by Jay Bower
Sara sipped her tea silently as she nodded and listened attentively to Meagan.
Meagan stopped herself. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sara. I didn’t mean to go on like that. I don’t often get adult company. It’s usually just Noah and me. I apologize.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Sara said. She lightly touched Meagan’s hand as it rested on the table between them. “It’s all right. I understand where you’re coming from. Ever since Eric’s father left me a couple years ago, I’ve been starved for adult company. You go right on talking.”
Meagan flashed a quick grin. “I guess there’s more in common between us than I realized.” She raised a glass to Sara.
“To friendship,” Meagan said. They giggled as they clinked their glasses.
“And to many more playdates,” Sara replied. They both took a big swig of tea as they watched the boys play in the yard.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PATRICK, MEAGAN, AND NOAH finally settled into Brownsville. Patrick was hired as an officer for the Brownsville Police Department in early June, and the new position in the small town suited him well. His boss, Chief Steve Wayne, took him under his wing and showed him around, introducing him to many key local figures, and establishing the hot zones for Patrick to be aware of. All in all, he couldn’t have been happier with the job. It reinforced his identity as an officer of the law and helped him ease back into it after the shooting.
Meagan connected with a few old friends and even had book club meetings at their house once a month. She and Sara Kline, Eric’s mother, got along extremely well, and quickly became good friends.
Noah and Eric grew close and shared in all kinds of outdoor adventures. He rarely touched his Xbox anymore, finding nature full of more adventures than he’d ever imagined. They settled into a cozy life, the kind Meagan dreamed of and Patrick needed after his rough years in East St. Louis.
Luckily for them, Noah hadn’t had any more episodes like the one he’d had when they’d first arrived. Whatever happened didn’t have any lasting effects on Noah, though Patrick still thought about it from time to time. He, more than Meagan, worried about his son’s mental health. He wanted to reinforce his relationship with Noah and worried the formative years when Meagan homeschooled him were more detrimental than helpful. He knew a couple people who were homeschooled and though they were smart, they exhibited some social awkwardness. And with him working so much, Patrick felt more than a little guilty for not being the stabilizing force he should have been for his son. He had a chance now to rebuild that, and he would try his best.
Patrick got stuck working the overnight shift. As the new guy in the department, he had to prove himself even though he had experience, and all new hires got the pleasure of working overnights. It didn’t bother him too much; he hadn’t run the graveyard shift in a while, and he found it to be the best way to get to know his new territory without much interference from traffic and daytime activity. Back in East St. Louis, he hated the overnight shift. At first it seemed okay, but as time went on, it became the shift everyone wanted out of. The worst of the worst happened then.
He got to spend the nights with Benny Crawshaw, an officer who’d been around for at least one hundred years. Benny had lost his wife about ten years back and had reached retirement age even before then. Since her death, he had nothing else to do with his time. He volunteered to work the overnights, as a kind gesture to the younger officers. He claimed he didn’t sleep well at night anyway, but most everyone thought he used it as an excuse to not think about his wife in his lonely home. Their two children had moved away from Brownsville a long time ago. He said they didn’t want to spend their lives in a forsaken small town that was wasting away when the world existed beyond it. They ran as fast as they could as soon as they could. Benny’s family went way back in Brownsville history. He claimed ancestry all the way to the founding. According to him, one of his ancestors, William Nolan, had actually lived through the horrible winter of Brownsville’s founding. Nathaniel Browne almost lost everything he had, and Benny felt a deep need to serve the town with his own life. His children didn’t see it that way. In fact, he hadn’t talked to them in years.
“So, Benny, how is that someone with your family history doesn’t get out of the police life and write a book or something?” Patrick asked. They were on patrol, running through old country lanes known as frequent stops for meth makers. Patrick had yet to find any since he joined the department, but the chief and every officer all swore he’d come across it sooner rather than later.
The dark night seemed still and quiet, except for the occasional owl hooting or a creature scurrying along in the brush. The full moon didn’t give any light, as clouds scattered across the sky and added to the darkness. They turned down a small road that would eventually lead them back to town.
“I don’t write, Patrick. Hell, I barely like to read. I know my family’s story because of my parents and aunts and uncles, not through reading; that’s for sure. I’ve passed down what I know to my kids, but it’s been so long. God knows if they remember any of it. They were so anxious to get out of here. They may have decided to run from that as well.” He peered at Patrick with cold grey eyes, his white hair framing his aged face. Despite all the health warnings, Benny always had a wad of chew stuck in his mouth. He said his wife used to hate it, but since her death, he didn’t care anymore and constantly had it on him. He spit in his old soda cup from earlier in their shift and set it back in the cup holder. Patrick smelled the minty scent of the chew. He thought it was disgusting. He curled up his nose and turned to gaze out the open window, idly scanning the fields and trees for a faint flicker of light or anything out of the ordinary.
“Well, you should write it down, Benny. It would make a great book. I already know way too much of the history myself. I’d like it to be the burden of someone else now,” Patrick said. He gave Benny a soft punch on the arm.
“You kid, Patty,” he said to Patrick. Patrick hated the nickname, but who would argue with a man who was older than Methuselah?
“But I swear to you, my family’s history is tied up with this town. With this land. We’ve been here for a long time now and I’m the last of ‘em. My kids dropped the ball on their legacy.” He picked up the cup and spit into it again, a long strand of saliva stretching from the cup to his mouth. He wiped it away absently. Patrick wished Benny smoked instead of chewed. The whole process irked him. He turned back to look out the window, wanting nothing more than morning to come so he could crawl into his nice soft bed.
Without warning, their car crashed into something solid. Both men jerked forward, then back in their seats as Benny slammed on the brakes. “What the hell!” Benny exclaimed.
“What?” Patrick replied. Benny threw the shifter to park. They looked around and saw nothing in the fields, so they unbuckled and got out of the car. Patrick’s chest throbbed where the seatbelt cut across his scar. They walked to the front of the car to a bloody mess.
Off to the side of the dirt road was a decapitated deer. Blood oozed from the stump at its neck.
“How the hell did that get here?” Patrick asked. “I didn’t see anything around us.” He pulled out his flashlight and scanned the fields to either side of the car. The fields were nothing but tall grass. He didn’t see any trees or shrubs.
“I didn’t either, Patty. How do you suppose it got here without its head? You see it anywhere around?” The old man chuckled to himself.
Patrick looked at the grass. He didn’t find a head, or bloody trails, or any sign of it being there. He came back to the car, the headlights shining over the dead deer. Benny bent over it, inspecting the flesh around the neck. “It’s jagged, like something ripped it off. See here?” He pointed to the gaping, gory hole. Muscles and tendons were ripped at irregular distances. If a blade had been used, it would be more uniform with clean edges, but from what Patrick saw, it was anything but. Not being a hunter, he didn’t know what exactly to look for, though.
; “I guess, Benny. What do you think? We got any kind of animals that would do that? Meagan said she used to hunt for Bigfoot around here when she was a girl.” Benny dismissed his joke with a wave of his hand.
Suddenly the deer’s back legs kicked.
“Watch out, Benny!” Patrick said. “What the—” he managed to say as the legs kicked and convulsed. A howl in the distance made Patrick’s blood curdle. It was like nothing he’d ever heard in his life. He couldn’t put an animal with the sound; it had an inhuman quality about it, as though it came from some awful horror movie. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up at attention.
“Benny, what is that?” he asked. Another louder howl sounded, followed by more as several creatures stalked, unseen, in the darkness. The howls had a sinister note to their pitch; definitely not animal, and still nothing he imagined as human.
He thought maybe a wolf, but the deep tones sounded off to him. The howls continued, louder and closer than before. Patrick couldn’t pinpoint their direction, and that worried him. He unhooked the strap on his gun, ready to put down whatever was howling. He’d dealt with rude and obnoxious people in the city, but being in the middle of nowhere with strange things happening caught him off guard.
Benny looked at Patrick with wide white eyes. Patrick didn’t think anything could shake the old man. Benny spit out the wad of chew and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Patrick heard wet squirming come from the deer, as though thousands of worms were fighting amongst themselves for the last bit of food. He knew Benny heard it, too, as he turned from the bloody corpse on the ground to Patrick.
“Patrick, we’d better get out of here. Now,” Benny said.
“Why? What is it? Shouldn’t we go check it out?” Patrick asked. Not that he really wanted to wander in the fields in the dark, but they should do something.
The squirming noise grew more pronounced. He thought he saw the deer’s body move slightly.
“Patrick,” Benny said, his voice low and slower, emphasizing each word, “get in the car now. I’m not messing around with you, boy. Get in now. We need to leave.”
Patrick stood dumbfounded.
“Did you hear me, Patty?” Benny growled. “I said get in the car. We’re leaving.” Benny slid in the driver’s seat and Patrick scurried to the passenger’s side and closed the door. Benny turned the engine over and slammed on the gas, the car thumping over the deer and screeching off in the darkness.
“Do you mind telling me what the hell happened back there?” Patrick asked. Benny stared straight ahead, eyes focused on the road.
“I do mind. Just you remember, Patty, you hear those howls, you get out of there quick. You hear me? Don’t think nothing about it and go. Fast. You got it? Don’t investigate or try to find it. Just go!” Perspiration glistened on Benny’s forehead, white knuckles gripped the steering wheel.
“What are you—” Patrick started. Benny turned to him, his eyes wide and jumpy.
He raised a hand, pointing at Patrick. “I said you leave it! Don’t go messing with it.”
He turned to the road and drove them back to town, and they finished their shift in awkward silence. Their last hour together was one of the longest Patrick had ever had on the job. He didn’t want to rile up the old man any more than he already had, so he left their encounter alone. They didn’t report that stop in the early hours of the morning.
Later that day, after Patrick had forced himself to sleep with the help of a couple pills, he drove back to the road where they’d hit the deer and heard that soul-quaking howl and the weird, squishy sound. He pulled off to the side of the road. The sun was hot, and bugs swarmed him as soon as he got out of the air-conditioned comfort of his car. He inspected all around and didn’t find any trace of blood. The deer, which they’d hit twice, might as well have been a figment of his imagination. There was no sign of it. He knew approximately where it should have been. He walked up and down the road for about fifty yards, just in case he’d misjudged the spot, but still nothing. He stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the dusty road. He thought for sure the bugs would be swarming all over it, but there was no trace of a bloody deer carcass anywhere. He scratched his head, wondering if he’d made it all up, thinking of Noah at his grandparents’ house. He turned back toward his car and walked slowly, swatting mosquitoes away. Confused, he got into his car and drove back to town.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BEFORE LONG, BROWNSVILLE geared up for its annual Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza. Meagan, Patrick, and Noah were used to the large pyrotechnic displays in St. Louis synched to music where tens of thousands of people were gathered. Noah’s excitement grew as the day drew closer, especially since he and Eric planned to sit together at the park for the fireworks show. It seemed like a great idea to Meagan and Sara, too. Patrick would be on duty that night, as almost the entire department and the sheriff’s department were called in to keep order with such large crowds expected.
The Fourth of July show in Brownsville, the largest in the county, drew the most crowds. The day of the Fourth hung thick and heavy. Meagan’s hair had stuck to her forehead all day long, and as the sun slipped into the horizon, the heat was relentless.
She met Sara at the park and picked out a nice level spot to lay out the blankets and picnic baskets. They brought sandwiches, chips, and baby carrots and cucumbers, much to Noah’s dismay. He wanted some junk food, but Meagan insisted they bring something healthy. The town sprang for a local band to play as the sun drifted down. The music was wonderful and the laughter of the children reminded Meagan why she wanted to come back so badly. She missed the hominess of small-town life. She liked that you could sit next to someone at the park and then recognize them later at the grocery store.
She and Sara chatted, lounging on the blanket, always keeping a watchful eye on the boys.
“So, Meagan, Noah tells me he really enjoys it here,” Sara said.
“Yeah, I think this has been a wonderful change for him. I think moving here has been the best thing we could’ve ever done for us,” Meagan replied.
“Yeah? How is it for you and Patrick? He seems to have a pretty good reputation going.”
“Thank you, Sara. Yeah, things are great. He is a lot less stressed out these days. He’s nothing like the man he used to be. I can’t get enough of him now. Although…”
“You miss the nights, don’t you?” Sara asked. She winked at Meagan and nudged her arm.
Meagan giggled. “Yeah, I do miss those. But…it’s for the best. We make do.” She took a bite of a carrot and looked around for the boys. Alarm came over her when she didn’t spot them in the crowd.
“Sara, where are the boys? Did you see where they went?” She stood, scanning the crowd.
“No, I thought they were right over there,” she said, pointing to a large boulder near an old elm tree about fifty feet ahead of them.
“Stay here. I’m going to look,” Meagan said. “Keep your phone handy. Call me if they show up.” She hurried toward the rock.
Reaching the spot, she scanned the area, calling their names. “Noah! Eric! Where are you? Come out here at once!” She called and called, but no reply. She grew frantic and scoured the park, going from one group of people to another, calling out their names.
“Noah! Eric!”
Her phone buzzed in her hand. “Are they there?” she answered.
“No, I wanted to check and see if you found them yet. Meagan, I’m starting to get worried. They’ve been gone for half an hour already. They—”
The music of the band drowned her out. “What? I can’t hear you. What did you say?” Meagan yelled into her phone. The patriotic sounds of Battle Hymn of the Republic blared through the speakers and she lost whatever Sara was trying to tell her. She hung up the phone and kept looking.
She dialed Patrick’s number. At first it went to voicemail, so she tried again. He picked it up on the first ring.
“Hello, dear. What
can I do for you?” he answered with a suave, suggestive tone in his voice.
“Patrick,” she said not playing along, “the boys are gone. I can’t find them. Sara doesn’t know where they are, either. I need you, Patrick.”
Quickly, he went into the mode of Officer O’Shea. He said, “I’ll be right over. Where are you?”
“I’m in the back of the crowd near the wooden fence with the Stay Off the Grass sign.”
“I can’t see you, but I’ll make my way over. Stay there,” he said and hung up. Within moments, he found her. The band kicked into another song, this time an old Bruce Springsteen tune that brought the crowd to its feet.
“Patrick, I’m worried. They were playing just over there,” she pointed toward the boulder, “and then they were gone. It couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty minutes, if that long.”
“It’s okay, Meg. I’ll find them.” He pulled the microphone off his shirt and pressed the button. “All units, this is ten-fifty-one. We have two missing boys. Both are ten years old. Eric Smith, 4 feet 8 inches, with brown hair, and Noah O’Shea, 4 feet 7 inches, with light brown hair. Last seen just about forty minutes ago near the large boulder in the center of the park.”
“Copy that, ten-fifty-one. Patrick, is that your boy?” Dispatch said over the microphone.
Patrick closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, one of them is mine. Be on the lookout. Both are wearing grey t-shirts with an American flag on them,” he replied.
He let go of the button and turned to Meagan. “What happened? Why weren’t you watching him? I’ve got this entire crowd to look after. I don’t need the department searching for my own son!”