A Minister's Ghost: A Fever Devilin Mystery

by Phillip DePoy

  “You can’t murder this man right here right now in front of me,” I pleaded, no other argument coming to me. “You can’t hunt down another human being and execute him like this.”

  “I can,” Orvid corrected me gently. “I have. And I will.”

  He raised his blade.

  Night noises ceased, and my temples pounded a violent rhythm. My body weighed a thousand pounds, and I could not move.

  “Your high-minded ideals,” I said, too high, too fast, “they have no real meaning in this slaughter. You’re not setting anything right by killing this man. You’re taking revenge. And you’re not even taking this vengeance in the heat of the moment, or for a personal reason. You’re doing it as a favor to your girlfriend! You have to see that it’s not right.”

  Orvid paused.

  I could see the shadows of a hundred responses shoot across his face before he lowered his blade.

  “Thanksgiving week last year,” Orvid said softly, not looking at me, “I went to the school play with Judy. Did you go?”

  For an instant I considered the possibility that I had gone mad.

  “No.” I didn’t remotely understand what he was asking me.

  “We came late,” he went on, “stood in the back. Judy wanted to see Tess and Rory in the show because she had helped them with their lines, even sewed the costumes for them. Rory was the head of the settlers, Tess was the Indian princess. Everyone was sitting in those metal folding chairs in the gym, listening to the words echo around the basketball hoops. Seemed like every soul in the county was there, the gym was packed. The stage looked great: there were trees and houses and clouds; a sky filled with sun. There were stern English settlers gathering in the bounty of the earth’s crops: corn, wheat, pumpkins. There were serene Indians, watching, nodding, smoking pipes. Despite the occasion, the settlers looked sad to me. They were all in black and never smiled. The Indians were joking and laughing and making up songs.”

  Orvid let out a long breath, and his arm muscles seemed to relax.

  “The play was running fine,” Orvid went on after a moment, “and all the kids remembered their lines except for one boy. Judy told me his line was ‘I think I see our red brothers and sisters over the hill.’ When he said this, the Indians were supposed to come in from behind the black curtain. Since he never said it, there was a tense moment of silence when nothing happened, but Tess saved the day. She said, loud and clear from back of the drape, ‘Come on, my red brothers and sisters—let’s go see what the settlers are having for dinner.’ Everyone laughed and the Indians came on in. Tess offered an ear of corn to Rory, and Rory curtsied and took the offering. She was supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Mistress Farmer, for your gift.’ Then the two girls were going to sing ‘Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.’ But do you know what Rory said instead?”

  “No,” I answered, more baffled.

  “Lucinda never mentioned this to you?” His brow wrinkled.

  “No, Orvid,” I stammered, “what are you trying to tell me? Why would Lucinda—”

  “Instead of the line Rory was supposed to say,” Orvid interrupted, his voice grating his throat, “she said, ‘Thank you, Mr. Frazier, for your gift.’ Judy heard it too; commented on it. Of course it made no sense at the time. Until you told us the name of the man who caused the train wreck.”

  “The Lord’s still whipping me, isn’t he?” Hiram Frazier whimpered.

  Orvid looked down at his victim.

  “Yes, Hiram,” Orvid said firmly. “He certainly is.”

  “You just think you heard that name,” I insisted. “You’re experiencing a false memory.”

  Orvid looked back up at me.

  “For a second or two at the Thanksgiving play,” Orvid went on, his voice thinner, “nobody onstage seemed to know what to do; Judy could see something was wrong with the girls. Then the boy who’d forgotten his line just started singing. Do you know what song?”

  I shook my head.

  “‘Be Thou My Vision.’ And for absolutely no reason, everybody in the gym and on the stage, one by one, joined in. That was the end of the play.”

  I started to speak, then remembered what was significant about the hymn he’d just named.

  Orvid saw the realization on my face.

  “That’s right,” he assured me. “‘Be Thou My Vision’ was sung at Tess and Rory’s funeral.”

  I just sat there.

  “I’m not a big believer in this kind of thing, as you might imagine,” Orvid went on, “this spooky stuff. I fall more to the philosophy of ‘How can I use this crap to put one over on the rubes?’ But I’ll tell you what: this one is hard to argue with. Judy absolutely believes it’s the hand of God at work. She heard the name too. I don’t know what to make of it. But look right here: this guy’s name is Frazier.”

  Before I could say anything, Frazier spoke up.

  “My name is Hiram Frazier,” he said, rote, hypnotically.

  “He’s barely aware of who he is, Orvid,” I pleaded, “you can see that. You’ve got to have a little mercy.”

  “What the hell would make me be merciful at this point?” Orvid said, his voice a sting on the air.

  “You don’t make someone be merciful,” I shot back. “You can’t force it. Mercy drops on you out of the sky, like rain. And listen, it would be good for both Frazier and you, it works both ways. It would save his life, it could save your soul.”

  “Mercy’s the kind of thing you usually ask God for, right? Not a guy like me.”

  “I swear, Orvid,” I said, breathing hard, “if you’re looking for justice, or for balance, you’d better start praying, because none of us is going to be saved. You’re better off asking for mercy than for justice. That’s the way the universe works.”

  “Forgive us our trespasses,” Frazier mumbled, “as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.”

  “He’s an old man,” I begged.

  “He killed two people!” Orvid snapped back. “Two beautiful, young lives that made a difference in this world. He took them away. It’s a debt that’s got to be paid.”

  “He doesn’t even remember doing it,” I insisted. “God, he doesn’t even remember breaking into my house to scare me with a Bible verse not twenty-four hours ago!”

  “Well.” Orvid’s pace slowed a little. “Actually he didn’t do that, truth be told.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked weakly.

  “I did that.” Orvid sighed, and there was even a hint of apology in his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “You went into my house,” I managed to say, “and left an open Bible?”

  “I wanted you to help me,” he said quickly. “I thought if you had a more personal stake in finding Frazier, it would speed things up a little. You know you can be slow as Christmas in your work sometimes.”

  “You broke into my house,” I said, my voice a trickle from my lips, “to scare me into helping you find and kill this man?”

  “Sorry,” he said again, and sounded sincere. “I was hoping Skidmore would investigate the break-in, and that would slow him down enough to give us a head start catching up with Frazier. Which it seems to have done.”

  “Why did you answer the phone?” I stammered.

  “I thought it might be Judy.” Orvid bit his lip. “She knew where I was. In fact for a second I thought it was her voice on the phone.”

  “You scared Lucinda to death,” I complained. “And me.”

  “It worked,” he said simply. “You’re here.”

  “Jesus,” I moaned. “You’re as much of a lunatic as Frazier is.”

  “I’m going to want that Bible back, by the way,” he said emotionlessly. “It’s Judy’s.”

  “I’m absolutely certain that I can’t let you kill this man while I sit here and watch,” I told him, trying hard to make ice of the words. “Not now.”

  “You can’t let me?” His chin jutted my direction. “I call that bold talk for the man without the knife.”

  “That’s not
a knife.” I inclined my head in the direction of his blade. “That’s compensation.”

  “Please!” he exploded, laughing. “You’re not seriously trying to undermine my efforts with Psychology 101?”

  I felt the heft of the switched-off flashlight in my right hand. I was trying to determine how hard I’d have to throw it to knock the blade out of Orvid’s hand. Maybe I could jump up, grab Frazier, drag him behind me, outrun Orvid. I couldn’t think of anything else.

  Orvid read my mind.

  “I’ve been doing this,” he said, a quick glance at his blade, “for almost as long as you’ve been a folklorist. You don’t really think you could outmaneuver me, any more than I could outthink you in the realms of mythological academia. So really don’t try. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I realized I hadn’t exhaled in a while.

  “You don’t want me to get hurt?” I said, barely breathing. “What do you think I’m going to do if you kill this man? If you don’t kill me, I’m going straight to Skidmore.”

  “I told you that Judy and I are leaving after this,” he said calmly. “No one will find us.”

  “Because you and Judy blend in so well,” I taunted, “wherever you go.”

  “I can kill you if you want me to, but I’d rather not do it.”

  In that instant, panic forced a fact from the recesses of my memory: albino eyes are light sensitive.

  I wouldn’t have to throw the flashlight, I’d just have to turn it on. But I’d have to be careful. Orvid was obviously hyperaware, his reflexes were at their peak.

  “Yes,” I said, struggling to my feet. “I’d rather you didn’t kill me, now that you mention it. I thought you were going to.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, why would you think that?”

  “Are you serious?” I stood facing Orvid and stared him down.

  “Okay,” he admitted. “From your point of view at the moment, I get it. But, damn.”

  “At the very least, I’m not going to stand here while you kill this man,” I sighed, hoping to sound as tired as I was. “If you agree, I’ll go back and wait in the truck.”

  “I don’t know,” Orvid said slowly. “If you drive off, it’ll be hard for me to get home.”

  “I’ll give you my keys,” I offered, reaching into my pocket. “A fitting, if ironic, turn of events under the circumstances.”

  I fished out my keys and held them high in my left hand, showing them to Orvid. As casually as I could manage, I flicked on the flashlight with my right hand, raised it as if I were preparing to light my way back to the factory ruins.

  The beam shot a stab of light directly into Orvid’s face.

  “Christ!” Orvid howled instantly.

  I lumbered forward, hand out reaching for Frazier.

  I looked up just in time to see Orvid’s knife coming directly at me.

  Twenty

  The hilt of the knife, with perfect accuracy, hit the flashlight so hard that the flashlight broke apart, shattering into three or four pieces, flying out of my hand in as many directions.

  “Ow,” Orvid said like a kid who’d pinched his finger. “That really hurts.”

  “My hand.” I tried to sound innocent. “Why did you do that?”

  I shook the hand that had been holding the flashlight. It was numb.

  “Sorry. I broke your flashlight. Reflex. That light in my eyes really stings.”

  “Oh,” I stammered, “the light in your eyes. Really?”

  Orvid was already headed my way, rubbing his eyes.

  I glanced down.

  Orvid’s blade was a few feet to my right.

  I stepped toward it; scooped it up.

  “Look, Orvid,” I said, planting my feet as solidly as I could, holding the blade high. “I can’t give this back to you.”

  He stopped, sighed, looked up at me.

  “Oh.” He rubbed his eyes once more. “You shot me in the eyes deliberately. Good move.”

  There was actually a hint of admiration in his voice.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I said, but the waver in my voice betrayed me.

  “Enough kidding around,” he went on, not remotely angry, “give me the thing, okay?”

  “No,” I pleaded, “I just—I can’t.”

  Orvid took a step toward me.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice completely calm.

  It may have presented Frazier, who gaped at both of us, a fairly amusing image. An oversize man with a big sword in his hand was being menaced by an unarmed person the size of a child.

  “I’m pretty fast,” Orvid went on. “I could dislocate both your kneecaps before you knew what I was doing, and then you’d have a really hard time moving. Or I could crack your nuts, I’m just about that high. One good punch would mean permanent family planning for the Devilin line. Or.”

  Orvid reached behind his back and produced a small automatic pistol.

  “I could just shoot you a couple of places,” he concluded. “Nothing vital, but if you had a bullet in each arm and, say, one in the foot, you’d really be incapacitated. For, like, the rest of this month at least.”

  He pointed the pistol directly at my right boot.

  “All I’d have to do is fall right,” I countered, “and I’d smash you.”

  “I’m faster than that.” His gun hand had not moved.

  “Or this blade could do you some damage on the way down,” I said, hefting his knife.

  “Yeah, don’t fool around with that. It’s really sharp. I cut myself on it all the time.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I told Orvid honestly.

  We might have waited there, locked in our strange standoff, for quite a while, but Hiram Frazier spoke up unexpectedly.

  “Which one of you is going to kill me?’ he asked, his voice lucid, his words clear as moonlight.

  My eyes shot to Frazier’s forlorn outline twitching on the ground.

  Orvid spoke to Frazier without turning his head toward him.

  “Do you remember a couple of nights ago,” Orvid asked Frazier, “when you were in Pine City?”

  “Where?” Frazier said.

  “There was a train wreck,” Orvid said steadily. “You were beside the train tracks when a car was hit by a train.”

  “I don’t remember,” Frazier said, looked off into the darker part of the woods.

  But I could see that he was lying this time. My encounter with him only a few moments before had brought the scene back to him.

  “There were two little girls in a car, and you took the keys,” Orvid went on carefully. “You were beside a railroad track.”

  “Sounds like me,” Frazier admitted, seeming to picture it. “That’s what I’ll do sometimes. I usually get ten dollars.”

  “You caused those girls to be afraid,” said Orvid, taking a step closer to me. “And then you caused them to die.”

  “I did?” his voice was wracked with despair. “I just don’t remember. I don’t want to.”

  Orvid’s eyes were locked on mine.

  “You’re all wrong about me, you know, Dr. Devilin,” Orvid said quietly. “I hate that I’ve given you the wrong impression. I don’t have vengeance in my heart. Not anymore, at least. I have pity. It isn’t exactly the kind of mercy you were asking for, but look at him. Look at Frazier. He’s already dead in nearly every way a person can be except for one: his body’s still staggering around. What’s better for the guy, ultimately? To go on like this, or to end it all here and now? Seriously.”

  I looked over at poor Hiram Frazier.

  Transparent as the silver that sifted from the moon, an old man sat on the cold, cold ground. He was shivering, bone white, dressed in black tatters. He was nothing more than a November ghost.

  Orvid and I were both startled to hear Frazier’s voice once again.

  “The little boy’s right, you know,” Frazier said, looking at Orvid’s back. “You’d do me a kindness if you’d let me die. I’d be grate
ful if this body could rest.”

  Orvid lowered his gun. I could see something had changed in his expression. He was trying to come to grips with the exact nature of the thing called Hiram Frazier.

  “Usually a ghost is a traveling creature whose body has died away,” I said, looking directly at Frazier. “But you’re the other kind.”

  “But I’m the other kind,” Frazier said, staring back, completely understanding me. “You see us more often, but you pay us no mind.”

  “What are you both talking about?” Orvid said, turning.

  “He’s not the kind of a ghost that’s a spirit without a body,” I explained, voice hollow. “He’s the kind that’s a body without a spirit left in it.”

  “Oh,” Orvid sighed.

  “A vacant body,” Frazier agreed.

  That sound, and Frazier’s shivering quake, stood the hair on my arms straight up. I felt a flush burning the back of my neck. Everything was edged, like a cutout silhouette.

  Preacher Hiram Frazier was, indeed, a true-life, living ghost.

  The whole clearing where we stood seemed paralyzed, a place where matter and time were exempt. I had no sensation in my body whatsoever.

  Frazier looked up at the black sky, away from the moon.

  “You have no idea,” he whispered to no one, “what a kindness it would be if you’d only let this body rest. Please let me come home now. Haven’t I done enough?”

  Orvid’s gaze at me was steady.

  “Hasn’t he done enough?” Orvid repeated.

  “I don’t know how I can do this anymore,” Frazier said, his voice even weaker. “I don’t want to suck more life out of this world.”

  “It may be time,” Orvid said to me, “to turn your little mercy speech back on yourself. What do you think would be better for this guy? Really, no kidding.”

  The air all around me was a strange ocean rising and falling, and the threat of drowning in it seemed tangible to me. I had to come up with something to keep Orvid from murdering the old man, no matter what the old man was.