fine, handsome, caring man.
You were always in my prayers. Please keep me in yours.

Love Forever,

Your Mother,
Elizabeth

Aaron felt himself choking up with emotion. He was
overwhelmed with so many confusing feelings. Tides of anger, love, abandonment,
and bewilderment swept over him.

Laura was my mother, my very own mother,
he thought.

He let out a soft sigh, “Oh,” as he buried his face into his
hands. Tears began to flow. He wiped at the tears with the end of the linen
napkin. He had a large lump in his throat.

From across the room Aaron’s waitress,
Korie
noticed that the customer she had played “James Bond” with seemed suddenly
saddened and stressed. With that she moved across the dining room and
approached his table.

“How is your dinner, Mr. Bond?” she asked in her most
cheerful voice.

He heard her voice, and for a moment he snapped out of his
sudden sadness. He couldn’t face anyone right now. He needed time to think
through the complex revelations that his mother had just revealed in her letter
to him. With a wave of his left hand, he gestured for her to leave him alone.

As an experienced waitress, she recognized that her customer
was distressed and wanted her to leave, but the personal side to her kicked in.
She knew this previously happy, witty and
yesm
,
charming man didn’t really want to be alone. He just hadn’t realized it yet.

“Why don’t you let me have the chef heat up your dinner for
you? You haven’t taken more than a few bites.”

“Yes, Yes,” he whispered anything to get her to leave him
alone with his thoughts.

She reached across his table and removed his dinner plate. At
that moment, the faint but noticeable scent of her perfume reached him. In a
moment’s flash, his mind recorded the memory of this scent, along with his reaction.
He had found it to be “flirty and sensual.” As she turned and walked away, he
again picked up his mother’s letter and read it for the second time. As he did,
he finished off his third glass of wine and poured himself a fourth glass. This
one he poured to the brim.

After reading the letter for the second time, Aaron now
turned his attention to the attached birth and church baptism papers. These too
he read, word for word. He soon felt another rush of sadness rolling over him.
For the second time tonight, tears began to flow. This time he made no effort
to wipe them away. He turned his gaze to the window, and while he could see the
nearby harbor just beyond the tinted glass, he could also discern his own
tearful reflection staring back at him.

Aaron was transfixed, deep in thought, when his dinner plate
was set before him once again. He turned slowly, not wanting to make eye
contact.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it.”

Korie
turned away and went over to
a nearby table to see how they were enjoying their meal. The table she chose to
check on would allow her the chance to get a look at this somber young man. As
her customers complimented the quality of their dinner, she stole a sideways
glance in Aaron’s direction.

Their eyes met for just a moment.

Aaron saw her glance at him. Embarrassed, he looked quickly
down at his reheated dinner. He quickly picked up his knife and fork and took a
bite of the prime rib he had previously cut.

In the brief moment that their eyes met, she saw the telltale
signs of red swollen eyes and traces of tears glistening in the restaurant’s
subdued light. Most of all she saw sadness that almost seemed to her to be
childlike, a sadness born out of innocence. Her heart was touched by what she
saw, and more by what she felt.

Aaron sat there slowly chewing the piece of prime rib. He
decided to return the papers and two envelopes to his left coat pocket. Time
seemed to pass ever so slowly for Aaron. He felt a buzz building from the wine
he had consumed. He also felt warm. After a few moments, he began to pick at
what remained of his dinner. He had lost his appetite, so he pushed his dinner
plate away. He hadn’t touched his salad or fresh bread. He drew the half-empty
glass of wine closer.

Reaching for the wine bottle, he poured the remaining wine
into his glass. His glass was filled once again, but the bottle was now empty.
As he placed the bottle back onto the table, he almost dropped it. The bottled
settled on the table after teetering back and forth a couple of times.

Aaron had managed to get himself quite drunk.