Strange Magic (9 page)

Fear swelled within him as he cautiously walked into
the middle of the road. He knew he shouldn’t expose himself, but he was too scared to go near any of the trees and bushes that lined each side of the street. Perhaps the dog killer was lurking there, ready to pounce at any second.

His paranoia led to full-fledged panic. Soon he was running hell-bent for leather through the town streets, heading blindly for home. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. He was the Peeping Tom, the king, the powerful black panther, the man in control. He was the giver of fear, not the receiver. He was too strong and confident to fear anyone. Fear was supposed to be an attribute of his weaker personality, not him. He couldn’t help it though, couldn’t stop running, no matter how hard he tried.

He worried the urges in his head wouldn’t let him go home again, but not once did they bang their drums, not even when he crashed through his back door and crumbled in a quivering heap on the hall floor. It was strange, but perhaps the urges also felt threatened by the evil presence he’d witnessed this night. Maybe they were just as scared of the disappearing man as he was?

Wilson paced back and forth, pausing occasionally to rub the toes of his already gleaming dress shoes against the back of his pant leg. It was the appointed meeting time, but there was still no sign of his wife and daughter. He was agitated as a plump chicken being introduced to Colonel Sanders and fought the urge to turn and flee.

His nervousness had nothing to do with his wife being late. In fact, he inwardly hoped Susan might not show at all, but that was highly unlikely. He was quite sure she’d be here soon.

“But will she be able to tell I’ve been drinking?” he muttered under his alcohol-tinged breath.

He’d desperately tried to stay away from the booze, knowing how important this morning was, but eventually his frazzled nerves had gotten the better of him. He took some small comfort in the knowledge he wasn’t drunk—nowhere near. By sheer willpower he’d found the inner strength to limit himself to a few quick shots, and as pathetic as it sounded, he actually felt quite proud.

Would Susan feel the same? Would she notice the effort he’d made? Would she give him the benefit of the doubt? Would she realize how difficult it had been for
him to work up the courage to face their old friends and neighbors, or would she sniff his breath and simply pass judgment again?

The silver Honda pulled to the curb as Kemp performed one more shoe-shine on his pants before his family joined him. The tension temporarily vanished as Amanda dashed ahead of her mother and sprang into his open arms. She was cute as a button in her finest white dress, her hair tied in ponytails with bright red ribbons. Wilson hugged and kissed her, taking full advantage of the moment before reluctantly setting her down.

Two thoughts occurred to him as he straightened up to face Susan. His first was how beautiful she looked in a dazzling green dress that almost matched her eyes. He was about to compliment her when a second thought raced through his conscience.

She knows…my God she knows I’ve been drinking.

She stood there looking him over. In his mind, he had pictured her screaming at him in disgust, then storming back to the car with Amanda, leaving him standing on the sidewalk, hopelessly and deservedly alone.

Silently praying this wouldn’t happen, he held his breath, worked up some courage, and asked, “Well…do I look okay?”

Susan took a minute. Wilson was right; she did know he’d been drinking, she just wasn’t sure what to do about it. It hadn’t been his breath. She saw it in his eyes. Wilson had never been able to keep a secret from her, and she’d easily spotted the guilt in his eyes the moment she stepped out of the car.

Anger started to boil within her, but then she noticed
the effort he’d put into trying to look nice for her. He was wearing a slightly baggy gray suit and red tie that she remembered buying him years ago. It fitted better back then, of course. Still, he looked very handsome. He’d also shaved and put on English Leather, her favorite cologne. She looked him over once more, then stared directly into his eyes. His puppy-dog eyes would tell her everything she needed to know.

Yes, the guilt was still noticeable, but there was also worry and hope reflecting back to her. Without Wilson saying a word, she knew he was sorry for having been so weak. He was worried about her reaction, silently hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.

Her heart, as it always did, went out to him. After all, this wasn’t an easy thing for him to do and he really did put an extra effort into looking nice. She decided to give him a break and didn’t make an issue out of the booze. At least he wasn’t drunk.

“You look wonderful, Wilson,” she said finally.

“Yes, Daddy,” Amanda cut in, grabbing his hand in a show of support. “Very handsome.”

Relief flooded through his veins. He relaxed, smiled, and thanked her for being so understanding. Hand in hand, they turned and headed toward the church.

“I was a little worried about this suit,” Wilson admitted. “I tried to get all the wrinkles out, but you know how helpless I am…can’t even dress myself for God’s sake.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Susan laughed. “If Amanda and I don’t care, I’m sure God won’t mind either.”

Wilson laughed at her joke as they approached the impressive redbrick and white stone structure of St.
Michael’s Catholic Church, but truth be told, it wasn’t God who worried him, it was Father Patrick Harris.

That priest could single-handedly scare the devil himself
, Wilson thought.

Father Harris was fifty-eight years of age and as strict a clergyman as you could find. A fiery hard-line Irishman who thought a sin against the heavenly Father was a personal attack on himself. He made no secret of his dislike for Kemp. The two had butted heads so many times in the past, Wilson’s head still hurt. Relations between them had deteriorated as his drinking had gotten worse. Two weeks before Susan had thrown him out of the house, Father Harris had publicly humiliated him, banning him from church until he cleaned up his act. That was three years ago and this was his first trip back.

Father Harris was one of those priests who preferred to greet his flock at the front door. His long black robes billowed in the wind, contrasting starkly with his shock of ancestral red hair. He gestured wildly with open arms, smiling courteously and whispering with some members while silently shaking the hands of others. To say he was more than a little intimidating was like saying the Grand Canyon was an interesting little hole. Wilson tried to swallow his fear, tucking behind Susan and their daughter as they took their place in line. The procession slowly and agonizingly shuffled up the concrete steps till at last they came face-to-face with the reason for his anxiety.

Father Harris looked surprised, but still took the time to look him over. When he finally composed himself and started speaking, his tone was less severe than Wilson expected.

“So. You’re back. How are you, Wilson?” he asked.

Wilson sensed nothing short of total honesty was required here and quickly replied. “Still messed up, I’m afraid, but trying my best to turn things around. May I come in, please?”

“Of course,” Father Harris replied, nodding his head approvingly. “This door is always open to those in need. If you’re looking for salvation, here’s where you must start. I can promise you this…you’ll never find your savior in the bottom of a bottle, son—”

“You’re probably right, Father,” interrupted Wilson, cutting short the priest’s door sermon. “No disrespect to God, sir, or to you, but I need to work on finding myself before I think about anything else. Don’t you think?”

Father Harris nodded not too sympathetically as he waved them through into the arched interior. As he walked past the priest, Wilson was startled to feel a hand on his shoulder. In a surprisingly tender, reassuring voice, Father Harris whispered, “If you ever need help finding yourself, or just feel the need to talk, I’ll be here.”

Wilson was genuinely touched. “Thank you, Father. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their time in church seemed to pass relatively quickly, much quicker than he could recall. St. Michael’s was still as Gothic and imposing as ever. Father Harris, still full of fire and brimstone, had raged about the filthy state the world was in. They still sang the same old off-tune dreary incantations that erased any interest he might have had in music. He recalled some people in the pews had cast a not-so-subtle glance his way, which he had ignored. He was enjoying this precious time with his family and nothing was going to burst his balloon. He
held his wife’s hand, thinking back on the good times they’d shared and hoping the future would be just as bright. Today was his best day in quite some time but, unfortunately, in less than an hour something terrible would happen that would drastically change everything.

Coming down the front stairs of the church, Wilson felt happy and at peace with himself. He was smart enough not to get carried away; he realized his relationship with Susan was still very much strained. It would take more than a few hours to bridge the gap, but at least they’d made progress, which gave rise to a glimmer of hope. He was confident he could rescue his marriage and realize their dreams, if he could only find a way to stay off the damn sauce.

Too daunting a task for now though. Today, he only wanted to savor the moment. He was conscious of slowing down the pace as they walked to the car, not wanting this day to end. He sensed Susan was having similar thoughts.

“Do you need to get home for anything important?” she stopped to ask.

“No. Absolutely not…n-not a thing,” he stuttered, in his eagerness to reply. “Do you?”

She was moved by his nervous response and realized how desperately he wanted to stay with them.

“I guess I don’t need to tell you how much it would mean to me if you’d stay. I’m not making a big deal out
of this, Susan, I just feel we’re a family today and I don’t want it to end.”

“I don’t either, and it doesn’t have to. In fact, if you’re up to it, I’ve already made plans.”

“Plans?” Wilson asked.

“We made a picnic lunch, Daddy,” Amanda said, not meaning to interrupt but unable to contain her excitement.

“You did?” Wilson asked, ruffling his daughter’s silky hair. He looked hopefully at Susan for confirmation, and she smiled and nodded.

“We hoped today would turn out the way it has and thought you might like to take your family for a little picnic. What do you think?”

“Yeah, Daddy…what do you think?” Amanda echoed, her beautiful eyes gleaming. With unabashed tears in his eyes, Wilson took them both into his arms.

It only took five minutes to drive to Riverside Park. Like the name suggested, Billington’s town park ran alongside the Allegheny River, taking up the better part of twelve acres of prime real estate. It was subtly designed around the slow-moving waters, thick groves of huge oak, maple, and pine trees providing habitats for a vast array of wildlife in an effort to maintain a naturelike setting. The park was actually quite old, dating back more than one hundred years. Areas of the park had been complemented with slides, swings, seesaws, and other playthings for the kids. There were lots of picnic tables, park benches, and public washrooms dotting the landscape as well, with the focus of the park being a large wooden bandstand occupying its very center. In short, it
was a beautiful, relaxing, peaceful place, ideal for lazing away the cares of the day.

They chose a semisecluded spot near the north shore to roll out their red and white checkered tablecloth. The open elevated knoll allowed a gentle east wind to carry wonderful fragrances of pine, barbecued hot dogs, and fresh cut grass. From their vantage point, they could easily see most of the park, which was attracting quite a crowd.

The food was wonderful: tuna salad sandwiches, cheese, crackers, pickles, deviled eggs, and a large thermos of pink lemonade. It was nothing fancy, but Wilson savored every bite. The company was even better; they laughed and joked until their bellies ached.

“So, Daddy,” Amanda said between giggles. “I heard you know magic now.”

Wilson nearly choked on his carrot cake.

“Ah…where did you hear that, sweetie?”

He knew she must be speaking about his magic clown act, but for a moment he thought she’d found out about his shadowy past. The last thing he wanted was his family finding out what had happened all those years ago and Amanda’s offhanded remark had momentarily thrown him a curve.

“I heard some kids talking at school. Some of them saw your flyer on the telephone poles. They told me they’re trying to talk their parents into hiring you for their birthday parties. Are you really a magic clown, Daddy?”

Obviously, she’d talked to these kids before the Morris house fiasco. He was glad she hadn’t found out yet, and wondered if he would get a chance to redeem himself. Noticing the quick flash of anxiety crossing his face, Susan jumped in to save the day.

“You bet he is, sweetie…in fact, he’s probably the greatest magic clown to come to these parts. Right, dear?”

If she only knew how right she was
, Wilson thought as he quickly played along. “Darn right, girlie! Your old dad has lots of tricks up his sleeve.”

“Oh that’s super, Daddy. Show me a trick, show me a trick. Please.
Pleeeeeease
!”

Not wanting to see him embarrassed, Susan was all for changing the subject but he shrugged her off.

“I’d be happy to show our daughter a little magic, but before I can do that, she’s gonna have to take that silly thing out of her ear.”

“What thing?” Amanda and her mother asked in unison.

“That silly thing right there,” he teased, enjoying how easily they were taking the hook.

He pointed again at Amanda’s left ear then reached out, slowly turning his hand over so they could see it was empty. Momentarily pausing at her ear, he impressed his captive audience by deftly revealing a plastic saltshaker lodged in his previously empty hand. Susan and Amanda both gasped in amazement but before they could say anything, Wilson continued on, surprising himself at how he was able to fall back into the old showman routine.

“Wait a minute,” he mused. “I don’t think I got all of it. Just a second…” He again showed his sleight of hand and retrieved the matching pepper shaker. “How did those things get stuck in your ear, sweetie? It’s a wonder you were able to hear anything at all.”

“Oh Daddy,” she squealed in delight, launching herself into his open arms. “That was terrific. How’d you do it?”

“You know magicians never reveal their secrets, kiddo. If I was to tell you, you’d tell your friends, and then everyone would be doing it and I’d be out of business.”

That seemed to satisfy Amanda, squirming out of her father’s arms to examine the magical shakers, but it didn’t satisfy Susan. She was silently wondering how he’d done it too. That was no easy trick, and to have pulled it off twice without her seeing a thing was more than impressive, it was shocking.

“Where did you learn that?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Oh, it was nothing really. I just picked it up.” He was trying to act casual but was wilting under his wife’s determined gaze. He was hopeless at lying to her, always had been, but he gave it a try anyway.

“Really, Susan, it’s no big deal. I borrowed a few magic books from the library for my clown act, and that one was fairly easy. Anyone could do it.”

Susan knew he was lying; his eyes had given him away again. There might be magic books in the library that showed a few basic tricks, but she had witnessed something much more than basic. The dexterity and showmanship required to pull off a close-up stunt like that was more akin to someone who’d been practicing magic for a long time. David Copperfield could have pulled it off just as smoothly, and probably quite a few other lifelong professionals, but there was no way she was going to believe a recovering alcoholic with a kid’s library book could master such skills that quickly. Something strange was going on and for the first time since meeting Wilson, she felt a little disassociated. Perhaps she didn’t know him quite as well as she thought she did.

“Wilson…I need to know the truth now. I know you’ve been working hard to get your act together, but there’s no way you got
that
good by reading a book. Come on, out with it. Who’s been teaching you?”

A million thoughts raced through his head as he frantically tried to come up with a believable excuse. There’s no way he could tell her the truth. That part of his life was locked away forever. No matter how much he loved her, he refused to give her the slightest glimpse into his murky past. He was about to tell her he was taking lessons out of town, when a high-pitched scream sounded off to their right, startling them and cutting short his response.

“What was that?” Wilson asked, grateful for the distraction giving him the opportunity to change the topic.

“I’ve no idea…but look!” Susan jumped to her feet, excitedly pointing toward the bandstand. “Why are those people running?”

Sure enough, Wilson saw literally dozens of people converging on the wooden bandstand, pointing, shouting, and pushing one another in a frenzy to get a better glimpse. Whatever was garnering such sudden attention was hidden from their view. The elaborate cedar-shingled roof draping the large circular platform concealed the mysterious spectacle. If they wanted to find out what was going on, they’d have to run down and join the crowd.

“Let’s go,” Wilson and Susan shouted simultaneously, temporarily leaving their possessions to dash headlong down the slope toward the gathering throng below.

Wilson arrived well ahead of his wife, who’d been forced to slow down considerably to keep pace with Amanda. Not waiting for them to catch up, he elbowed, pushed, and squirmed his way through the thickening
crowd until he stood a few feet from the cause of all this turmoil.

Until now, he’d been so preoccupied with getting to the scene, he hadn’t thought much about what he might find once he got there. It was just as well; nothing in his wildest imagination could have prepared him for such a ghastly sight.

On the bandstand’s stage lay three bodies. One had obviously been human, and the other two appeared to be dogs, one larger than the other.
Bodies
wasn’t really a good word, since nothing was left except bare skeletons, most of their white bones held together with the darkening remnants of spongy muscles, leathery tendons, and some other foul-smelling, stringy tissue. Other bones lay piled in heaps around them, having fallen off or been torn away from the three ghastly stripped bodies. It was an incredibly bizarre scene that left everyone stunned and somewhat horrified.

There was a distinct absence of blood, flesh, and organs; hell, not even a fly. The remains were nearly picked clean, the bones glistening as if bleached, or perhaps even licked.

What the hell
? Wilson thought, truly shocked at what he was seeing.

The condition of the clean bones added to the strangeness of this gruesome scene, and whoever deposited these skeletons hadn’t simply dumped them but had taken the time to set them up as if on display.

The human skeleton was lying on its left side; the clenched fingers of its right hand held the thick leather straps of two dog leashes. The red one led down to the larger dog, and the white was firmly wrapped around the tiny neck of the smaller. To anyone looking, it almost
appeared as if someone had been taking their dogs for a relaxing walk, when suddenly everything about them, save for their bones, had instantly evaporated.

Wilson finally tore his eyes away to look for his family. The pushing and shouting was quickly developing into an ugly scene. Things were starting to get out of hand as the onlookers crowded closer. He was worried his wife and daughter might be caught up in the crowd but, thankfully, Susan had anticipated the chaos and kept herself and Amanda well back. He managed to make eye contact and signal her to keep Amanda away from the bandstand. Once he was sure they were safe, he turned his attention back to the macabre scene.

Who could have done something like this? And why?

The milling, frightened crowd, searching for a rational explanation for this gruesome display of evil, was tossing around these questions and many more. Some tried to dismiss what they were seeing, to convince themselves and others that the skeletons weren’t real and all this was simply a tasteless hoax. Wilson and most of the others knew better. This madness was no hoax.

It was cold-blooded murder.