A Cult in Paradise, Episode 43, Golden Hostage

This is episode forty-three of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Golden Hostage

Trace held his arm firmly around Me'Ached’s neck and held the pistol to his temple. They walked off the stage and into the bush. 

Soon they reached the spot where their gear had been hidden. 

“Sit and don’t make a move,” Trace said to Me'Ached. 

He sat, and Trace, Sage, and Coyote uncovered the gear and prepared to continue.

“You better hope your second in command isn’t ambitious,” Trace said. 

“Why,” Me’Ached asked weakly.

“An ambitious man would come after you,” Trace said. “And at the risk, and even the hope, we might make good our threat and kill you. That would leave him number one. Is there such a man?”

Me’Ached looked away as if the question did not meet his standards of consideration.

“Stand,” Trace ordered. 

Me’Ached stood.

“I’ll take the lead,” Trace said. “You fall in behind me,” he said to Me'Ached. 

Trace handed the pistol to Coyote. “Fall in behind Me'Ached. Normally, I’d say don’t be trigger happy, but whatever makes your finger happy.”

“Sage,” Trace said,” watch our back.”

“You know if I’m killed, you lose a hostage,” MeAched said.

“Coyote,” Trace said, “If we get surrounded or something, you know some sort of standoff, shoot an arm or hand, something like that. Not a foot or leg. We need him to walk. Just make sure there’s one left in the chamber for the coup d’gras.”

“Gotcha,” Coyote said.

“Let’s go,” Trace said stepping back onto the path. Everyone fell in behind him. 

They followed the path as it wound through the thick brush and palms.

“Trace!” Sage said in a loud whisper. 

Trace stopped. “What is it?”

“I saw a light,” Sage said. “It’s a ways behind us. I’m sure we’re being followed.”

“They will catch up,” Me’Ached said. “There will be no mercy for you. And I’m prepared for whatever you have in mind.”

“I don’t think you’ll feel that way when I blow off one of your kneecaps,” Coyote said. 

“Let me go,” Me’Ached pleaded. “That’s all my people want. It is a sign from Omni that you were not meant to die. I can let you free.”

Coyote feigned a trance, imitating Me'Ached’s earlier demonstration. “Oh great Omni.” He paused. “Omni just told me your left kneecap first.”

“You mock Omni and I in your ignorance.”

“It’s me,” Trace said, “Omni and me. Omni and Me’Ached needs to brush up on their grammar.”

They moved on faster.

The sound of the breaking surf grew louder.

“I hope Dad’s waiting for us,” Trace said.

They reached the beach where they planned to rendezvous. Trace reached into his backpack and pulled out a flashlight. He signaled with it. They waited breathlessly. A flash of light signaled back.

“Dad’s on his way,” Trace said. 

“I hate to even suggest this,” Sage said, “but with them on our tail, we might have to take what’s-his-name with us for security.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Trace said. “We can shove him back toward the island and at least give him a paddle.”

“That’s more than what was comin’ our way,” Coyote said.

Trace flashed the flashlight again. Flashes were returned. 

Sage tossed his head toward the brush and palms. “They’re getting closer.”

“You still have some time to give this all up,” Me’Ached said. 

The sound of people moving through the brush and palms reached their ears. Trace, Sage, and Coyote chambered their weapons—three distinctive clicks.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 42, The Trial

This is episode forty-two of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

The Trial

Walking out of the stockade, it almost appeared heavenly and angelic. Torches stood atop pools on both sides of a throng of white-robed cultists. An aisle about six feet wide divided them. They stood motionless--reverential. The sound of mixed male and female voices filled the grounds. Flickering torches lit a colonnade that stretched across the front of the main building. 

A man dressed in a white robe met Trace, Sage, and Coyote a few steps from the stockade. “Follow me,” he said solemnly. 

Sage spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This is weird.”

They walked at a bride’s pace down the aisle.

“It’s not religious,” Trace said. “It’s bizarre aberrant devotion wrapped in false piety.” 

“What he said,” Coyote agreed from the side of his mouth. 

They continued the walk down the aisle toward the colonnade where Me’Ached stood on a white podium trimmed in gold. He wore a white robe trimmed in gold. He stood with his face sour, self-righteous, and pious. 

“I wonder if he’ll try to warm everyone up with a couple of jokes,” Sage quipped.

“How many three Texan jokes could there be?” Coyote said.

The guard stopped in front of the stage and turned to Trace, Sage, and Coyote. He held his palms out. And they stopped. They stood about six feet from the stage.

Me’Ached began to sway slowly from side to side. Trace heard a rustling sound from behind. He turned to see everyone swaying with Me'Ached. Sage and Coyote also turned.

“Ya think we should do the same?” Coyote said. “Nah, I’d feel ridiculous.”

“Isn’t this one of those sixties danced?” Sage said.

“It does look like it,” Trace said.

“Why am I getting visions of Davey Jones and Day Dream Believer in my head?” Sage said.

“That’s after my time,” Coyote said.

“And before ours,” Sage said.

“I got the feeling Me’Ached is stuck in the 60s,” Trace said.

Me’Ached stopped swaying and so did the others. He raised his eyes and hands heavenward. “Oh master of existence, Great Omni, guide your son. Tell me of things not seen before all things existed. Give me truth. Purify your transmissions to me. Speak so I understand. What must we do to remove the stain of our iniquities? Let me speak as you speak.”

He began to quiver. His face contorted. Whispers form behind Trace waved through the crowd. He heard, “He is about to receive an edict. Omni has taken him over. This is a great day.”

In a loud voice Me’Ached cried out, “Oh, Great Omni, your word has been received and understood. In a moment you have given me all knowledge to step forward and do your will.”

The crowd gasped. Trace hesitated to turn and look.

“Step up,” Me’Ached commended and pointed to a couple of feet onto the stage and about fifteen feet to his side. 

“I’m sure he means us,” Trace said.

 Trace, Sage, and Coyote stepped onto the stage.

“You have desecrated sacred ground,” Me’Ached began. “We are the sacred ones of Omni. He has consecrated us for a special purpose. This is the place he has chosen to bless his ones. Ignorance is not to be excluded, go unpunished, or mitigated. Justice is eternal. The smallest ripple extends into eternity and is felt by Omni. It disturbs all existence.”

“Is this guy for real?” Sage said out of the side of his mouth.  

“He thinks he is,” Coyote said.

“The big question is how many out there think he’s real?” Sage said.

Me’Ached scowled. “You have met my displeasure and that of Omni.”

Trace mumbled from the side of his mouth so only Sage and Coyote could hear. “We got to get him closer to us.”

“Hey,” Coyote said, “I’m not good at words. What does Omni mean? I know there’s a car called an Omni.”

“It’s a piece of crap,” Sage said. “Friend of mine had one. It blew up on him.”

“Yeah,” Coyote said to Me’Ached, “Couldn’t you find a name like Cadillac?”

“I’d go with Ferrari,” Sage said, “or what was that Back to the Future one? DeLorean. Now that’s a name.”

“I think Gremlin, Pinto, or Vega might have been a better fit,” Trace said. “Cheap and no power; guaranteed not to outlast the payments.”

“Stop!” Me’Ached shouted angrily. 

“He must have owned one of those at some point,” Coyote said. “My brother had a Pacer and he just let them repo it.”

“I am about to pass your sentence,” Me’Ached proclaimed sternly. 

“What,” Coyote said, “here I thought we was having a great conversation about cars-I’m-glad-I-never-had.”

From his podium, Me’Ached looked down at them as if smelling garbage. “Forty strokes and set adrift for each.”

“Could have phoned that one in,” Sage said from the side of his mouth.

“Do any of you wish to speak?” Me’Ached said.

Trace, Sage, and Coyote glanced at each other. 

“Trace,” Coyote said, “you appear to be the most eloquent of us all, do us the honors.”

“What do you say, Sage?” Trace asked.

“Yeah,” Sage said, “you are definitely the best.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Trace said. He looked at Me'Ached. “Is there any chance of talking our way out of this? I was thinking about an insanity plea.”  

“You come here and mock us,” Me’Ached said angrily with a tight mouth. “Even now, you seem to treat us as children playing a game and you dare entertain the thought of being able to sway me or Omni.”

“No,” Trace said, “I would never dream of swaying you. We could have a shot at Omni. However, the Omni, you worship, is an invention of your own mind; a sick, psychopathic mind. A mind full of hypocrisy and every sort of villainous deed. A mind that is both diseased and perverted. A mind that is not a mind, but merely a repository of sickness and depravity fed by a maniacal evil ego.”

“What did I tell you,” Coyote said, “it’s almost poetic.” Coyote turned to the crowd. “What do you guys think, purdy darn impressive.”

Me'Ached breathed in anger. His nostrils flared. His eyes widened as if afire. He reached inside the fold of his robe and removed a white club. He held it high and lunged toward Coyote.

Trace grabbed the arm of Me’Ached before it struck Coyote. Trace reached behind him, grasped the pistol, and pulled it out of his trousers. He grabbed Me’Ached around the neck. He held the pistol to Me'Ached’s head. The crowd gasped and some screamed.

A handful of guards rushed for the stage.

“Stop!!1” Trace commanded. “If you step on the stage, I pull the trigger.”

Me'Ached’s face flushed with fear. It was not an impressive look. He appeared vulnerable and helpless.

“Me’Ached stated that no weapon formed can hurt him,” Trace said. “Does anyone wish to find out?”

Silence filled the air with a few scattered whimpers from women.

Me’Ached gasped for air in Trace’s hold around his neck. He strained to say, “You kill me and you’ll be killed.”

“You’ll never know, will you,” Trace said.

Trace lifted his head and spoke to the guards closest. “We are walking out of here. Don’t follow. Is that understood?”

They fearfully nodded.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 41, Old Revival Memories

This is episode forty-one of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Old Revival Memories

Outside, the long shadows of the day’s end blended into the dark landscape. Flickering flames of torches danced atop posts on both sides of the grounds leading to the main building. From the cell, Trace, Sage, and Coyote looked at each other's faces, illuminated only by the torches that showed past the bars on the windows. They heard the shuffle of feet on the grass and gravel. 

“Back when Adam and I was kids, they’d have what was called tent revivals,” Coyote said. “Some preacher would set up a tent just outside of town. The place was lit with torches. We all walked there and into the tent, quiet as a mouse. Once the preacher started up, then all the hoopin’ and hollerin’ started. But the point; only the shuffle of feet and flickering torches. And to tell you the truth, back then we weren’t sure somethin’ good was about to happen or somethin’ bad. We walked in fear. We didn’t know what was in that tent; condemnation to hell or the aspiration to heaven. Let me ask ya something’, is that the way religion should be? I mean, shouldn’t you be happy or expecting something happy? I just knew that preacher was gonna tell everybody, there, that I was peeking in the girls' restroom. Imagine that hanging over your head.” Coyote yielded to the solemn shuffle outside. “Sorry, just let some stuff off my chest.”

“I’ve never been to one of those revivals,” Trace said. “But I’ve heard folks talk about them. Dad and I would go to church sometimes. It was strange to me. Everybody was quiet like you said. Just feet on hardwood floors. You wanted to come in with a crowd. I remember you could tell who was late, not looking, just the sound of their walk.  Everything echoed. You could hear a breath. You could hear your heartbeat. I was afraid my thoughts might be heard and echoed. I had a friend tell me that everyone can hear the heartbeat, but God only knows what it says.”

“I wonder how the cattle are doin’?” Coyote said.

“Probably getting ready for slaughter,” Sage said.

“I was hoping for something a little more comforting,” Coyote said.

“Okay,” Trace said, “try this, we got a plan. They just think, hey, we’re goin for a ride.”

“There ya go,” Coyote said, “I feel better.”

Through the bars of the windows chanting flowed. Nothing they ever heard before. 

“Can any of you make that out?” Coyote said.

“Oh Me’Ached blah blah blah,” Sage said.

“Ya know something,” Coyote said, “unless I knew the words, I never knew what the choir was singing at church.”

“For the longest time I thought Jesus died in Canada,” Trace said.

“How’s that?” Coyote said.

“Calgary, in Alberta,” Trace said.

“I used to think we had to get on our horses and “round up some virgins,” Sage said. 

“Yeah,” Coyote said, “I had to explain to ya what a virgin was. I thought you’d be asking that type of a question when you were a little older. So I told you just sing the song any way you want, and virgins are little calves.”

 “I held that belief well into high school,” Sage grinned.

A guard walked in and flipped on the light. He held the keys and unlocked the cells. 

“That’s the most depressing music I’ve ever heard,” Coyote said.

The guard waved Trace, Sage, and Coyote to gather close to him. And they did.

“Not everyone wants this,” the guard said. “We trust Me'Ached, though. He knows what is best for us. He’s wise. He sees things beyond this world. He knows the truth.”

“He’s infallible?” Trace asked.

“Yes,” the guard said.

“If he’s infallible, why did a handful of amateurs destroy everything you have protecting the island? Why did three of his devotees escape Why do you doubt.? I bet you have a hundred more questions than I have.”

“Let’s go,” the guard motioned with his head and walked outside. Trace, Sage, and Coyote followed.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 40, Last Meal

This is episode forty of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Last Meal

Three bowls of rice and three cups of tea were brought in by a guard in the late afternoon.

“How did you know?” Sage said to the guard.

“Know what?” The guard said.

“Rice is exactly what I wanted for my last meal,” Sage said. 

The guard either didn’t comprehend or possessed a sense of humor.

They sat on their bunks eating the rice with a spoon.

“I don’t know exactly how or exactly when I’m going to act,” Trace said, “but you’ll know it for sure.”

“What do you have planned?” Coyote asked.

“If Me’Ached gets in a good position,” Trace said. “I’m pulling out the pistol and holding it to his head. At that point, he has a choice and does his cult.”

“Geez,” Sage said, “what if they want him dead real bad? They could force a bluff—it is a bluff, ain’t it? You wouldn’t really shoot him in the head, would you?”

“I guess it’s something you don’t know until the time,” Trace said. “I’d like to think I’m not the type of person to do something like that. But, if given a certain set of circumstances, who knows what we are capable of.”

“Trace,” Coyote said. “I got a lot less livin’ to do than you. If you decide to kill him, you have a lot more life ahead of you to get rid of a bothersome conscience. Give me the gun and let me make the decision.”

“Thanks,” Coyote, “but I’m the one who put you in this situation. It’s my problem and mine alone. I have to live with the misery, misfortune, and mayhem I’ve caused. No man can do it for me.” 

“Well,” Coyote said, “I ain’t gonna argue with a man who has the gun.”

They continued to eat the rice and sip the tea.

“You know something?” Sage said, “This rice ain’t half bad. It’s tender without being gummy. Whoever made this cares.”

“I don’t like rice,” Coyote said. “Never have. But, I’m inclined to agree with you. I think if I had rice like this a long time ago, might opinion might be different.”

“I think it’s just because you think it’s your last meal,” Sage said.

“That may be but, I sure wish I had to opportunity to advance the theory beyond the present hypothesis.” 

“Geez, Coyote,” Trace said, “you’re starting to sound like an intellectual.”

“I’ve saved it all up for such an occasion as this,” Coyote said. 

“Go on, Dad,” Sage said, “tell him what you read and listen to.”

“Nah,” Coyote said, “if by some stroke of luck we get out of this mess, he’ll spread it all over Southwest Texas.”

“What is it, Sage?” Trace said. 

“You tell and you’re no longer my son,” Coyote said.

“He reads Shakespeare and listens to Mozart,” Sage said.

“I read it in a Texas accent, though,” Coyote replied.

“And that makes it alright?” Sage replied.

“I don’t know about that,” Sage said, “but at least it’s understandable.”

Trace listened to Sage and Coyote verbally sparring back and forth. He smiled. Trace knew exactly what they were doing—it relaxed him. Friends know your tender spot, he thought. It let him know they had full confidence in him. They weren’t going to second guess. His plan was as good or flawed as any. At least it was a plan. 

During Sage and Coyote’s exchange, they would glance at Trace. They looked for confirmation that it eased Trace’s mind. They smiled at each other, transmitting a message only they could read. It said, ‘It’s working.’

They finished with the rice and that. They placed their bowls, spoons, and cups on the floor just outside of their cells.

“Hey!” Coyote said, “we’re done in here, ya got a dessert menu?”

Sage called out, “If ya ain’t got desserts just give us our check.”

A guard came in and gathered the bowls, spoons, and cups.

“Tell the chef that was some good rice,” Coyote said.

The guard said nothing. He left the building.

Sage chuckled, “Hardcore.”

“True believer,” Sage replied.

Sage laid down on his bunk. “Do you remember our senior year?”

“Anything in particular?” Trace asked.

Sage sang, “We got to get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do.”

“Yeah,” Trace said, “you grabbed Jenny Walker and said, “‘cause, girl, there’s a better life for me and you.”

“Harold Tester took a swing at me,” Sage said. “He thought I was putting the moves on his girl. He didn’t realize I was acting out a song in free expression.”

“No, Sage,” Trace said, “you were putting the moves on Jenny Walker.”

“She was my leading lady,” Sage said. “What else was expected of me?”

A guard walked in.

“Don’t you guys realize what’s going to happen to you?” the guard said. “How can you be so nonchalant?”

Trace stood at the bars. “If we die, we want you to remember you allowed good men to die; happy men, contented men, men with good lives. We hope you remember us for who we are, not what you think we are. We’re not the enemy, your mind is the enemy. Not against us, but against you.”

The guard left and slammed the door.

“Hey,” Coyote said to Sage, “do you remember when you slammed the door on Ole Drunk Carl? He come around sayin’ our cattle was on his side of the.”

“That was the back door,” Sage said. “If he’d been at the front door he’d known he was all turned around and the cattle was where they should be.”

Trace smiled and shook his head while returning to his bunk.