The Banshee

by Henry P. Gravelle

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember much about Wexford and thought you might be free to act as my tour guide,” he said, sitting back onto the barstool.

  She wore a slight grin as she made a drink for another customer. “Tour guide is it? Okay, I’ll go for that. I am free tomorrow and have nothing planned. Maybe a tour of Hicksville will take all of ten minutes.”

  David wanted to look around town and see if anything familiar might return his memory. Something brought him here and if he found what it was, it might bring back the rest of his memory.

  He smiled as he sipped his beer. Who better to spend the time with than this beautiful creature called Nancy Flanagan?

  “Is ten o’clock all right?” she asked.

  “Great, where can I pick you up?”

  “You just did,” she giggled.

  “Let me rephrase,” he laughed. “Where do you live?”

  “Are you staying with your Uncle?”

  “Yes”

  “I live on Stone Street, two lefts from the end of your street, number twelve.”

  “I’ll be there at ten.” David smiled ear to ear as she went to fill the table order. She looked back at him and smiled.

  “Looks like you did well for yourself, young man,” Carl said.

  “You were listening?”

  “Of course I was. How else is an old geezer going to learn the fine art of picking up young ladies?”

  “I wasn’t trying to pick her up. I thought she might show me...” David stopped when he noticed the smirk of delight on his Uncle’s face. He was not buying his tour guide story one bit. “I swear, just the sights.”

  “Of course, just the sights.” Carl slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to be here…I think.”

  * * * *

  Chief Murphy sat at his desk scanning the latest reports. His thoughts were on the missing child and his wife.

  “Any calls on the Collins girl?” he called out to Keith, busy pouring them both a cup of coffee.

  “Damn!” he stated, spilling some of the hot liquid onto his hand. “Sorry, Chief, nothing about your wife or the Collins girl but another search party is forming on the field. Only one call last night, someone ran over a mail box on Henderson Drive.”

  Murphy shook his head. “Christ, I thought Boston was a high crime area. Did Andy find anything?”

  “He hasn’t come back yet,” Keith said.

  Murphy could see the shape of two horses feeding in the stable.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, walking toward his patrol car parked out front. “Red is back without him.”

  “Think there’s trouble?” Keith went to the window to see the stable for himself.

  “I’m going to the field and get the searchers organized, then look for Andy. Stay here and check with me every fifteen minutes.”

  Murphy left the office, remembering the blood on the bleachers and hoping he would find Andy soon.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning David rang Nancy’s doorbell at exactly ten o’clock. It opened slowly and an older woman appeared. “May I help you?”

  “My name is David. I’m here for Nancy.”

  She smiled. “I’m Betty, Nancy’s mother, please come in.”

  The middle-aged woman called up the stairway, across from the front door, for Nancy then invited David into the adjacent living room. She excused herself to return to the sauce simmering in the kitchen.

  Along the fireplace mantle stood a number of photographs of Nancy, displayed in various poses and frames. David admired the skill of the photographer in capturing her attractive eyes. Even on film, they were hypnotic.

  “Hello,” said a voice. David thought for an instant the image in the photograph had spoken, then realized Nancy was behind him.

  “Do you like it?” She nodded toward the photograph.

  “Very beautiful,” he answered.

  “Well, what did you have in mind?” She shrugged, wondering.

  “I’d like to get reacquainted with the town. It has been awhile since I was here last. I was hoping to remember some of Wexford.”

  “Having trouble with your memory?”

  Her eyes caught his and held them. He thought of looking away but could not; they were holding his in some kind of sensuous vice. He shook his head, breaking the contact and thought of the coincidence of her mentioning his memory loss of late.

  “Not really. It has been a long time since I was in Wexford. I recall a few places my dad showed me when I was young,” David said.

  “When was the last time you visited your Uncle?” she asked.

  “I can’t recall…”

  “Are you sure?”

  For some arcane reason, David felt she knew he had been in town recently. It was probably a carry-over from what he felt on the bus, the sensation of déjà vu.

  “Positive,” he replied, knowing he was not.

  Nancy took hold of his hand and led him to the kitchen door. They said goodbye to her mother, slowly stirring a steaming pot at the stove. The wonderful garlic scent followed them outside. They entered the car David borrowed from his Uncle with a promise to fill the tank. Turning the key, he brought it to life.

  Nancy sat kitty corner with one arm along the top of the seat and the other along the open window. The lettering on her tee shirt read SKI BUM, distorted by the bulk and curvature of her braless form beneath, with faded jeans cut to expose her long legs to the summer sun. They drove from her house headed for nowhere in particular.

  “Are you a ski bum?” he asked as they passed Whiting Field. She laughed, looking down at her chest.

  “I guess it’s just a hidden desire to ski in New Hampshire. You know, lessons with a handsome Nordic instructor named Eric or Leif, fireside romance, the whole thing.”

  Nancy had a faraway look in her dangerously beautiful eyes. She seemed lost elsewhere, somewhere she yearned to be, somewhere other than Wexford. She returned to the conversation.

  “I never seem to have time, something always comes up. How about you, do you ski?”

  “Are you kidding? I have trouble walking, never mind sliding down a mountain on a piece of wood.”

  She laughed and asked, “How about your parents, still living?”

  Small portions of his past seemed allowed into David’s memory, as if there were a valve letting only certain aspects of his history seep through. He spoke as he remembered, with eyes transfixed somewhere out the windshield, but the blurry images were all he focused on.

  “I have to be honest, Nancy. I am having trouble remembering anything about my past and I don’t know why.”

  “Really?” She turned to face him and held his hand. “Is it something your Uncle could help you with?”

  “I don’t know, maybe…I mean, I vaguely recall my parents. They were both from Wexford, married at an early age, then my father wanted to find his fortune working the rail yards in Brooklyn. I was born there.”

  “In the rail yard…?”

  Her humor lightened the atmosphere and slackened the uncomfortable sense they both shared. They both laughed.

  “In Brooklyn…”

  “And your sign is?” she asked.

  He blinked several times bringing her question to mind. He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t even remember my birthday.”

  “That’s bad, are you sure you didn’t bump your head or something?”

  “No, I’m sure I didn’t,” he answered, running his fingers along his scalp searching for an unknown abrasion.

  “Are your folks still in Brooklyn?”

  “They’re both dead.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. Something I would lik
e to forget but seem to remember. One afternoon a priest and a man from the railroad came to our second floor apartment above the A&P.”

  David’s eyes welled. He turned his face from Nancy while continuing. “It scared me when they talked to my mother in a low monotone. She sobbed softly for a while, then the tears turning into loud cries of anguish that caused her to fall back into a chair. The priest knelt, whispering into her ear. She collected herself as best she could, sobbed, looked at me and burst into tears again.

  “The next day she poured half a bottle of Jim Beam into her gut to raise enough courage to tell me there was an accident at the train yard and my father was dead. My mother tried to go on but it was hard to keep a decent job, pay the bills, and raise a son.

  “She sought solace from a bottle, and her whiskey-soaked brain failed to negotiate a turn. The car veered off the road, landing upside down in a tidal basin pinning her inside, where she drowned.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nancy placed a hand on his shoulder.

  They remained quiet for a few minutes until David broke the silence. “I met your mom, how about your dad?”

  “My father died before I was born,” she answered.

  “Now I’m sorry. It’s a shame you never got to know him.”

  “I feel as though I did. My mother talks of him often. She says he was a prince of a guy.”

  The car passed grazing cattle scattered about a dairy field with sweeping grasses, daisies and fluttering ringlet butterflies. David enjoyed the peaceful vista and the serenity of the area. They continued their trek along the back roads, taking them on a wide circle of Wexford.

  “I feel trapped in this town, nowhere to go, no hope for a future. I hope someday to visit New York. Turn left here,” she said.

  David turned onto yet another back road. “You may feel trapped here but it’s a hell of a lot better than city living.” He frowned at his own statement, wondering how he would have known that. “I wouldn’t move out, I’d move here.”

  “I wasn’t planning on moving, just visit.”

  “I don’t think you can get an accurate picture of city life in only a few days.”

  “I’ll never know until I go,” she replied.

  He shrugged, believing Nancy knew more about the subject than he did since any recollection of city life was far removed from his imagination. He spotted a burnt, weather beaten house and changed the subject. “What’s that place?”

  “The old Johnson farm, for sale if you’re interested; plenty of land but the house was destroyed in a fire, the barn needs a lot of work also.”

  “Can we have a look?” David asked, already turning the car into the long dusty drive to the burned structure.

  The two buildings were in terrible condition. The barn across the yard from the house lacked its doors and many wood planks were damaged or missing from its walls. The red paint had faded to a shade of rust, with most of the roof shingles simply gone.

  The wood siding on the house retained its white color painted many years before. A gaping black hole from the fire exposed most of the structure to the elements reminding David of a decayed tooth.

  They stepped carefully over the fallen front door. Half lay on the porch, half into the front hallway. The staircase leading up to the bedrooms was badly damaged with a single remaining post connected the railing. Wallpaper hung in strips from the living room walls where they stopped by the fireplace. The stones of the hearth were blacked and chipped, soot fanned out, covering the flooring and debris.

  “There’s something dripping from the flue.” David knelt and touched the damp ashes. “Blood.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” Nancy looked nervous.

  “I want to see what’s up there.” David strained his neck to look into the chimney. With a piece of wood, he poked at the flue striking something solid.

  Twirling the wood around the blockage, David prodded and tugged at the object until it slid down from the flue. Both jumped back staring in disbelieve at the mutilated body of a police officer.

  * * * *

  Murphy’s radio came to life. “Chief?”

  “What is it?” Murphy answered, driving past the gas station on route eight.

  “I have Nancy Flanagan and the doc’s nephew here. They say they found Andy.” Keith’s voice crackled through the patrol cars radio receiver.

  “Thank God,” Murphy said, relieved. “Where the hell was he?”

  The radio crackled but remained silent as Keith squeezed the transmitter button, unable to tell Murphy the bad news.

  “What is it?” Murphy called on the radio.

  Keith answered, “They say Andy is dead.”

  Nancy and David stood across the room awaiting Murphy’s reply.

  Murphy’s voice quietly asked, “Where?”

  “At the old Johnson farmhouse…” Keith replied.

  “Pick up the doc and meet me there, bring those two,” Murphy ordered.

  “You heard him.” Keith dialed the doctor’s phone. “As soon as I contact the doc we’ll head out there.”

  When the patrol car arrived, they found Chief Murphy already at the scene, sitting on the front stairs with his head in his hands.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Carl said, opening the car door.

  “Is it, Andy?” Keith asked Murphy as the group approached.

  “Yeah, what’s left of him,” Murphy sighed, troubled at the death of his officer and friend. The doctor walked back onto the porch after viewing the body.

  “What could have done that, doc?” asked Murphy.

  “I wish I had an answer. Right now I am as stunned as you.”

  Murphy took out a large black plastic bag from his car’s trunk and brought it back to the house.

  “I’ll bring him to your office. I want a full report as soon as possible,” Murphy said to Carl as they both placed Andy’s remains into the bag.

  Nancy and David left the house and stood by the barn.

  “Did you know him?” David asked her.

  “I’ve seen him around. He was okay, I guess. I think he had a girlfriend in Plymouth named after a month, May or June, something like that. Once in a while he would show up at Kelly’s for a few beers.”

  They watched Murphy and Keith carry the black bag with the body of their comrade. Placing the bag into the back seat, Murphy turned to Keith.

  “Take him to the doc’s. I’m staying here for a while, I want to look around.”

  Keith looked ashen as he drove off, leaving a dusty cloud along the dirt road. Murphy slowly walked back into the house.

  “Do you hear anything?” David asked, cocking his head. Nancy listened for a moment. “It sounds like buzzing.”

  David walked into the old barn, following the sound. It became louder as he neared the last empty horse stall. A rain barrel stood by the back wall, a dark cloud of flies swarmed above it. Grasping the handle of a wooden rake, he stretched to the barrel, hooking the rake’s tines onto the rim. He pulled tipping the gory contents onto the floor. David immediately vomited then ran to the house.

  Murphy was kneeling on the ash-covered hearth looking into the flue, trying to imagine the force required to lodge a full-grown man into the narrow soot airway when he heard David’s shouts.

  “In here,” he stood, brushing off his pant legs.

  “Chief…!” David cried out, “in the barn!”

  “The barn…?”

  “The missing child,” David struggled to say, his stomach churning, his breath baited.

  The Chief ran past Nancy at the barn door, her hand tight over her mouth.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Murphy gasped, then turned to vomit. David also gagged then left to be with Nancy. Murphy went to his car for another black bag, shaking his head as he did.

  �
�What was in the barrel?” asked Nancy.

  “The missing girl. Something terrible happened to her and that cop. They weren’t just murdered, they were torn apart.”

  David looked around at the fire-destroyed building, an uneasy sensation churning in his stomach. “Did you ever have the feeling you were being watched?”

  Nancy shrugged and walked toward the car. David scanned the yard once again then joined her, never noticing the large cloven prints embedded into the earth along the fence.

  Chapter Eleven

  The doctor approached Andy’s remains on the stainless steel examination table and began to remove the tattered pieces of uniform that clung to the wounds. He looked briefly at the torn chest cavity and wondered who or what could have done that, or why?

  Carl remembered back when Calvin Peters was torn open by a bear he surprised going through the garbage. His wounds were not as ferocious. Calvin lived to tell about it. The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Murphy was holding another black bag.

  “I just started the exam, come on in.” Carl motioned with a wave of his hand for Murphy to enter.

  Murphy carried the bag to the oversize sink and placed it in. “When you’re finished with Andy you can start on the Collins girl.”

  “Is that her?

  Murphy nodded.

  “Where did you find her?”

  “Your nephew did, in a rain barrel inside the barn; a fly-infested goddamn barrel.”

  “Same condition as Andy, I suppose,” Carl assumed.

  “Worse.”

  “I’ll do my best and as quickly as possible. I have a pot of coffee in the kitchen if you want to wait?”

  “Thanks, I could use a cup right about now,” Murphy said walking from the examination room in the rear of the house to the adjoining kitchen. He poured himself a large mug of black and hot coffee. He sipped it, allowing the liquid melt away the tension in almost every muscle of his body.

  It seemed as though he had just sat down when he realized he had poured his third cup and the afternoon quickly became evening. He went back to the exam room and found Carl by the sink washing his hands. On the examination table laid two forms covered by a single white sheet with growing red stains at different places.