The Banshee (10 page)

David reached his Uncle's home and burst into the kitchen where the Chief and doctor peered over a map of Wexford.

“Damn it…Didn't we ask you not to do that? You scared the be-Jesus out of us,” Murphy's said, his hand instinctively reaching for his revolver.

David stood still. “I just came from Mrs. Toomey's. She's been torn apart like the others. It must have just happened…the house is hot as an oven.”

“Good God.” Carl lowered his head.

Murphy stood. “Come on, doc.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Toomey house, I need to look around. We may find something useful.”

“This is insane, Chief. How many more are going to die before we stop this madness?” Carl asked.

“We'll stop this thing. It has some connection with the river, perhaps staying near the grave. We'll begin our search there tomorrow,” Murphy replied.

Murphy returned to the map spread across the kitchen table and used a pencil to pin point the Johnson farm and southern slope of the heights. “At day break I want to begin looking in this area by the base of the heights.”

“We won't get cars in there,” Carl pointed out.

“We'll get horses from Toby's farm,” Murphy said.

Carl and Murphy went to the door, Carl patted David on the shoulder, “Get some rest, we'll see you in the morning.”

“Be careful,” David said. Carl smiled reassuringly.

“Get all the rest you can. I need you tomorrow, we have a lot of people to round up,” Murphy said, closing the door.

When David and his Uncle entered the police office the next morning, Murphy was at his desk, boots propped upon the blotter, clutching a steaming cup of coffee. After their visit to the destroyed Toomey residence and removal of the body, the Chief mentioned he was going home. Instead, he went to the police office and relieved Keith, then spent the night at the office.

He appeared to have stayed up all night. His blue eyes had little sparkle, instead were a hazy aquamarine with a dark shadow of facial hair on his face. The restful appearance of yesterday had disappeared and the fatigued look was back.

“Couldn't sleep either?” Carl asked, also having had a restless night.

Murphy stood and yawned. “Are you kidding, with that thing running around?”

He walked to the rest room and spoke while washing his face. “I let Keith go home for awhile. It's rough on him trying to do everything while I'm looking for God knows what. He'll be back soon, and then we can leave.”

They heard the water stop. David knew the Chief was depressed and angry over Colleen's murder. He had his hands around the man either responsible for her death or knew who was responsible, and would have strangled him if not pulled off.

The selectmen would be coming down on Murphy soon looking for answers. What was he going to say? A witch was killing all the voters in town? They would pack him off to the nearest funny farm.

“How's Finley?” David asked, recalling Nancy's knowledge of the arrest.

He wondered how she had known. Many folks frequented Kelly's during the course of the evening. Maybe a couple of the worshippers went to the bar after running from the police and Nancy overheard them talking about their near arrest. She could have found out any number of ways, so he decided against mentioning anything.

Murphy wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Finley hasn't eaten or talked, just sits there staring at the floor. If he didn't blink once in awhile I would swear he was dead, not that I would care.”

Father Ahern walked into the office. He was void of his usual black with white collar, instead sported blue jeans and a green polo shirt. A large crucifix hung from a silver chain looped around his neck.

“Good morning. Please forgive my appearance but I think the Lord will understand my departure from priestly garb to a more comfortable dress.”

“Glad you could make it, Father.” The Chief greeted the priest with a handshake.

“After your call last night I couldn't resist.”

“We're happy to have you with us, Father, and you look just right for a walk in the woods,” Murphy added.

“As the agent of our Lord, I must do what I can to assist in any way possible in this battle against evil,” the priest said proudly.

Murphy hoped the long-winded Father wasn't about to give a full sermon. The Father continued, shaking his head in disbelief of the Chief's discovery as he spoke.

“I find it amazing that night after night I trek through the forest surrounding Wexford attempting to locate this band of hell raisers, then quite by accident you locate them on your first venture.”

“We were looking for the beast, Father,” offered Carl, “we saw their fire.”

“You said you have been looking for them for some time,” asked Murphy, hoping he did not set off a long reply.

“It began many years ago when I was assigned, surprisingly, to my home town. I arrived in Wexford fresh from the seminary. My first assignment was a burial service, the husband of a young woman who informed me of the real cause of her husband's death,” Father Ahern said.

The Father sat along the edge of the Chief's desk, his leg swung freely from the knee down. He looked serious, like a man deeply troubled by the subject. “She was convinced a group of Wexford citizens, her neighbors and friends, had murdered her husband.”

“Is this something I should know about?” interrupted the Chief.

“I believe your predecessor, Chief Fowler, investigated the incident, found no foul play, case closed, but you can decide for yourself. The woman told me she had taken a path through the forest, near their small farm and meager amount of livestock.

“She came upon a group of people singing chants and dancing naked around a fire. Like you, she stumbled upon the worshippers and watched while hiding behind a tree. She was horrified when she saw they had taken a calf from her barn, slit its throat, and then passed a goblet of its blood to each member to drink.”

“How did they kill her husband?” asked Murphy.

“Patience, Chief…patience,” Ahern said. “The woman ran home where she told her husband of the group and the stolen calf. He went back with her and watched from behind the tree as the group continued its rituals. Seeing the slaughtered calf set the man into a rage and he marched right into their midst. The woman remained behind the tree and swore to me on her child's soul that a goat-headed figure appeared and as it neared her husband, the goat-headed man raised his arm, when he lowered it her husband fell dead; his heart stopped.”

Father Ahern noticed the silence in the office and the open mouth expressions of his audience. “The official cause of death that you placed on the death certificate, if you recall, doctor, was heart failure. But Betty Flanagan and I know better.”

“Flanagan?” Carl rummaged through the hidden archives of his mind concerning the numerous patients he attended over the years. Finally, it came to him. “Yes, Flanagan…I found no evidence of foul play. It was a massive coronary thrombosis if I recall correctly.”

“Of course you wouldn't find any evidence of foul play, doctor,” Father Ahern said, standing. “His heart stopped when he came face to face with the Lucifer. That's who killed Tommy Flanagan and made it appear natural.”

David realized the connection. “Is this Nancy Flanagan's mother you're talking about?”

“Betty Flanagan, one and the same,” replied Father Ahern.

“She told me her father died before she was born.”

“He did,” answered the priest, “she was born less than a year later, she never knew him.”

They now had more to ponder. Carl seemed more bewildered at learning the real cause of Tommy Flanagan's death. He wondered at the time how a healthy, strong young man could have a heart attack. David was just as shocked by the outpouring of information about Nancy and her family.

He felt a strange desire to go talk with her, but this new information and her knowing about Art Finley's arrest, was pulling at his senses. Something was not right.

The Chief shook his head at the entire story. “Now we know who we are after, a bunch of yahoos that dance naked around fires giving people heart attacks and a three-hundred-year old ghost with a pet demon. Who do we find first?”

Keith walked into the office and stood by the door. He glanced around the room at the four men silently contemplating the priest's story. “Awfully quiet in here.”

Murphy chuckled, wondering if he would have said that a minute ago. “Let's get going. We have a long day ahead of us. The horses are out back.”

* * * *

David laughed to himself as he watched the group travel along the narrow path overgrown from lack of use. It reminded him of a Sheriff leading his posse out to find the bad guys. He wished it were that simple.

It was not long until the horses forded a slough draining the swamp evenly into the passing river. The ground became soggy and soft, peat and marsh grass covered the area outside the swamps below the southern slope of Deacon Heights.

Above the peaks of the swamp's foliage, the slope of the heights reached into the sky like a black wall. Its crest topped by a growth of forest and brush giving the appearance of a large Gia Pet.

Murphy led them single file through the shallow dank water. The sun was bright but the large willows and thick overhanging vines dimmed its light, enshrouding the area in a gray mist. Eventually the drab environment opened to a friendlier patch of dry terra firma edged by small pine and birch. Shallow pools covered with lilies and duckweed fronted the shale and rocky terrain of the near vertical face of the slope.

“We'll stop here for awhile,” Murphy said, dismounting.

“Thank God.” Father Ahern rubbed his backside as he set foot once again on the ground.

David stretched a rope between two willows and secured the horses to it then helped the priest gathering kindling for a fire. Father Ahern stopped and scanned the wall of rock that confronted them.

“Quite an obstacle,” the priest sounded unnerved by the size of the precipice before them. “And the swamp behind us. It seems we are well protected.”

“Or boxed in,” David pointed out.

“I agree.” The priest nervously twisted the crucifix around his neck. “Not to worry, David, the Lord is with us on our quest to destroy the evil that has befallen this town.”

He turned away, hiding the fear in his eyes. “You know, David, I have preached the word of Jesus and tried to warn of Satan's undoing. I have seen, heard, touched, and smelled all the good Lord has bestowed upon this earth, yet I must confess that I fear the flip side of all that is good. I am scared to face this beast from hell and I tremble at the thought of going toe to toe with pure evil.”

“The Chief, my Uncle, Keith, myself…we're all scared, but we must fight this together. If we don't, if we just run because we are frightened, aren't we saying we don't care about all those things created? If we surrender to evil, will we not become evil?”

Father Ahern turned and smiled. “You should have been a priest, young man.”

They walked quietly to the fire where Murphy and Carl sat on a log.

“I'm going to climb up the slope, take a look around from topside,” David said.

Carl peered up, “How long you figure it will take you to hike up something like that?”

“I don't know.” David looked to the slope, his eyes following the path he hoped to climb. “Probably an hour, maybe less, depends on the footing. I'll signal when I have a good viewing point.”

Murphy handed him a leather case with a long strap. “Take the binoculars. It may save us some time in determining which way to go next.”

David wrapped the binocular case around his shoulder and headed for the incline. At first, the natural stone provided David a stairway but before long, it changed to unstable and slippery shale.

He inched higher and higher, not knowing where he was on the face of the slope, but he felt he had made considerable progress. A ledge jutted from the face of the cliff just above. Pulling himself onto it, he sat with his legs dangling over the edge, resting. It was harder to climb than he thought and he anticipated another ten minutes to reach the summit.

The view was beautiful. The forest along the outer rim of the swamp opened to reveal fields stretched over the countryside until blending with the horizon in the distance. In the camp below, he saw the Chief and Father Ahern waited at the fire for the brewing coffee over the open flame. His Uncle stood near the horses, occasionally gazing up at his nephew's progress.

David removed the binocular case from around his neck and opened it. Removing them he scanned the vista then turned the lens until the camp below focused into a sharp image. He kept his arm steady allowing the lens to remain focused as it viewed the reeds and willows dipping their branches of pale green gracefully to the damp earth around the campsite. Then he saw a blur behind the shrubbery.

Several times David wiped the salty sweat from his eyes then squeezed the binoculars tighter to his eyes. His eyes strained to relocate the spot where the shadow had appeared. A deer perhaps or one of the horses, maybe a bear had smelled the coffee on the fire. He watched and waited.

Suddenly a willow branch moved violently until torn from the tree. In its place stood the beast, two black horns spiraled from its scaly head, teeth protruding from hyena like jaws. It walked slowly, bent forward, arms and long talons outstretched as it stepped toward the campsite. It disappeared again behind another large clump of brush.

“Sweet Jesus, protect us…” David said aloud. His hands shook so he could hardly hold the binoculars.

The lens found the animal as it reappeared near the edge of the swamp. Not able to stand on his perch, David flailed his arms, yelling like a wild man trying to attract the attention of the unsuspecting trio sitting around the fire. Carl finally looked up and saw David's frantic waves.

“Looks like he made it in less than an hour,” Carl said proudly of his nephew. “Can't make out what he's yelling, though.”

“Sounds like hello,” Murphy said, looking up.

Carl waved back. “Hello, good job…”

David picked up the binoculars looking for the beast. The area was quiet.

Just like my dream on the bus,
he thought, watching his Uncle waving.

He felt a strange sensation of
déjà vu
again sweep over him. Blackness fluttered in his mind like a shade opening, revealing a sunny day into a coal mine. It seemed to purge his memory, his thoughts of a before, remembrances of anything besides Wexford.