"Hold on, Gerry, old son," he muttered, pressing forward into the wind. "I'm coming. Just a little longer…"
Caught up in the violent wind, the stream of smoke from the incense soon filled the front of the cavern, and began to flow quickly to the rear. When it reached the two gangsters they jerked, then shuddered as if galvanized. Their bony jaws opened to emit a weird, ululating wail and Martin walked forward through air suddenly still once more.
"Joseph Minotti, Ezra Ellis, in the name of all that is holy, I abjure thee begone from this earth to thine eternal rest!" he cried in strident tones.
The old Gaelic prayer rose in his mind.
"Deep peace of the running wave to you…"
Their skeletal forms seemed to melt and flow…
"Deep peace of the flowing air to you…"
…revealing two frightened and confused young men, coughing violently as the incense grew thicker in the air with Martin's approach. The toothpick fell from Minotti's mouth to the floor.
"Deep peace of the quiet earth to you…"
They flung their arms up in front of their faces and screamed…
"Deep peace of the shining stars to you…"
Their figures wavered and swam like a mirage…
"Deep peace of the gentle night to you, now, and forever more…"
The gangsters flickered, faded, and vanished.
Martin sighed. "Blessed be!"
* * * *
"There's no way I can report any of this!" Pete growled some time later.
The others had moved tentatively into the cave at Martin's call, and were looking around in the forlorn hope of finding any changes. All was as it had been.
"Yeah, me neither," Sheriff Lacon said. He sounded groggy, and reached up to touch the large bump on his forehead. Then he looked at the distant figure of Bruce. "Don't know how we're going to explain what happened to him!"
The resort owner was sitting hunched on an upturned crate in the cave mouth, staring blankly at the ground by his feet. Claudia knelt beside him. She caught the sheriff's look and shook her head.
"Away with the fairies," Martin said with regret. "What he saw in there must have flipped his mind. He was smack in the middle of it all."
Doug grinned and held up his notepad. "It's still great copy for me!"
"Do you think people will believe you?" Pete grunted, giving the journalist a nasty look.
"I can damn well make them try," Doug responded defiantly. He turned to Martin. "Why were those ghosts here anyway?"
"I think it may have been my fault, indirectly," Martin admitted. "They must have been caught in a kind of limbo, somewhere between here, where they forced Cutie-Boy to kill Gerry, and the diner, where they met their deaths. When I touched that photograph, I inadvertently opened the interface between that limbo and this world. Those two emerged and sprang back here. Jack Minotti stayed in the photo until I released him."
"You want to write that up, Mr. Kenyon?" Pete grunted. "On your head be it, pal." He turned to the aircraft and stacked unused crates to form a step alongside the Spartan. "Let's take a look in here. It's what we came for."
Climbing up he peered inside the cockpits one at a time, his flashlight flickering through the holes in the fabric. "Helluva a mess in here," he said, his voice muffled as he leaned further in. The airframe gave a warning creak under his weight and he leaned back. "It might be easier if we cut our way in through the side."
Sheriff Lacon produced a large clasp knife and offered it to the agent. Pete turned his attention to the fuselage, selected a spot where a number of holes had already weakened the doped fabric, and began to cut. Within a few moments a flap of fabric had curled downward and he reached inside to work on the crates. An industrious few minutes passed as he cut the still-tough remains of the tarpaulin, his sawing the only sound to be heard above their breathing. Then Pete gave a grunt of triumph.
Drawing back, he stepped down from the crates and held up a flat, boxy shape, heavily wrapped in yet more tarpaulin. "Gentlemen, I think we have a result!" he cried.
Setting the object on a crate, he swiftly cut through the protective wrapper to expose a flat wooden box, still sound and whole thanks to the cover. There was a clasp with a small padlock on the front. Pete prized open the clasp with the knife and opened the lid. Lacon shone his flashlight inside. Brightly printed sheets of paper lay within.
"Treasury Bonds!" Pete said, rolling the words around as if savoring the taste.
"What'll I do about the booze?" Lacon asked, shining his torch over to the whiskey.
Pete glanced at him. "Call in the ATF; keep it; drink it; give it away; auction it for charity. I leave that entirely up to you, Sheriff." Pete stroked the top sheet tenderly with a fingertip. "These bonds are far more important than anything else here."
"I don't think so," Martin said quietly. Pete gave him a hard look and Martin gestured at the spirits of the pilot and the farmer's son, who stood quietly watching. "Where are your remains, gentlemen?" he asked gently.
Gerry looked around. "Over here, Marty," he said, pointing.
John Gottlieb nodded. "Me too."
Slowly, the spirit from the sky walked towards the back of the cave and squatted down.
"Sheriff? Pete?" Martin called. "Could you bring your flashlights over here, please?" Pete and Lacon came over, the bright spots of light dancing on the floor as they moved. "Shine the light over there, gentlemen," Martin directed, pointing to Gerry.
Claudia came up with the officer and quietly took Martin's hand. The beams swept along the cave floor, stopped, settled. Martin heard Lacon take a sharp intake of breath. There in the light lay a scattering of bones, yellow and green with age and rot. Small pieces of material clung to them in parts, all color long since leached from the fabric. That and a handful of corroded lumps which might once have been buckles and studs formed the remnant of what, with imagination, could have been a set of overalls—and a flying helmet.
Martin cleared his throat. "Sheriff, I believe these to be the remains of Gerry Maguire, a pilot from Albany. Somewhere here you'll also find the remains of one John Gottlieb, of Gottlieb's Farm, Gainesville."
John Gottlieb's spirit moved to hover over the bones. With a grateful look at Martin and Claudia, he faded from sight.
Gerry looked at them with a sad smile. "I'll be seein' ya, fellers!" he said.
Then he, too, faded into the bones.
Epilogue
Albany, New York State
5 Months later
A gentle breeze blew over the height, stirring the scent of new growth from the trees that stood amidst the quiet gravestones in the cemetery on the edge of town. The funeral party stood at the graveside as the burial service was read out by the priest, the ancient words of the liturgy rolling in sonorous tones from his lips.
Martin had heard the words a few times in his life and was able to let his attention wander elsewhere. Claudia's hand was warm in his, and he felt love for her, and contentment of a job well done. Gerry stood beside him on his right, his eyes never leaving the face of the sprightly elderly woman standing next to the priest at the head of the grave.
"Look at my girl," he said softly. "Isn't she beautiful? I can see Sally in her."
Martin nodded and smiled in recollection. He'd accompanied the detective from the city force when they paid a call on Josephine Maguire Morgan. The elderly lady had wept tears of joy when the news of the discovery of her father's remains had been broken to her. He'd seen her whole story in her face. All the long years of her life had been filled with growing up, marrying; working through wartime and peace to raise a family; her mother then her brother dying. All the years spent, never knowing what had happened to her father. Now she was older than her father had ever been.
Gerry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Her face may be lined and her hair may be gray, Marty, but to me, she's still the little girl I left behind back in 1929."
"She's a lovely woman, Gerry," he said quietly, trying not to
draw attention to the conversation. "You must be proud."
"I am. And look at her kids!"
Josephine's children stood beside her; a middle-aged man and woman, with their older children present with them to witness the interment of the grandfather they'd only heard of in family legend. Martin smiled inwardly. They all looked mildly baffled, even as they were impressed by the solemnity of the occasion.
Their Grandmother Sally's grave had been opened, her remains carefully removed and placed in a new coffin with those of her husband. They would lie together now, with a new headstone to mark their final union.
The final words were uttered, the coffin lowered into the grave, and Josephine stepped forward, supported by her son, to cast the first earth. Suddenly a beam of sunlight shone down from the heavens, illuminating Gerry alone, enfolding him in a warm radiance. Gerry turned his face to the sky, a pure blue cloudless vault, and his smile was almost as bright as the sun. "Hi, Sally!" he called. "I'm coming, doll!" He turned and his hand rested briefly on Martin and Claudia's shoulders. "Thanks for everything, folks. If you ever need help, call on me." He winked. "Only not too soon, hey?"
"We will, Gerry," Claudia murmured.
"Good luck, old son," Martin said with a smile.
Gerry turned his face back to the heavens. "Sure is a beautiful day to fly!" he said with a broad smile and faded slowly away, finally at peace.
The End
About the Author:
A native of the County of Norfolk, England, Adrian (44) attended a school in a village right on the North Sea coast before moving on to further studies at college and university. After an early career in the leisure/tourism industry, he worked in the Inland Revenue and local government, before starting his own courier business.
His hobbies include history and archaeology, science and technology, and he has traveled in Britain, the USA, Canada, Hungary and France. He lives within a stone's throw of the beach with his two adorable dogs, Ellie and Suzy.
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