Jack didn’t want to turn this into twenty questions so he let the pause stretch out until Max continued with the story.
“We were a pretty rag-tag group. We met up in Baltimore, by chance mostly. Men who didn’t have anything to lose. All willing to do whatever it took to make our fortunes. We figured there would be safety in numbers. You know, bargaining power for supplies, better in a fight, that sort of thing. Like in any group of men, leaders emerged. I was one of them. So was a big German named Hans Boetcher — you know him as Jim Butcher — our friendly Piper’s bartender. Janney was another, a personal favorite of the Boss.”
“The Boss,” Lonetree prompted.
“Yeah, he was the real leader. He was different from the rest of us. Well-educated, a society man from up north judging by the accent. No one knew what his story was and no-one was brash enough to ask. Without a vote or any kind of agreement we all started calling him the Boss and deferred to him on decisions. It was the Boss who brought a strange looking man named Nate Huckley into the group.
“Even at the beginning there was talk about whether we were comfortable having Huckley along. You know what I’m talking about. That white skin and those pale blue eyes that wander around in his head like he’s watching everything at once. And his temper. Some men you can just tell have violence coiled up inside of them. Nate Huckley was the same back then as he is now. He had so much tension in him that you could almost hear his body hum if you stood too close to him.
“But the Boss said he was in and that was the end of the story. The same reasons we were uneasy with Huckley also made him the best front man for the group when we negotiated with the supply stores. He was also the one who came across the old man with a mining claim to sell. Supposedly the mine was a producer, but that the old man couldn’t do the hard work anymore. The Boss organized us all to go in together and buy it. The plan was that half of us could work the mine and the other half trap furs until we struck a vein. With all of us working we thought that we couldn’t help but strike it.”
“When did all this happen?” Jack asked.
“I still remember the date we left.” Max shook the ice in his glass and poured the final drops of bourbon into his mouth. “I don’t expect you to believe me. It was September 3, 1819.”
Jack reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a yellowed photograph. He held up the photo so Max could see it. “Lonetree gave me this on the way over here. I’m not saying I believe you. Just that I’m willing to listen.”
Max leaned forward, his eyebrows raised as he looked over the photograph. A group of men lined up in front of a clapboard shack. Burlap sacks were stacked up behind them. Some of the men were dressed in light colored suits, with waist coasts and hats, but most were working men dressed in coveralls. Scrawled across the bottom was the date, September 3, 1819.
“Where’d you get this?” Max asked.
“Lonetree showed it to me when I refused to believe you were part of all this. It was mixed in with his brother’s files. Of course, it could be a forgery, but given everything else that has happened, I’m willing to believe almost anything. That picture was probably why Lonetree’s brother was killed, right?”
Max ignored the question and looked at the picture more closely. Jack figured he was picking himself out from the group.
“Haven’t aged at all, have you?” Jack said.
Max looked at the photo, his expression almost wistful. “No, I’ve aged. You might not be able to see it, but I’ve aged a great deal.”
“Which one of these is the Boss?” Lonetree asked.
Max smiled. “He’s not there. Even then he kept a low profile. Like he knew what was going to happen all along. In a way, I guess he did.”
“Listen. I need to know what’s going on here. Sarah is gone. Nate Huckley is haunting me from a coma. And it’s like he’s getting stronger every time he makes an appearance. I don’t have time for games. I need to know who’s involved and how all this works.”
Max nodded as if hearing that Huckley was haunting his friend was the most ordinary thing. “We’ve all had different reactions to the ritual over the years. Huckley was always sensitive, kind of a psychic, but nothing like he is now. I think even the Boss is afraid of him now. He’s a little off-balance.”
“Tell me about it.” Jack said.
“Still, Huckley won’t be quiet long. His body would have recovered by now. I imagine he’s chosen to stay in the coma for his own reasons. Out of body experiences would be his thing, that’s for sure.”
Jack shook his head. “I still can’t wrap my brain around it all. How does this work? How did it start?”
“You don’t know?” Max looked up at Lonetree. “We thought you already knew. I’m almost certain your brother knew the details or at least he suspected them. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell us much at the end. He was a strong. Huckley was very persuasive but he refused to tell us what he knew or where his notes were. All that pain and still he kept his secrets until the end.”
Lonetree looked away at the mention of his brother, his neck and face reddening. “Keep going Max,” Jack said, wondering if Max was deliberately antagonizing Lonetree.
Max exhaled a long breath and shook his head. “The group left Baltimore the day that photo was taken and we headed up into the mountains to work the mine and try to make a go of things. Nothing much happened for over a year. During that time, the Boss and Huckley would disappear for weeks at a time to explore the area, but no one else knew what they were looking for. When they were in camp, they spent hours poring over maps and strange books. Then one day, they came back from a trip and you could tell they found something. They didn’t say anything but it was written all over their faces. The next day, the Boss picked six of us and we headed off due west, mules loaded down with shovels, mining lamps and rope. Two days later we reached a hole in the ground and the Boss told us we were going down to a deep cave where treasure waited all of us. That was the beginning of the nightmare.”
“I know,” Jack said. “I’ve been in that cave.”
Max arched his eyebrows. “Really? How did you—” He slumped forward in his chair. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. But if you’ve been there, you know how horrible it is. While the rest of us stood there in the middle of that dark graveyard crossing ourselves and praying to God that we could get out of there, Huckley and the Boss walked around with smiles on their faces. Then we found the Source and Huckley really got excited.”
“The Source? The round structure in the center of the cave, right?” Lonetree said.
“Yes, we didn’t start calling it the Source until later, until we finally understood what it was. At first we weren’t sure. The Boss and Huckley were fascinated by the carvings. Almost like they were expecting to find them. The rest of us wanted to get the hell out of there, but the two of them kept walking around the carved wall, holding their lanterns up close to the carvings and muttering back and forth. I edged closer to them, trying to hear what they were saying. I overheard Huckley whisper, ‘It’s talking to me. Shut up so I can hear.’ Then the real horror started.”
“What?” Jack asked.
“Huckley did it for the first time. Not the whole ritual, of course, we didn’t know anything back then. But he did a Taking.”
“What do you mean Taking?”
“How about another drink?” Max asked, raising his glass hopefully. Jack obliged by filling the glass from the decanter. Max downed half the glass in one gulp. He nodded appreciatively. “Taking is what we called it. I suppose it’s easier to digest that way.”