Nowhere, Mississippi

Chapter 5-1

The week before my mom’s accident, I made the middle school honor roll for the second year running. Mom made a fuss about it as usual. A trip to Perimeter Mall for a shopping spree at Spencer’s and a pit stop at Orange Julius, in the food court afterward. She sat there, fretting over the length of my jeans while I sucked down my Cream Supreme.

The week before my mom’s accident, I made the middle school honor roll for the second year running. Mom made a fuss about it as usual. A trip to Perimeter Mall for a shopping spree at Spencer’s and a pit stop at Orange Julius, in the food court afterward. She sat there, fretting over the length of my jeans while I sucked down my Cream Supreme.“We really need to get you some new clothes,” she said to me, and I groaned, thinking she is about to drag me around Macy’s again. “Don’t worry, honey.” Her wide smile was always reassuring. “At the rate you’re sprouting, there’s no way we’re shopping here. I’ll pick you up a few things next week when I’m at the outlets with The Girls.”

“We really need to get you some new clothes,” she said to me, and I groaned, thinking she is about to drag me around Macy’s again. “Don’t worry, honey.” Her wide smile was always reassuring. “At the rate you’re sprouting, there’s no way we’re shopping here. I’ll pick you up a few things next week when I’m at the outlets with The Girls.”The Girls were my mom’s best friends, Margerie, Margaret, and Diane. I remember standing in our driveway the following Saturday, watching Mom lower her tall, thin frame into Margaret’s station wagon. As they pulled away, she rolled down the window and waved at me from the passenger seat.

The Girls were my mom’s best friends, Margerie, Margaret, and Diane. I remember standing in our driveway the following Saturday, watching Mom lower her tall, thin frame into Margaret’s station wagon. As they pulled away, she rolled down the window and waved at me from the passenger seat.“Throw your dirty clothes in the laundry while I’m gone,” she called out. “You’ve worn that same t-shirt for the past four days!”

“Throw your dirty clothes in the laundry while I’m gone,” she called out. “You’ve worn that same t-shirt for the past four days!”Those were the last words she ever said to me.

Those were the last words she ever said to me.I have lost count of how many days I’ve worn the t-shirt I’m wearing now, though. It is a black Reign in Blood Slayer tee that’s too badass to take off. That aside, the rest of my gear is pretty standard, just a pair of pale blue Levis and some Chuck Taylor high-tops. Compared to the guys who have gathered outside on the porch, I look like I’ve arrived for a photo shoot. They’re all dressed in the same drab uniform, basically a plain t-shirt of some kind, with shorts or khaki pants.

Reign in BloodDrawing a deep breath, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and unbuckle my seatbelt. Being gawked at by a bunch of goons isn’t my idea of a good time. It beats being baked alive in this car, though. I’m only making a bigger scene by sitting here, anyway. As Metallica would say, it’s time to “Jump in the Fire.”

MetallicaI take another long breath and reach out to open the door. My hand stops halfway to the handle as I glimpse a flurry of movement to my left and turn toward the porch. All of the boys who had formed an audience are now clearing out in all directions. They peer back at me as they vacate the porch, but there’s haste in their steps as if something spurred them on their way.

As I try to locate Joyce, someone taps on the window next to me. I jerk back around with a gasp, but it isn’t my dad’s charming secretary who’s standing outside the door. A tall, middle-aged man in a black cowboy hat leans down and peers at me through the glass. My pulse pounding, I roll down the window.

“William Douglas?” The man’s drawl is deep and thick. I nod as his dark brown eyes look me over. “My name’s Brother Bennett. Welcome to Victory Ridge, son. It’s time to get out the car now.”

I fumble with the handle and ease the door open. Brother Bennett backs up a few steps, rising to his full height again as I step out onto the gravel lot. Other than his hat and a pair of brown leather boots, he’s dressed from neck to feet in blue denim. The sleeves of his shirt are sheared off, exposing broad shoulders and a pair of burly arms.

Dad is right enough, I guess. Brother Bennett’s size is nothing to sneeze at. He’s easily six-two or six-three, several inches taller than I am. It is not like he’s jacked like an American Gladiator or anything, though. Standing in front of me with his hands on his hips, he looks more like John Wayne than Hulk Hogan.

“My dad said you’re a big man,” I tell him. “But you ain’t so big.”

Someone gasps, and I spy Joyce standing a few yards behind Brother Bennett with her hand over her mouth. Brother Bennett glances back at her and turns his attention toward me again. Narrowing his eyes, he folds his bare arms across his chest.

“There ain’t no man bigger than God, son. Round here, it’s best you remember that. Now get your things and come with me. It’s time to get ourselves acquainted.” His mouth slants into a tight-lipped smile, and an icy tingle shoots up my spine.

I swallow the dry lump in my throat and turn around. As I shuffle toward the rear of the car, Joyce scurries past me to pop the trunk.

“You don’t make things easy on yourself, do you?” she whispers while I reach inside to grab my suitcase. “Try to be polite, for goodness sake!”

She turns and marches up to Brother Bennett. “My apologies for not introducing myself properly. I"m Joyce O’Malley. I work for Will’s father. He mentioned there was some paperwork I needed to sign.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brother Bennett says, shaking her hand. “My wife, Tammy, has all that ready for you. We were expecting y’all a couple of hours ago.”

Joyce clears her throat. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. We had trouble with the directions. I was told to look for a fire tire of some kind.”

“Fire tower,” Brother Bennett drawls like he’s drinking his words.

Joyce blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“Fire tower,” he repeats and points back toward the main road, where a tall wooden pylon with a small cabin at the top rises above the pines. “That ol’ tower right there’s the tallest structure in the whole county. So, seeing as it’s just a quarter-mile from the end of this driveway, we figure it shouldn’t be hard for folks to find. But maybe y’all were looking for something else.”

Joyce’s cheeks burn red. “How silly of me,” she mumbles and peers down at her watch. “Well, I hate to be rude, Brother Bennett, but I do have a flight to catch. I’d like to sign Will’s paperwork and get going if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, ma’am. We can do that right now. Follow me to The Dorm over there and let’s find Ms. Tammy.” Brother Bennett turns to regard me, his eyes lingering on the old leather suitcase on the gravel by my feet. “Come along, William,” he says. “I’m gonna sit you in my office while I get Miss Joyce here taken care of.”

He waits for me to pick up my case and turns toward the red-brick building behind us. The Dorm, as he calls it, is basically a wide single-story ranch with a black shingled roof and a row of small, square windows along the side. It isn’t much to look at, but it’s the first building I’ve seen without wheels in the past couple of hours.

Joyce and I follow Brother Bennett as he ambles over to the wooden porch where the boys had gathered. My bicep burns as I carry my suitcase up the steps, and I consider what’s inside it, from the life I left behind. Other than a few required items, Dad said I could take what I wanted as long as it fit in this bag, which seemed like an easy choice at first.

I stuffed it pile high with my favorite band tees—Metallica, Anthrax, Slayer, Megadeath, Suicidal Tendencies, and The Cult. I also crammed in a carton of Camel Filters I pressured Dad into buying me, and there was no way I was leaving my Discman behind. However, deciding which CDs to bring proved far more painful than I imagined.

I shift the suitcase to my other hand and trail Brother Bennett to the porch-side entrance of The Dorm.

“Our front offices are just through here,” he says and pulls open the door for us.

Joyce and I step past him into a long, stuffy hallway with white cinderblock walls. A fluorescent light buzzes on the ceiling, fluttering from bright to dim, and the floor is covered with a crappy gray carpet that reeks of Pine-Sol and piss. And I thought the outside was depressing!

Brother Bennett joins us inside and pulls the door shut behind him. “I bought this property back in ‘83 when it was just an abandoned ol’ boys home,” he explains, and begins leading us down the hall. “We did her up as good as we could and built a schoolhouse out back, a few years ago.”

His drawl drifts into the background as we pass an alcove with a worn-out couch against the wall. I stop and stare at the phone mounted beside it. The cord is plugged in, but the numbered dial is completely missing. How the hell is anyone supposed to use it?

“Everything alright, William?” I jerk around as Brother Bennett appears beside me. He gestures toward the couch. “We use this room for phone privileges, but new boys like you get none until you’ve been here three months. That’s the rule.”

Three months? Well, I guess I won’t be trying to call home on a numberless phone then. I consider reminding him that I’ll be out of here in 90 days, but I bite my tongue and follow him up the hallway again.

Three months? Brother Bennett pauses at a closed door several yards ahead and digs his hand in his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys, jingles through them, and fits one in the lock.

“Go on in and take a seat, William.” He clicks open the door and waves me inside. “Put that bag of yours by my desk.”

As I step through the threshold of Brother Bennett’s office, gusts of cool air sweep across my face, soothing my sweaty skin. I didn’t feel the slightest draft in the muggy hallway, but at least they have A/C in the rooms. That will be a lifesaver for sure.

The office itself is pretty small. A large, wooden desk occupies most of the room. Its surface is neat and orderly, just a short stack of ledgers, a blue fountain pen, and a black telephone that actually has a dial. A wooden cross hangs on the back wall, along with a framed photograph of President George H.W. Bush and about a half-dozen plaques with Bible verses on them.