Part the First
Franklin entered the stadium through the gate bordering the student parking lot. He didn't bother to look at the number. The stadium was quiet and dark.
The summons had read "50 yard line. One hour." No name or reason. That was 57 minutes ago.
It was really dark. He has always hated the dark. It gave him the willies. Dark woods, dark rooms, hell, even dark corners scared him. He didn't even like too much shade.
His brother James, however, loved darkness. James would drag Franklin outside every night and run off yelling "Come find me. I bet you can't find me!" Franklin called it the Can You See Me? game. James would ask repeatedly "Can you see me?" He would say no four or five times and then pretend to spot him. He never once saw James. He was like a damned chameleon. Or, more truthfully, a bored child who watched too many war movies.
James was going to be a Green Beret. He told every person he saw of his eventual vocation. He was going to shimmy through the mud, kill bad guys and smoke cigars. Just like John Wayne. James had watched
The Green Berets 43 times by the time he turned 13.
Franklin walked through the tunnel that led to the stadium. Last he heard from James he was working as a mechanic in a small town in Arkansas. He never joined the Army. He instead got a 14-year-old pregnant and collected Welfare for three years. The other American dream.
Franklin emerged onto the mezzanine. The field was dark; the only source of light was the scoreboard which was flashing a Yella Wood commercial on loop.
By the light of the yellow wood cowboy Franklin saw a circle of seven to eight hooded figures. One was in the center with his arms raised. He had a leash attached to his wrist. Attached to the leash was a small elephant. Franklin would later learn its common name was the pygmy elephant. Think normal African elephant miniaturized. His wife would have squinted her eyes and branded it cute in a high-pitched voice.
As Franklin descended the steps and neared midfield, he could here what sounded like chanting. It was not in English. And it didn't sound like any language he knew. Of course, he couldn't speak any other language. But he felt like he could at least recognize one when he heard it.
Once closer he was able to make out individual words. Pater noster... es... caelis... Nomen... adveniat...
He considered asking them what the fuck they were saying. He then realized he didn't even know who "they" were. "They" were wearing loose-fitting dark navy blue robes with orange trim around the cuffs. Their hoods were up and he was still too far away to make out faces.
The chanting stopped when he got within sight.
"Greetings, Antonius," said a short man who most people would define as stocky. The voice was familiar yet different, as if it had been run through a device that made your voice sound more affluent and cultured. The word that came to Franklin's mind was pretentious.
"Hello there," he replied, not telling the short man his name was simply Tony.
"We are pleased you joined us. The ceremony is almost upon us," said a man to Franklin's right. He was slightly above average height with wide shoulders. This time Franklin was able to place the voice. It was tight ends coach Steve Ensminger.
The rest of the hooded figures had to be the other assistant coaches. He did a quick count. Seven in the outer circle and one in the middle. There were ten assistants including him. One was missing. His guess was Paul. Paul, like himself, was new and somewhat of an outsider. They weren't part of the inner circle.
Franklin had once joked Tuberville and his position coaches acted cult-like. He regretted making that joke.
"Antonius, the oracle is most unhappy with your performance," said the short man. Franklin now realized it was the voice of Hugh Nall.
"Most unhappy," the other six of the outer circle said in conjunction.
"He who is mighty and wise has asked us to bring you here and defend your decisions. Decisions we do not like," Nall said.
"Do not like," the others mimicked.
Franklin noticed that the lone figure in the center of the circle, Tuberville, was withdrawing something long and silver from his left sleeve.
"We have been here for a decade. We are Auburn University. We will not let you—"
"Silence!"
Nall visibly flinched and the others assistants took involuntary steps back.
"It is time to begin," Tuberville said. The pygmy elephant was tethered to his left wrist and what Franklin was able to identify as a roman gladius was in his right.
The assistants resumed their original circle formation and started to chant in union:
Our Father in Colonial Bank,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as in Auburn.
Give us today our daily allowance.
Forgive us our failures
as we forgive those who fail us.
Save us from the SEC
and deliver us from Alabama.
For the University, the power, and the victories are yours
now and for ever. Amen.
On Amen, Tuberville slit the elephant's throat. It let out a ragged howl and its trunk flailed like a seizing snake. When the elephant finally died and Franklin was able to look away, he saw that none of the assistants had moved. Several had patches of dark blood on the bottom of their robes and Tuberville looked as if he had spent the day in a slaughterhouse. None seemed to notice. Least of all Tuberville.
"Speak to us, master!" Tuberville yelled as he flung his arms skyward. Franklin followed the gaze of the assistants to the scoredboard. The same Yella Wood commercial was on repeat.
Twenty seconds went by. Franklin started to back up slowly. And then the image changed.
A smallish man with a large smile and dimples framing it like parentheses came on the screen.
Franklin recognized this man. It was Bobby Lowder.
To be continued...
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