Soultwin

By Jay El Mitchell

Hannah isn't like most girls. For one, she lives on a farm, a self-sustaining commune called the Collective. For another, instead of going to school, she has meditations sessions in a barn that end with the "scions" guessing the ten things on the mind of a man named Maxwell. Her best friend is a boy named Cody. They have a special relationship that has led Maxwell and the others the refer to them as "soultwins," despite how it irks Hannah. They seem to be the only ones who question Maxwell's motivations, and spend most of their free time daydreaming about the day when they will be old enough to run away. But perhaps they shouldn't wait that long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay El Mitchell
• Release date: May 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310615344

Jay El Mitchell

I am a carbon-based life form who has been on this planet for 30 years. I live near the beach (east coast) and enjoy it, primarily after sunset. I am lactose intolerant but love ice cream. Upon my death I plan to be cremated, with half of my ashes thrown directly into Nancy Graces's unsuspecting face (I have a curse in the works) and the other half kept in an old condiment jar in the back of the pantry.

Book preview

Soultwin

Jay El Mitchell

Copyright by Jay El Mitchell 2015

Smashwords Edition

Take a deep breath.

His voice is deep, masculine, yet soothing. There is a melody to his speech that gives it a liquid quality, and the sound pools in the mind, washing away any trace of conscious thought even as he continues, Clear your mind.

Thick, dark curtains blocked the majority of the light from the windows. The air was redolent with the earthy scent of straw. Occasionally the wind picked up outside, whistling through the eaves, spinning the rusted weather vane, but the immediate sound was deep, slow breathing, from all around the dim room.

Keep your eyes closed, Maxwell continued. Listen to your breathing. Keep your mind clear.

Distantly a rooster, confused about the time, let out a crow. Someone stifled a giggle, and another gave a nervous sort of chuckle. Instead of a chastisement, Maxwell offered, Humor is a welcome interruption. That rush is vital to maintaining the clarity necessary to open the mind. Keep focusing on your breathing, girls.

Quiet breathing reigned in the room for about thirty seconds. Then he asked, What am I thinking of now? No one spoke, but after a few seconds came the sound of pen scratching paper. More scratching joined. He waited for it to die down, about another thirty seconds, then asked, I’m thinking of a card. What card is it?

From the far left a soft voice murmured, "Diamond. . ."

"Paper, please, Mona," he said, gently but firmly.

As always, he asked ten questions total. After the final one, he gave them a full minute of silence before he said, That concludes this session, ladies. He flicked on the hurricane lamp, bathing their faces in its yellow glow. Even in this sallow lighting, the girls appeared healthy and fresh. And they were. Ten girls, between the ages eight and fourteen. Eyes on him, waiting. Neat pile here, as always, and you’re excused to lunch.

The girls rose to their feet amidst murmurs, dropping their papers in a stack near Maxwell. He remained cross-legged on his pallet, smiling at them as they filed out of the barn, chatting amongst themselves. Mona lingered, as usual, on the pretense of helping him stack the pallets. She was getting taller by the day, it seemed. Maxwell was certain the hem of that blue sundress had hung below her knees only a week ago; now the lace grazed the top of the kneecap, flirting with the idea of her thigh. She asked in a hopeful undertone, Was it diamonds, Max?

Actually, the card in Maxwell’s mind was one that could be described as credit and platinum, but could be used to procure diamonds, so he didn’t consider it completely dishonest to give her a little hope. He winked, which caused a hint of pink to rise in her cheeks, and said, You’ll find out when everyone else does, love.

Come on, Mona, said a voice. He glanced over and saw Hannah hovering near the open barn door. Mom wanted us to stop home before lunch.

Well you better mind her, then, Maxwell said, gently knocking the papers into a straight stack with his hands. Kathy is not a woman to be kept waiting.

Mona said goodbye, keeping those brown eyes focused on him in a lingering way as she sidled past him toward the door. He said goodbye but did not watch her leave. He felt the younger one’s eyes on him. Only after he heard the first set of footsteps clear the door did he chance a look. Hannah paused in the doorway, glancing back. Their stares met briefly, and even with the afternoon sunlight full on her face, her eyes seemed strangely clouded. At twelve she was two years younger than her sister, but much more difficult to read.

Goodbye, Hannah, he said, rising to his feet.

Goodbye, Maxwell," she said.

He laughed softly. He’d told the girl many times to call him Max, but she did not feel comfortable addressing a grownup in such a casual manner. Maxwell said, Tell Kathy I said hello.

Hannah nodded and said, I will. Sir.

With his pupils gone and the papers collected, Maxwell grabbed the hurricane lamp with his free hand and exited the barn. The late spring afternoon was cool, with just a touch of wind to ruffle the tall grass in the surrounding fields. The distant sky looked gray and dark. It was likely that tonight would be accompanied by rain, thunder, or both.

The property spanned several acres, and all of the structures had been built around the 1930’s, by Maxwell’s great-grandparents. Since inheriting the land, all of the buildings had been updated. This included the barn, the coops, the main house and the abodes, Maxwell’s word for the converted servant-shacks which dotted the property. Originally these were little more than insulated sheds where labor-workers could sleep. Most now had additional loft-style sleep areas, and all had indoor plumbing and kitchen upgrades.

It was one of the largest of these that the two sisters called home, along with their mother Kathy Duncan.

All meals are prepared and served at the main house, the large rambling two-story with a wrap-around porch seated at the head of the property. Maxwell did not join the throng at the side door, which led into the dining room and kitchen. He was hungry, and the scent was inviting (beef stew, from the smell of it) but he would peruse the girls’ papers first. The first floor was a common area, open to all members of the Collective. He entered through the back, an outdoor staircase which led to the collection of rooms on the second story, which he referred to as his apartment. He settled into the desk chair near the bay windows, considering the top sheet from the stack.

It was Mona’s. He would have known even if he had not watched as she put hers on top. None of them were signed, but Maxwell knew the owner of each paper. The graceful, loopy script of this one was singular to Mona. He scanned the girl’s answers to each of his questions. Her answer of diamonds was the closest to being correct of any of her guesses. When he’d asked, what am I thinking of now, his mind had been focused on the burnt orange Firebird an acquaintance bought when he was sixteen. Mona had seen the moon. Not even close. None of the girls actually got anywhere close to a car, not even the inscrutable Hannah, who’d scribbled out a rudimentary sparrow rather than actually writing the word. Her handwriting was more controlled, less flamboyant than her sister’s. As usual there were scratches in the margins, as she’d doodled absently in between his questions, rather than attempting to follow his mind-clearing mantra.

Aside from that, the only question that had received mostly correct responses was What will the weather be like the next few days? Nine claimed it would be rainy or stormy, two said cloudy, which were most likely based on logic and observation rather than psychic ability.

Hannah had simply written, Snow. Maxwell smiled in spite of himself, shaking his head as he set the paper aside.

Overall it was a wash, as it had been for the past six years. He was not surprised, nor disappointed.

The Maxwell Farm, as it is still known to the miles-distant neighbors, is now known as the Collective to the thirty-one people who live there. The ten girls, plus a female toddler; the six boys between the ages eight and fifteen; eight mothers; four fathers, and two matrons. Another one of Maxwell’s terms. The first matron was Flora, a portly woman in her sixties, with volumes of gray curls and bosom, modestly concealed by cardigan sweaters regardless of the temperature. She cooked the majority of the meals and kept the main house running smoothly. The second matron was perhaps in her early forties, named Addison, and kept mostly alone.

Usually. Currently, the woman was sitting at the window on the far end of the oversized dining room, her forehead actually pressed against the glass. Anyone who drifted close to her would note a queer sort of tuneless humming coming from the woman.

Look at Mad Addy, Mona murmured, shaking her head slowly. It’s sad, really.

Hannah knew her sister didn’t actually think it was sad. Mona thought it was weird, but knew that sounded mean to say, so she was substituting the word for one that was technically more acceptable. Hannah reminded, Mom said don’t call her that, remember?

Mona rolled her eyes, wearing her when you’re my age expression. It annoyed Hannah even more than usual, so she added, "What if Max hears you say that?"

He’s not even here, the older girl insisted, though she did cast a quick look over the room, just to make certain. Besides, he has to know she’s. . . sad. He just doesn’t show it.

Hannah wanted to say something snide but since they had arrived late to lunch, the room was now emptier than usual, and she knew her words were likely to be overheard by Flora. She was not in the mood to get a lecture, so instead she focused on her stew. The chunks of beef were seasoned just right. She wondered which cow it was. Both Bunter and Colby had been slaughtered recently, so either was a likely bet.

Mona’s best friend, Lacey, had already finished eating so she had plenty of opportunity to satisfy a desire to flap her gums. So which card did you get?

Mona said, Eight of diamonds.

I got the four of diamonds, said Lacey. "I mean I think it was the four. The number wasn’t completely clear, but it was definitely diamonds."

Oh, definitely, Mona agreed, slurping her stew.

I got the joker, said Hannah. As usual, the other girls ignored her. She looked over to Addison, who was now running one pinkie finger against the glass as if tracing shapes or symbols invisible to everyone else.

"For color, I definitely got blue," Lacey continued.

Definitely.

"But a light blue,