“The dead will and can influence the living,” Poe blurted out.
“And is there some sort of dead police that can help with this?” I sleepily asked. I was lying in bed and contemplating taking a sleep aid. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go without sleeping well. I think it had already been five straight days of nightmares and past life visions that seemed to possess my nighttime hours. “Oh, wait … Cheap Trick talks about the Dream Police in their one song. Maybe I am on to something!”
“Kristy, you aren’t taking me seriously!” Poe scolded.
“You’ve never liked authority anyhow,” I teased, “or organized groups. You hate being criticized, but often criticize. Am I missing anything?” I asked, sitting up and putting my hands on my hips pretending to be in disgust.
“Oh, but that is why I love your husband so much. He does remind me of myself.”
I rolled my eyes. It was true. Chuck and Edgar could have probably been best of friends in the nineteenth century, except that I think that they were so similar that they would probably have a strong love-and-hate relationship. They both loved bucking the system and did anything and everything to avoid authoritative figures.
“Capricorns are difficult, and you aren’t any different.”
“What makes me a typical Capricorn?”
“Well, Caps often have difficult childhoods where they feel abandoned, sometimes physically or sometimes emotionally. Many times they move away from their family, more than likely in an attempt to get away from the misunderstandings and communication problems. But, through all that, Caps are good friends—that is if you let them control the friendship. Oh, and they are very intuitive.”
Poe looked at me wide-eyed. “I thought you weren’t an astrologer.”
“I’m not. It’s too mathematical for me and math hurts my head.”
We both laughed, because he knew it was the truth.
“You are intuitive, Edgar, and you know it. I wonder if that is the reason why we have been connected together. Are you aware that your first and only novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket, about a group of shipwrecked sailors who kill and cannibalize one of their crewmates, a man named Richard Parker, actually came true in 1884? Forty-six years after your book was published, a ship in real life sank and three of the survivors killed and cannibalized the fourth surviving member of the crew. The victim was a young man named Richard Parker. It just so happened to be the very name of the man who was in your novel who was met with the same demise. Interesting, huh?”
Poe looked at me curiously and smiled. “A coincidence, you think?”
I shook my head, thinking back to the previous night’s vision with Poe.
In the 1830s and 1840s, many Americans worried that increased drinking was immoral and not only did it ruin the health of the drinker, but also disrupted families and created criminal activity. Not much different from the effects it has today. In order to reverse the effects it was having on society, an organization was founded called the Sons of Temperance.
According to the Sons of Temperance website, the Sons of Temperance was founded in 1842 in New York City by sixteen men and was the oldest of many temperance and total abstinence “secret societies” that existed in the United States in the nineteenth century. The group quickly grew in size, and secret handshakes, knocks, and passwords were introduced in order to keep out those merely there for the socialization and not to solve the real problem. The Sons of Temperance conducted extensive background checks on every single person initiated into the group.
As part of an initiation ceremony, every new member had to promise not to make, buy, sell, or use alcohol. The exact pledge being, “NO BROTHER SHALL MAKE, BUY, SELL, OR USE AS A BEVERAGE ANY SPIRITUOUS OR MALT LIQUORS WINE OR CIDER.” Afterward an elaborate ceremony took place.
“Be thou an example in word, in conversation, in spirit, and in purity. Brother; guard against all impurity in thought, word, and deed. Banish every impure idea from your mind. Let no foul word pollute your lips; nor an impure action degrade the august majesty of your soul, made in the image of its Maker. Shun the impure; they are moral lepers; they poison the heart, and kill the soul with second death, from which there is no resurrection. Bear ever in your mind the words of this sacred Book: ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.’ ”
It was dusk when Edgar Allan Poe, dressed in his typical black clothing, took my hand, as Sara, and quietly guided me to the back of the building.
“I will unlock the door for you, Sara. There is a room off of the main room where you won’t be seen.”
“And what exactly do you want me to do, Edgar?” I asked, my pulse racing. We had spoken in passing about doing this, but Poe often had elaborate schemes that he discussed and most never came to fruition. I figured this was another one.
“There is a killer, or killers, among us, Sara. See if you sense anything in there. I do, but I cannot tell whom it might be.”
I nodded in understanding. It didn’t always work that way and Poe knew that, but I was willing to help. For the past few years, Poe and I would meet and conduct séances. He came to me first because he wanted to speak to his wife and his mother. But during the sittings, it was apparent that I wasn’t the only clairvoyant, Poe was too. Sometimes we saw things that happened in the future, sometimes things that happened in the past. For the last year we had been haunted by murders. These men would visit us during our sittings and discuss their gruesome last moments. When asked who their killer was, the response was always the same. “My brother.” It took us awhile to realize that they didn’t literally mean their flesh and blood, but someone else. At first Poe assumed it was a Mason, but when they refused to allow him to join, he grew furious. It came to him that perhaps it wasn’t a Mason at all, but another group altogether.
I knew that he wanted to break a big story. He wanted his name known far and wide. He also knew that I did not want my name known at all. I was just a farmer’s daughter and a lawyer’s wife. But most of all I was a mother to my beautiful children and I was frightened. Not only was I petrified of being discovered to be a psychic, I felt as if I was caught up in something that I couldn’t get out of. Whether ethics and justice, or just plain fear, I agreed to help, with Edward’s permission.
Sensing my apprehension and fear, Poe lovingly stroked my left cheek with his glove. “I will not allow anything to happen to you, Sara. You know that. I’ve promised Edward the same. Now, I will meet you back here after the meeting,” he instructed, fixing his coat collar up and leaving me to pray that I saw something.
The large room filled up quickly. The chatter of the men rang within the limestone walls, almost hurting my head. Or it was the energy that seemed to bounce throughout the hallways.
“Brothers!” a large man called out to the crowd. “Comrades,” he yelled out even louder. The noise quieted. “We are ready.”
The man rapped once.
Leader: When the crusaders of olden times went to war, they used their swords to kill their enemies. We use the sword also; not for the shedding of blood, but as a sign of warfare against Strong Drink, and an emblem of the law which is to destroy its great stronghold and headquarters: the Saloon.
Comrades, what is a Saloon?
Comrades: A place where alcoholic drinks are sold and where drunkards are made.
Leader: Is it a good or an evil place?
Comrades: It is evil always and everywhere.
Leader: How do we know that it is?
Comrades: A tree is known by its fruits.
Leader: What are the fruits of the Saloon?
Comrades: Drunkenness, vice, poverty, crime, disease, murder, death.
Leader: And what must we do to protect this from happening?
Comrades: Anything. Everything.
Leader: For how long?
Comrades: Forever.
Leader: Who are we?
Comrades: The Brotherhood.