CHAPTER SIX
As Beau floated higher over the rural area that was familiar to him, Darnell’s farm came into his view. Sonny Darnell owned pert near seventy aches of above-average farm land. A widower for the last three years; his wife Rosella finally succumbed to a long bout of tuberculosis.
Sonny, still a strong bull of a man for his advanced age of sixty-nine, found himself still working the life he loved so dearly. Tall, wiry and solid as a rock, he was still in decent shape; yet with no sons or daughters, for all having moved away seeking better lives for themselves. Slowly running out of steam, he now for the first time was contemplating selling off his lively hood and retiring. The loss of his best friend and true love Rosella had taken its toll of late, as loneliness had crept up on him.
Again, screams pierced the silence and jolted Beau into full mindfulness. His senses snapped into action with such force, that his mind whirled again in confusion. At that moment through the darkness he recognized Johnny Hudson’s old green pickup truck near the pasture fence.
Beau knew that Johnny is the younger brother of the Chief-of-Police, Frances Hudson. It made no sense to him why Johnny would be out here at this time of night. The only reason he could think of was to let his hounds chase wild animals all over the country side.
As he caught sight of Johnny, it looked like one of his dogs was tangled in a barbwire fence. Boy, old Johnny is mad at that mutt, he’s beating the living daylights out of him. I’ll bet it’s that half blind, redbone coon hound he found down at the bottoms last summer, was Beau’s thinking.
Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted, “That’s enough! Hey Johnny, it’s me, Beau! Leave that dog be! He’s had all he can take! What're you tryin’ to do, kill him?!”
Drawing closer, Beau suddenly realized as his eyes focused, that it wasn’t a dog Johnny was assaulting; it was a woman. She was tangled in the barbwire fence and he was pounding her brains out with his huge fists. Beau was momentarily stunned, but then felt compelled to intervene in the mayhem that was now playing out before his very eyes.
“Stop it! Stop it right now!” Finally realizing Johnny couldn’t see, nor hear him as he floated high above, he stopped yelling.
“Beau, wake up,” Miss Stella’s soft voice spoke to him as he now became aware he was back in her séance room.
“What happened?” Beau asked still a bit confused.
“You were entranced; your Soul left your body for a short time.” Miss Stella replied, “Are you alright dear?”
“Yes…well, I'm okay…I think I'm okay.”
Gradually he became fully conscious of the elated confusion going on in the basement. Everyone was talking at the same time. The small group was overjoyed about the materialization of SAZARRA who had communicated with them; but no one was openly talking about Beau's little outburst; at least not until later when he wasn't in earshot of their blathering ways; for all thought he was a bit off his rocker, especially after the death of his mother.
“Wasn’t he tall and so much wisdom…I'll be up all night thinking about what he said to me.” Ruth remarked.
Mary said, “I can still feel his strong vibration in the room; simply marvelous.”
“This is an experience that I’ll never forget,” said Ellen. She had witnessed misty smoke like apparitions in séances before, but she had never seen a full materialization where the spirit appeared in a solid physical form like tonight. Beatrice and Alan just sat quietly listening to the others, as Beatrice had moved next to Alan and was now holding his hand.
The full shock of the inexplicable event that Beau had just experienced suddenly came into his consciousness. Still troubled, he decided to keep silent for now until he could speak privately with Miss Stella.
She closed her séance with an invocation, and ushered the group back upstairs to the kitchen for coffee and homemade sweet rolls.
Beau slowly sipped his coffee; as he thought the others would never leave. Growing impatient as they lingered; he never realized, until now, how monotonous their conversations were after the conclusion of a séance. Poor Miss Stella, he thought, she puts up with this drivel every Monday night.
Mentally shutting out the prattle of the others, he started to mull over the evening’s séance. Beau had sat calmly while Miss Stella opened with a prayer, ‘We thank thee Heavenly Father for this time we come to share in your presence. We ask at this time that you continue to bless— ‘
Beau smiled as he remembered they all were seated in the darkened room; illuminated by the single red-bulb awaiting their expected phenomenon of their once a week assembly. That was the highlight of the week for the ‘Monday Night Mystics’ as they chose to call themselves. For the past three years they gathered for the purpose of spirit communication and physical phenomena; sometimes it ensued, other times, nothing came to pass.
A recent attendee, Beau had been drawn in for only the last three months. After the death of his mother, he thought meditation would relieve the deep sorrow and sadness that beleaguered him, for he was truly in his heart, still a mama's boy. Her death seven months earlier left him with a disturbing feeling of worthlessness; an emptiness which needed to be filled, but with what, he had no inkling.
When he sat in Miss Stella's séance room, it gave him a sense of comfort and a profound inner peace. Frequently, since her passing, he heard her voice call to him. Yet now, for the preceding several weeks, her voice was growing faint, and yet another voice, the voice of a male was becoming more prominent. An influence that was more domineering and convincing then even that of his dead mother.
Beau daydreamed of the séance room; how the red-light and smell of the sweet incense as it drifted throughout the room made him feel tranquil. The seven wooden straight-backed chairs with their soft seat cushions filled the basement room in a ring pattern. The hand crocheted cloth, which covered a small table that stood next to Miss Stella's chair, and the magnetic cassette player for meditation music, which rested in the center of the table, all brought harmony into his heart.
Miss Stella had recently redecorated with light green cheap shag carpet, and new wallpaper which contained pink rosebuds on a white background, which gave an ambiguous semblance of being in a pleasant garden.
Daydreaming was Beau's way of escaping the hokum of everyday life. Now he snapped back into the moment as the others said their goodbyes, and left Beau and Miss Stella alone at last. Breathlessly he began to describe to her what he had experienced during the séance. Interrupting him, she gently placed her hand in his, and led him to a table and two chairs which were located in a small parlor off to one side. This is where she performed her private readings for those who were so inclined to receive messages from the other side. The table contained a crystal ball covered with a white silk cloth and a small lamp. As they both sat down across from each other she uncovered her crystal. She now gazed intently into the inner depth of the murky purple crystal.
"Beau, the crystal ball has said 'murder.' Not one, but many. The woman you saw is just the first. Also, it shows that you must seek professional help for your emotional instability."
"What…your crystal ball says I'm crazy and I'll run amuck killing people?" He asked sarcastically.
"You need help Beau…when your mother passed, you never fully recovered emotionally from her death. Your mental collapse after that event caused us all immense worry." She spoke in a motherly way, "You know in your heart that you stopped your healing too soon."
Beau sat staring at the crystal ball. Miss Stella watched as he began cracking his knuckles; first his left and then his right hand. Shaking his head, he stood up and started to leave when he stopped suddenly, and turned to face her.
Speaking softly, "I remember almost forty years ago when we were in school. We walked to school every morning and returned home every afternoon together. It was the best time of my life. I'd watch as you entered your house to see that you made it safely inside. I thought we were friends. I even safeguarded you." Beau said as he drew a handkerchief from his left front pocket and wiped the tears that were now cascading down his pale cheeks.
"My first black eye was in the third grade, from a fight with Johnny Hudson, who was no more than a filthy little redneck. He called you and your mother 'witches.' And on the high school hayride, I was thrown off the wagon by boys who teased you. They called you 'Spooky Stella' and again I defended your honor; but now I find out that you think I'm nuts and need professional help," he was now passing judgment on his one true love.
"No, I never said that, and I am very thankful that you shielded me and my family from those misguided people. But you must admit you did do wild things as a child. It was you who poured sand into the principles gas tank, and it was you that hid all the footballs before the big game. But I never said you were mad. A prankster, yes, and I answered your question with the aid of my crystal ball, and you did suffer a mental collapse after your mothers passing." She said covering her crystal with the silk cloth.
"If murder surrounds you Beau, you'll need professional help to deal effectively with it," she cautioned him.
Pondering what she had just said, "Thanks for your advice. I think I'll leave my car in your drive and I'll walk home if you don't mind. The night air will help clear my head. Anyway, I'm probably too unstable to drive," he smirked as he headed for the door. She heard him say under his breath, "Professional help, what hogwash."