The Girl in the Wych Elm: Part Six

 

6. The Man Bound & the Red Hound

Lilia Hightower, Alexander’s paternal grandmother, was a superstitious individual. He always believed the woman was just senile. Lilia spent the last three years of her miserable existence wandering the halls of Old Cahawba like a ghostly specter, lost in her constant rambling. Since Lilia was the mother of Cornelius, the previous head and Alexander’s father, she was left to her own devices. Everyone moved around the woman as if she didn't exist.

The mayor of Wych Elm chortled loudly as he made the Sign of the Cross. "Oh, Grandmother Lilia! You weren't a batty old crone after all." Lilia was long deceased; she died ten years prior when Alexander was twenty-five. Alexander recalled the old superstition he once heard Lilia mutter one time.

If a knife fell on the floor, a man would come to visit. If a spoon, then a woman would come. Alexander had dropped his fork which meant the visitor that came to him that night was something...else.

Something supernatural.

"And here I thought you were nothing more than a stupid nursery rhyme. I guess you are real." He told the uninvited guest.

The ghastly reverent hung from the tree outside Alexander's window. A dark hood covered their face with the rope bound tightly around their neck. Their hands were locked in metal cuffs which dug into the wrists. Alexander watched the body as it swayed back in forth in hypnotic rhythm. The frightening entity was exactly as the rhyme described. 

 

Where is the Bound Man?

Where is the Bound Man?

You see him in that tree?

He’s swinging in the tree!

 

His ropes are bound so tightly.

His ropes are bound so tightly.

So, no one hears his screams.

They’ll never hear him scream!

 

Here comes the Bound Man.

There goes the Bound Man.

He doesn't make a sound cause

His feet don’t touch the ground!

 

We better run away!

You better run away!

If he catches up to you,

You’ll hang with him too!

 

The macabre Bound Man’s rhyme became closely associated with the High Families over the years due to their nature for excessive violence. Alexander and his three older brothers used to sing the rhyme as children, ignorant to its disturbing lyrics. Cornelius, on the other hand, loathed the rhyme. Any time he heard its words, Cornelius would berate his sons. The brothers could never figure out why their father was so bothered by the rhyme when he was alive. They always thought he overreacted too much. It wasn't until Cornelius was on his deathbed, Alexander learned the reason why.

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Florian snapped his fingers in Solomon’s face, breaking the man from his thoughts. “Solomon, what’s wrong? What’s outside?” Florian strolled over to the window. “What are you looking at?” Solomon’s expression darkened. Florian asked him again what was wrong, only for Solomon to ignore the question.

The knock at the door saved Solomon from being asked a third time by his brother. It was Horatio and Dante. Solomon had called them to his suite. “I appreciate you both for coming so last minute. I know you two are busy men." Solomon apologized for interrupting their evening. He wouldn't keep them long. Solomon motioned for them to have a seat in the armchairs. Florian had already claimed one.

"It's not a problem, Solomon." Horatio made himself comfortable beside Florian. "There's nothing of greater importance than a meeting with the patriarch. May I?" He asked to pour a glass of Solomon's high-quality rum. The judge gave permission with a nod.

Dante opted to stand. There was one armchair left. He refused to take the last seat from the patriarch. "It's fine, Dante." Solomon placed a hand on his shoulder. "I've been sitting all day. I need to stay for a while."

He thanked Solomon for his kind generosity and settled in the chair on the other side of Florian. Solomon informed Dante he was welcome to a drink as well. 

The reason for their summons had to do with the body found in the tree. The judge of Wych Elm had a task for the two men. He wanted information on that body. “I want her name, who her family is or was, and how she died.” Solomon wanted every bit of information on the girl Dante and Horatio could dig up. 

Florian asked why he was even interested in the body. "She's probably a nobody anyways." He nonchalantly threw up his hands.

Solomon's attention briefly returned to the window. “You didn’t notice how guarded Alexander was when I brought up the topic?” Florian's face lit up with embarrassment. “Alexander has never shied away from his crimes. And yet, the mention of that body had him on the defensive." Solomon noticed a brief trace of distress in his counterpart's eyes.  He thought he was mistaken at first until he replayed the interaction again and again over in his head. Solomon was certain that Alexander knew more than he was letting on. An innocent man had nothing to hide. But then again, Alexander was the furthest person from innocent. The man was damn near evil incarnate.

Horatio poured himself another glass full of rum. He swirled the dark liquid around before he took a sip. “Enid Sinclair has a girl, Sara, who’s relatively popular among the low-born men of the Crimson.” Alexander had a rule: no men of Hightower were allowed in Enid's brothels. He worried their lips would loosen if they had enough alcohol in their systems. However, his rule didn't deter those low-born members from sneaking around. Horatio learned through a contact from Sara that the body was kept in the Old Cahawba crypt under heavy watch. "Only a select few are allowed downstairs in the crypt." The guards that watched the body were picked by Alexander specifically.

Dante gripped his chin. “Now why would our dear mayor go to so much trouble over a meaningless body?” He suspected the girl was connected to someone of great importance. Someone above the High Families. “You don’t think-?” Dante abruptly stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, Solomon?"

“S-sorry…” Solomon's attention had again returned to the window. The three men turned and looked, but saw only the darkness of night. Florian wondered why Solomon was so fixated on the window. “Anyways,” Solomon cleared his throat, “back to the matter at hand. My father told me that after our family split off, one of the Silver Hightowers took the blueprints to Old Cahawba with them.” The stolen blueprints were used in West Eden's construction. Their estate was built in the mirror image of Old Cahawba.

The revelation was new information to the men and left them astonished. "So, where are these blueprints?" Florian asked, propping his feet up on the table. Dante thumped the side of his head. He told Florian to put his feet down and act like a Silver Hightower. "Next time use your words." The man grumbled, complying with Dante's demand.

The blueprints to Old Cahawba were supposedly stashed away in the West Eden library. Unfortunately, Solomon had no idea where the blueprints were in the library but he would find out. "Have Bianca, James, and Willow search for them." Solomon told Horatio and Dante specifically. Florian felt left out. He hoped  Solomon had saved him an important task.

Dante squinted at Solomon. “So, we're going to break into Old Cahawba and steal the body?” Solomon shook his head disapprovingly.

“No. We’re men of Hightower, not lowly dogs of Da Silva.” B&E was uncouth for men of their status. “We get the swine to do our dirty work.” The swine in question was the Sinclair family who Solomon recently struck a deal with. “Enid and Cyrus weren’t pleased with the Rosenbaums’ nomination. So, they came to us with an offer." He flashed a devious smirk at the men.

"You're welcome, by the way." Florian said to Solomon.

Dante leaned against the armrest. “Enid Sinclair…Alexander’s old whore?” He howled with laughter at the irony. “I guess they’re right about ‘Hell hath no fury like a scorned woman.’” 

While the hunt for the blueprints was underway, Solomon would squeeze all the intel out of Enid's women until he could crush his rivals. “I need to know how many men at a time Alexander has watching the crypt and when they trade off shifts." Solomon reminded them to be discrete and precise. He would not tolerate failure. Their tasks were of the highest priority and importance. All three men gave Solomon their promise.

Horatio finished his last cup of rum and returned the glass to the tray. Someone would come by and collect it later. “Understood. I’ll pay Enid a visit tomorrow and see what’s new.” Dante, on the other hand, would oversee the search for the Old Cahawba blueprints. The two men bid Solomon and Florian goodnight then excused themselves.

Florian helped himself to another glass of Solomon’s rum. “Your plan is working out as predicted.” The man snickered deviously. Some of the Grand Families were turning on their alliance already. The Sinclair family allied themselves with the Silvers while the Holloway family paid Old Cahawba a visit, so Florian heard. The demise of the Grand Families wouldn’t be long. Solomon would turn his attention on the Crimson Hightowers next. “Is there-is there anything you need me to do?” Solomon told his brother in the nicest way possible to stay out of the way. Dante and Horatio would take care of things. Florian wasn’t happy with his older brother’s answer.

Florian Hightower wasn’t incompetent by any means but he wasn’t wholly competent either. He wasn’t as goal-oriented or driven like Solomon, always distracted and consumed by his own pleasures. Solomon saw his brother as a liability rather than an asset. He told Florian it wasn’t personal; it was business. 

The devastated Florian smashed his glass against the table, shattering both objects. Glass covered the area around the table. “You know, I can be useful to you, Solomon! You treat Horatio and Dante better than you do me. I'm your brother. And yet you treat me like-like I’m a doll on a shelf, only using me when it suits you!” Florian was pissed. Most of all, he was incredibly hurt. All he desired was to be of use to his brother. He felt like Solomon wouldn't let him.

The Silver Patriarch crossed his arms. “Yet here you are, throwing a tantrum and breaking things like a spoiled child. If you want to prove your usefulness to me, then show me.” Solomon didn’t care about words. They meant nothing to him if one’s actions never reflected them. “The difference between you and them is that they’re committed to the cause, always. You aren’t. You never were. You never had to be. You were given everything, never having to work for any of it. That's why everything is a simple game to you.” Solomon told him with a disgusted tone. “I had to work for everything. I had to prove myself while you were allowed to be mediocre.” He slapped his hand against his palm.

The relationship dynamics of the Silver Hightower siblings had always been chaotic. Naomie, Solomon’s and Florian’s older sister, was the first child and only daughter. Solomon was the middle child and first son while Florian was the last child and second son. Solomon was often overlooked by his parents in favor of his sister, who had been sickly from birth. Naomie required around the clock attention and care. Florian being the baby of the three was naturally doted on and spoiled. Strangely enough, Solomon adored Naomie but didn't care too much for Florian. On the other hand, Florian adored Solomon but didn't like Naomie due to the attention his brother always gave her.

Florian would have been patriarch of the Silver Hightowers had it not been for Prospero, their great-uncle and Solomon’s predecessor. Prospero saw much of himself in Solomon and chose him as the next family head despite the outcry from his nephew. Solomon’s ascension to patriarch caused the rift between him and his parents to deepen.

“I’m really sorry…Solomon.” How had Florian forgotten the way their parents treated him and Naomie over his brother. The truth was painful. Solomon was everything Florian said he was. “I’ll prove my usefulness to you.” Florian's greatest fear was being cast aside by Solomon in favor of someone else. He would get serious. Florian would work hard to become the right-hand man Solomon could call upon. 

The younger Hightower lowered his head and excused himself. As he trudged past his brother to the door, Solomon gabbed him. He pulled Florian into his embrace and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, my dear brother." The affection improved Florian's mood a little. Though Solomon seldom showed it, he did love Florian. He knew Florian would do anything to please him.

When Florian shut the door behind him, Solomon walked over to the window. It began to rain. "Do you know what Alexander is hiding from me?" The patriarch addressed the Bound Man who dangled in the rainy wind. Solomon leaned against the windowsill, unbothered their presence as Alexander had been. Neither Hightower man knew the other had been visited by the Bound Man.

Solomon’s very first encounter with the phantom was in one of his nightmares. Since that first nightmare, the Bound Man appeared to him again and again. Eventually, the Bound Man began showing up while Solomon was awake, no longer confined to his nightmares. They would quietly stalk the judge around West Eden and Wych Elm at every turn. Solomon no longer knew a moment of peace. He felt the Bound Man's obscured eyes always watching him. Their presence was a nuisance. 

The Bound Man's appearance was connected to the girl in the tree. That was the hypothesis Solomon had formed. The entity appeared after the body was discovered and trees were a connection between the two. Solomon was certain of it. That was why he needed the girl's body as soon as possible. The body, more than likely, was the key to ending the Bound Man's haunting.

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The Red Hound of Hightower, was the infamous moniker of Ishmael Da Silva, Alexander's right-hand man and enforcer. The sheriff of Wych Elm trailed after the mayor like a clingy, wet puppy desperate for his master's attention. The man's loyalty to Alexander was a blind one. Ishmael despised that nickname, however. If he caught sound of the words from anyone's lips, it was a bloodbath. The assault was worse if the Red Hound was in a foul mood that day.

Despite the fear of Ishmael's wrath and retaliation, sometimes it couldn't be helped. When Alexander told him to jump, Ishmael asked, "How high?" When Alexander told him to dig a hole, he asked, "How deep?" When Alexander needed him to kill, Ishmael simply asked, "Who?" Sheriff Da Silva was a loyal hound all right. A foolish, obedient hound with no sense of autonomy whenever Alexander was around. The mayor man had an almost spell-like influence over the sheriff. Ishmael's obsession and overprotective nature of Alexander disturbed the residents of Wych Elm and the members of the High Families alike. 

There was so much more the Ishmael's character. He was an embarrassment, a stain on the Da Silva family's name. His family, who held all the positions of law enforcement within Wych Elm, used to be feared second only to the Hightowers. The Red Hound had sullied that reputation after he became the patriarch. The Da Silva name and its reputation became linked to the Crimson Hightowers, and not in a good way. Often times, they were collectively known as, "The Hounds of Hightower." They became the laughingstock of the High Families to the people of Wych Elm.

Ishmael, much like his "master" Alexander, was an enemy to everyone, and a friend to none. Even his own family despised him. He was treated as a pariah instead of a patriarch. Too naive and incompetent to see, Alexander had the Red Hound strung up tightly on puppet strings.

"Christ, Ishmael! We're using a woodchipper, seriously?" Tristan's mouth was agape with horror and mild disgust. Samuel couldn't partake in the gruesome act. He opted to dismember the bodies instead. Ishmael told both brothers to man up.

"You've been involved in worse." He shoved a severed woman's arm down into the woodchipper. Blood splashed him and Tristan. Samuel ran behind a tree to vomit. "Pansy." The crooked sheriff chuckled. He took a quick cigarette break. "Drink a ginger ale and tough it out, princess." Ishmael told Samuel. They still had five more bodies to dismember and shred. It was going to be an exhaustingly long night for the men.

Samuel shuffled up to Ishmael and Tristan. He looked dreadful, like an undead corpse. "Hanna and the women are finished with the second house. They're moving on to the next one." He informed the men in a gloomy tone before shuffling back over to the stack of bodies wrapped in tarps.

Ishmael, amused, erupted into laughter. "Maybe my new disposal method went a little too far." He watched as Samuel vomited a second time. "I don't remember him having such a weak stomach when we were kids. This can't be the same Samuel that blew up rabbits, mice, and squirrels with firecrackers."

"Yeah... there's a difference between blowing up Bambi's woodland friends and making minced human meat in a woodchipper." Tristan pushed a man's leg down into the machine. "Why didn't we just stuff their bodies in drums of acid and then dump them out to sea?" That was their usual method of disposal which Tristan preferred. It was a simple process. It involved less blood and... macabre measures. Ishmael informed the man he had cut ties with the supplier for the drums of acid. "He started asking for too much money." He inhaled his cigarette.

Tristan leaned against a tree. He looked at Ishmael with a doubtful expression. "You killed the man, didn't you?" The sheriff raised his hands; he was guilty.

"It was a shame too." Ishmael grabbed another woman's arm from the pile of body parts. "I really like the guy, but he started to get too greedy. Started charging a leg and an... arm for drums of acid." Ishmael laughed again then threw the severed arm at Tristan. The man stepped out of the way. The arm struck the tree before fell on the ground. Tristan glanced down at the limb then back at Ishmael. “By the way, congratulations on your membership into the High Families.” He said with a cigarette clenched between his teeth. Ishmael prayed the news had reached Arien already. The Red Hound itched to rub the loss in the man’s face. He and Arien hated each other. “The little bitch is probably somewhere kicking up dirt right now. I bet he wishes he had stayed his ass away from here.”

Tristan picked up the limb and tossed it into the machine. “There has to be a name for the mental illness he’s suffering from.” Arien’s decision to return to Wych Elm after the brutal murder of his family was an enigma. Tristan couldn’t wrap his head around it. He would never, under any circumstance, work with the people who robbed him of everything he had.

“Yeah… it’s called being delusional.” Ishmael painted the ground with his spit. “And stupid.” He then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Enough about that asshole.” The Red Hound changed the topic. There was something important he had wanted to ask Tristan since his membership into the High Families.

Ishmael asked his childhood friend to be truthful with him. Did he really plan to go against the High Families with the Grand Families?

Tristan hunched over, laughing. “How do you think those whispers around town started?” Ishmael was impressed. He called Tristan a cold-hearted son of a bitch. 

“So, you never planned to be loyal from the start?” Tristan shook his head. Ishmael wanted information. “What was your end goal?”

“To be rewarded.” He said with a smile. Ishmael raised a brow at the vague answer.

Tristan Rosenbaum despised his family’s “business.” He never wanted any part in it to begin with. Tristan wanted a way out; he wanted something better for his family. Hamona had her vineyards and olive groves. Jerome had his meat farm. Hell, Enid’s business was a little more reputable than his. That was his desire. That was his dream. That had been his lifelong goal.

Tristan was grateful to the Da Silva family, despite Ishmael’s occasional mistreatment of him over the years. The man’s ancestors had saved Tristan’s ancestor, Hugo Rosenbaum. According to Rosenbaum family lore, Hugo was falsely accused of a crime some hundred years back. The Da Silvas’ pleaded his case to the High Families and had Hugo’s life spared, who repaid the latter by serving as his “cleaner.”

“Truth be told, Ishmael, I never anticipated joining the High Families.” He carried a handful of body parts over to the woodchipper. One by one, Tristan dropped each part down into the vat. “Don’t get me wrong, I have no complaints. This is nice.” Tristan said the loud part silently. He didn’t care for the High Families. His new status as a member meant little to him. Any vote his family made would always align with Ishmael’s. That’s how much he cared about the politics of Wych Elm and its High Families.

Ishmael bumped elbows with Tristan since their gloves were covered in blood. “Don’t worry my friend. You’ll be rewarded extensively.” The sheriff winked.

“I do have one other request.” Ishmael threw a curious glance over his shoulder. “When the High Families destroy the Grand Families, leave Fabio for me.” The Red Hound’s cackles echoed through the dark woods. He asked Tristan what his beef with Fabio was. The Rosenbaum man said he really hated the guy. “He’s a dick.” Ishmael gave his friend his word. “I won't lie. I do feel some level of guilt over what I'm doing." Tristan liked some of the alliance members. Angelo, Jerome, and Elease, especially her, didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire. Unfortunately, it was unavoidable.

“A wise man, probably a psychopath or someone, once said, ‘You don’t get ahead in life without stepping on top of some people.’” Ishmael stared down at his blood-soaked gloves. That quote was the life mantra that kept him going. He picked up the last batch of body parts and dumped them wildly into the woodchipper. “All the world’s a stage, Tristan. Some of us have been given better roles in the play than others.” Tristan merely accepted the role that was offered to him by the directors. The role of a pawn. All of them, Ishmael included, were pawns on Alexander’s and Solomon’s chessboard.

“I see…” Tristan lowered his head. He tried to hide his guilt-riddled expression from Ishmael, but the Red Hound still noticed.

Ishmael told his friend it was okay to feel some guilt, but not to let that guilt dissuade him from his personal goal. For if Tristan and his family ever thought about double crossing the High Families, they too would meet their ends headfirst inside a woodchipper.