by R. W. Ridley
“No kidding,” I whispered to myself.
I flipped the paper over and there was something written on the back. The handwriting matched the chicken scratch on the front.
“Mr. Fish has made inappropriate remarks to many of the children of staff members. He terrified one particular child with stories of a boogeyman who eats the meat of youngsters. This child remarked that Mr. Fish tried to force him off the grounds and into the woods that lay beyond the property. When questioned about these accusations, Mr. Fish grew violent and unruly. Police officers were summoned to escort him to the train station.”
The train station? I thought. Hopefully, they threw him under the train. They didn’t, I know, but I couldn’t believe they’d just let him go. They knew what he was. I found other forms in the folder filled out by Bashir, and they were all neatly written. I read those notes with no problem. The termination form was the only form that was barely legible. I read the note to myself a few more times. He was scared, not of Fish. No, he was scared that a man like Fish could even exist. I took the notebook and termination form and put the folder back in the filing cabinet.
I left the closet and walked. I had no idea where I was going. I just walked and considered the new information carefully. We were at this mansion for a reason. The old gray man had some unfinished business here, and we were here to make sure he didn’t finish it.
I was standing at the entranceway to the fourth floor observatory room before I knew what hit me. I didn’t even recall walking up the stairs. I didn’t even remember exiting the bedroom on the second floor.
My stomach knotted up, and I knew Archie and Billy were nearby. Kimball sauntered into the middle of the room and laid down. He was exhausted. I imagine he had stood watch over me while I visited the Land of the Dead.
I was tired, too, but I couldn’t rest. I was hungry, and being so close to… meat…was driving me crazy. I forgot all about the paper and pen. Leaving Archie and Bobby a note was impossible.
I dropped to one knee and quickly went through the contents of my backpack until I found a long-sleeved shirt. Sitting in a nearby chair, I tied one sleeve to my ankle and the other to a leg of the chair. It wasn’t enough to stop me, but it was enough to slow me down.
“I know you’re in here,” I said. “I can smell you.”
Bobby was the first to step out of the darkness. He stood stiff and nervous. “Where’s the Flish?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Archie stepped out of the same darkness that had concealed Bobby. He was holding the toddler who had once been Tall Boy. “You in bad shape?”
“No,” I said. “I’m much worse than that.”
“The others?” Archie asked.
“We’ve all had better days.” My mouth began to water just looking at them. I closed my eyes. “We’ve made a pact.”
“Yeah,” Archie said, “what kind of pact?”
I snickered. “We’re going to give each other space.”
My two-way radio screeched and Wes’s voice crackled through the small speaker. “Oz? You there? Oz…”
I sighed and clicked to talk. “Go for Oz.”
“Where you been, boy? Lou said we were supposed to check in every hour to let everyone know our locations.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, I forgot. Got a little sidetracked.”
“Pact ain’t no good if everybody don’t follow the same rules,” he answered.
“Couldn’t be helped,” I said.
“Tell me about the pact,” Archie insisted.
I rolled my eyes. “We’re going to stay out of each other’s way and work on a way to get out of here.”
“Flish won’t let you leave,” Bobby said rolling his eyes at me.
I waved him off. Bobby didn’t know me. I could be pretty resourceful when I had to be. I pressed the button and talked to Wes. “I’ve been to the Land of the Dead, Wes.”
There was a long pause before he answered. “Come again.”
“The Land of the Dead,” I said. “I’ve been there.”
“Must not be all bad,” he snickered. “You lived to tell about it.”
“It’s no picnic,” I said. “Listen, the bad guy… The Destroyer, the old guy in the basement, he’s based on a real guy… I mean a real guy from our world.” I paused to let him talk.
“Go on,” he said.
“Albert Fish, he’s sick and twisted. Used to kidnap kids and eat them.”
“Fish? Albert Fish? I know that name… Yeah,” he said excitedly. “Albert Fish. I know him. Know of him anyway. Had an uncle who was obsessed with serial killers. Ol’ Albert had his heyday between World War I and World War II, if I remember right.”
“What else do you know?” I asked.
“Too much. Uncle used to creep me out with stories about that guy. Fish is the reason New Yorkers started locking their doors.”
“He used to write horrible letters to the parents of his victims. Tell them every detail of how their children died. That’s how he got caught… Grace,” he said at the end of a gasp. “She’s the girl. The one in the basement. The one you saw in the second floor bedroom.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Did you know that Fish was here, in the thirties? He worked as a painter.”
There was a pause. “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me. He bragged about eating kids in every state. Claims he got four hundred or so of them.”
What a grand feast, I thought, and then shook the disgusting idea out of my head. “How could he get away with something like that?”
“Simple,” Wes said. “He’d usually kidnap little ones that society didn’t want nothing to do with.”
“What do you mean?”
“Retarded,” I heard little Bobby say.
Wes said, “Kid’s like Nate and Stevie and…”
“And the other Storytellers,” I interrupted.
“That’s right. It was a different time. People would normally institutionalize kids who weren’t… normal. Hide ‘em away. Fish probably thought he was doing everybody a favor.”
I wondered how different it really was. “But Grace wasn’t like Stevie and the others.”
“I said he usually kidnapped the mentally handicapped. He went off script a few times. That’s probably what did him in.”
I watched Archie walk across the room bouncing the Throwaway version of his son in his arms. His attitude about the toddler had changed quite a bit. He was holding him like a father holds his son.
I thanked Wes for the information and tossed aside the radio. As soon as I did, I focused my attention on my hunger and the two meals in the room with me.
“So we’ve got to take down this Flish,” Archie said.
“We don’t have to,” I said. “I do. You, Bobby, and that thing you’re holding need to get on the road while it’s light out.”
“His name is Max,” Bobby smiled.
“That’s right,” Archie said.
I snickered. “Seriously?”
“You got a problem with that?” Archie snapped.
“None of my business,” I said.
“You’re not a father,” he said. “You don’t know.”
I held my hands up to signal my surrender. “Okay, whatever. If you want to pretend that thing is your son, have at it.”
“It’s not a thing!” Archie screamed. “My son is not a thing!”
“Don’t push me, Archie,” I said fighting to keep my calm. If I let go of my anger, one of two things could happen. I could turn full Délon and kill him before he had time to blink, or I could tear his guts out and eat his chewy, delicious insides.
It was his turn to snicker. “Kid, I am older than you and I am Creyshaw. You best not push me.”
I gripped the side of the chair and tried to squeeze the frustration out of me. I didn’t know if I could hold on much longer.
He grunted and sucked in a big deep breath. He slowly let it out. “We need to be working on this thing together, Oz.”
“We
can’t… it’s not safe for you or Bobby. Bobby is all you should be worried about.”
He said, “I got news for you. Ain’t no such thing as safe in this world. You know that saying ‘the devil you know?’ Well, brother, you’re the devil I know. You and the others. I’ll take my chances here. Smart thing for you to do is use me in some way.”
I couldn’t tell him, but he was right. “Suit yourself,” I said untying my leg from the chair. “You want to help. Find out what you can about Albert Fish.”
“Sounds like Wes is your man for that.”
“He knows some, but I need to know more. I’ve got seven days to figure him out.”
“This Land of the Dead,” Archie said. “How do I get there?”
I was about to say that I didn’t know when Bobby jumped in.
“Only the dead can go to the Land of the Dead.”
I furrowed my brow and shook my head. “But I’ve been there, and I’m not dead.”
Bobby looked away.
I stood up and said it more emphatically. “I’m not dead.”
He shrugged. “Dead is dead.”
I looked at Archie hoping he would interpret. He was as confused as I was. “What do you mean, Bobby? Oz isn’t dead. He’s here. He’s alive.”
“I know,” Bobby said as if it was too ridiculous to consider. “But he used to be dead. Once you’re dead, you’re always dead even if you’re alive. That’s what Dr. Bashir told us.”
“I used to be dead?” I said still trying to understand.
“You got caught in a ripcord,” he replied.
“A ripcord?” Archie asked looking at me. This time he wanted me to translate what Bobby was saying.
“A ripcord…” It came to me as the words left my mouth. “Riptide. I got caught in a riptide when I was eleven.” The memory came rushing back to me. “I drowned.”
“You drowned?” Archie said, still not getting it.
“I died. They revived me on the beach. I was dead.” I flopped back down on the chair. “So, I’m the only one who can go to the Land of the Dead…”
“Only the dead can go to the Land of the Dead…” he stopped and turned to Throwaway Max as he cooed. “And the never was. They can go, too.”
“That doesn’t really help me,” I said. “The Throwaways aren’t much help.”
Bobby shrugged.
“Wait a minute,” Archie said moving quickly toward Bobby. “This is a story, isn’t it? Like with Carl and the Myrmidons. This is a story.”
“It’s always a story,” Bobby said.
“Then you know what happens?” Archie asked.
Bobby shook his head. “I was too scared to read the whole thing. I didn’t like it. Sad stuff happens.”
***
We questioned Bobby about the story, but he didn’t have much more to offer. He never would say what the sad stuff was, and I couldn’t press him on it because the more I did, the more frustrated I got. Frustrated was not a good state for me. I told Archie if he wanted to help, he could get Bobby to spill the beans on everything he knew. It was just too risky for me to stick around, so I radioed in and got everyone else’s location. Except Gordy. He wasn’t answering, but I really couldn’t worry about that.
I was confident no one was in the basement. Gordy wouldn’t choose to seclude himself down there. As if I was about to face a firing squad, I slowly made my way down to the main floor with Kimball and stopped in front of the staircase that led down to the basement.
The gray man was down there. He was waiting for me. This was probably his plan all along. Separate us and lure us all down to the basement where he could eat us one by one.
This thought ran through my head as I took the first step and then tumbled all the way down the stairs. I landed with a thud on the floor and heard the sound of metal on metal… like someone was sharpening knives. When I attempted to stand, the world began to spin. I flopped on my back and watched my world turn black.
***
“Detective King,” the stout older man said. “Chief Inspector, actually. Manhattan.”
The man was introducing himself to a young dark-haired uniformed police officer. “Seen your picture in the paper, Detective King. I’m Officer Roland, Perry Roland.”
I was in a police station witnessing the scene like a ghost, just like I always did in The Land of the Dead. The dead boy and I sat on a bench watching the two men talk.
Detective King turned his hat in his hand as he talked. His face was serious and worn. My grandfather would say that he looked as though he was in a never-ending state of unsettled.
“I appreciate you coming all the way to Staten Island, sir,” Officer Roland said.
King cleared his throat. “Following every lead I can on this thing. The Budds have become like family to me.”
“Yeah, well I know this could be a stretch, but…” The younger officer looked almost embarrassed. “A boy went missing here in ’24. Francis McDonnell was his name.”
“I remember. I assisted the dental records when they found the body,” Detective King said. “You think it has something to do with the Budd case?”
“Not me, sir,” the officer said. “The boy’s father… he works at this precinct.”
“The boy’s father is a police officer?” The hardened detective looked like he had just been punched in the stomach.
“Yes, sir, and he won’t give up on the idea. He’s convinced your Mr. Howard is the same man who took his boy.”
“I see,” Detective King said in a way that indicated he was highly skeptical. His face said even more. He thought the father was desperate to find answers and grasping at straws.
“The description does match your suspect,” Officer Roland said. “Older gentleman, mustache, thin.”
“If I remember right, you were looking for a foreigner in this case.”
“Yes, sir. Witness saw the boy with a man speaking in a foreign language. Italian, she thought, but she didn’t know for sure.”
King pursed his lips and picked at some lint on his hat. “Our man’s a red-blooded American. No accent, nothing to indicate he’s a foreigner.”
“I know.” The police officer pulled out a small notepad and handed it to Detective King. “I copied this from the case file.”
Detective King read what was written on the notepad. “What’s this?”
“That’s what the witness said she overheard the man saying.”
“And?”
“It’s not Italian.”
“So, she guessed wrong. It’s Spanish or German or French or some other language. You should take it to a linguist. Still doesn’t have anything to do with the Budd case.”
“I did take it to a linguist.”
“Good,” the detective said putting his hat back on. He was clearly through with this dead end.
“It’s not any language.”
“Then the witness heard it wrong.”
“Maybe,” the police officer said. “But this professor I talked to thought it was something else.”
“Which is?”
“He thinks the woman overheard our suspect speaking in tongues.”
Detective King pushed his hat up and cocked his left eyebrow. “Tongues?”
“Yeah, it’s when real religious folks get worked up and start talking in a language that doesn’t exist… well, on Earth anyway.”
The older detective nodded slowly. “For one who speaks in a tongue does not speak to men but to God; for no one understands, but in his spirit he speaks mysteries.”
“Sir?”
“From the Bible, Officer Perry. First Corinthians.” Detective King was barely participating in the conversation now. He had a faraway look in his eyes. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
“Anyway,” Officer Perry said. “I got to thinking that you don’t have to be a foreigner to speak in tongues. You just got to be super religious. The boy’s father might be onto something if that’s the case. Your guy be could our guy, too.”<
br />
Detective King slowly got out of his head and turned to the younger police officer. “He certainly could, Officer Roland. But I’m afraid that isn’t necessarily good news.”
The officer looked at the detective perplexed. “Why not, sir?”
“Because if you’re right, I am definitely looking for a man who has a history of abducting children. I have a sinking feeling there are many more fathers out there like our fellow officer.”
The detective and the uniformed officer shared a few more bits of information before King shook Roland’s hand and exited the building. The dead boy and I followed him down the street.
“Any time you want to clue me in on how this Land of the Dead thing works, feel free,” I said to my dead companion.
I felt my stomach sink and turn. The young police officer passed through me in a dead sprint.
“Detective King,” the officer called out.
The grizzled old cop turned in his direction.
“One last thing,” the officer said as he reached the detective.
“I’m listening.”
“Your suspect stopped at a newsstand and picked up a package, right?”
The detective nodded. “The newsy said it was a box wrapped in canvas. Howard left it with him before he went to visit the Budds and picked it up with Grace in tow an hour later. Why?”
“Our witness said our suspect had something under his arm. She called it a package, but then changed her mind.”
Detective King shut his eyes momentarily and then let out a sigh. “Called it a package? What do you mean?”
The young officer hesitated as if he didn’t want to answer the detective’s question, but he finally relented. “She called it a package at first, but changed her statement later. The man was dressed like a housepainter, so she assumed it was a small drop cloth folded up and tucked under his arm.”