Spirits in the Park

by Scott Mebus

  Rory watched from his place in front of the jewelry store, unable to see much through the rain.

  “I think I see the Mayor,” he said to his father. “Maybe you should go talk to him. Confess and everything.”

  “Rory,” Mr. Hennessy said. Rory turned to see that his father was staring at him with haunted eyes. “I want you to know something. I love you. I love your sister, too. And I love your mother. But there are things in my past—horrible secrets—that will not leave me be. I try to outrun them, but I can only keep a step ahead if I never stop. And I won’t drag you or your mother or sister into this with me. It’s too much.”

  “So what are you saying?” Rory asked, dreading where this conversation was going. His father pushed himself to his feet.

  “You’re safer without me. You all are. Every minute I stay means I get closer to being discovered.”

  “By who?” Rory asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I love you, Rory,” his father said. “I hope I see you again one day. Good-bye.”

  With that, Rory’s father backed away, disappearing down Eighth Avenue. Once again, Rory was alone. It didn’t hurt any less this time around.

  Sly Jimmy stood on the outskirts of Columbus Circle, watching the crowds. He’d come to see bloodshed, and he hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. He’d been keeping a low profile since the screwup at the Stuyvesant farm, but he hoped Kieft would somehow forget about him if he stayed out of sight long enough.

  Unfortunately, that wish proved overly optimistic.

  “Hello, Jimmy,” a voice breathed in his ear. Jimmy fell back, terrified. A possessed little girl stood before him, her eyes going crazy in their sockets.

  “I can explain about the farm,” Jimmy stammered.

  “Save it,” Kieft’s voice said. “You may redeem yourself today. Have you seen the Munsee gentleman standing near the Mayor?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said. He’d been shaken to see an actual Munsee free from the Trap. He hoped the brave didn’t try to pay him back for giving his people a bad name.

  “I would most appreciate it if that man were to not survive the hour. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes!” Sly Jimmy promised eagerly. “I won’t fail you again!”

  “I know,” Kieft’s voice said. “Or you will not live to fail me thrice.”

  The rain was falling in sheets by the time Bridget and her companions approached Bethesda Fountain. The plaza was empty, any visitors driven to shelter by the worsening storm. They stopped under the trees, though the leaves offered no protection from the water pouring from the angry sky. Soka gazed out at the statue, swaying in place as she muttered to herself in her own language. Finally, she gasped.

  “I can see it!” she declared. “A web wrapped all around the statue, trailing down to the fountain in three spots, like the pegs of a tent. If I can release those three points, she should be free.”

  “Nothing to it!” Bridget said brightly. “Right?”

  Soka nodded, swallowing. She stepped out into the plaza, pushing her soaking hair away from her face as she concentrated on the statue. Bridget urged Tucket to follow, which the wet dog reluctantly did. But Bridget held back, turning to Toy.

  “Jason?” she said awkwardly. “I just want to say . . . You’ve been a really good friend. You saved me and I’ll always be grateful. But do you think you can help me one more time? My brother is in a lot of danger. He needs you a lot more than I do. Can you do this one thing for me and go help him?”

  Toy slowly nodded. The paper boy turned to go, but Bridget strode over and gave him a big hug. She hoped their papier-mâché wasn’t so soggy it stuck them together, but she was willing to risk it. She pulled back, and for the first time, she could see Toy’s soul in his eyes. He was trying to say something, she realized. His father, Burr, had taken out his paper tongue to keep Jason from giving Burr away, and ever since, the paper boy had been mute. But he wanted to speak to her now.

  “An oo,” he said finally, and her heart ached. Thank you.

  “Thank you, too, Jason. I’ll see you later, I promise.”

  Toy nodded once, then ran off into the trees. Bridget watched him disappear into the rain with a heavy heart, then turned back toward the plaza to finish what she’d started.

  Soka was bent over the fountain’s edge, Tucket by her side. Bridget could barely see her through the wall of water crashing down on them. Lightning flashed in the distance, making her jump. If this storm was really going to get as bad as Fritz said it might, then they had to move quickly. A mist had risen around them, driven up by the rain, and the angel rose above it like a true creature of heaven. Bridget almost felt sorry for bringing it back to earth. Almost . . .

  Bridget ran to Soka’s side. The Munsee girl was still muttering as she ran her fingers along something invisible in front of her. Bridget leaned in to see what was going on.

  Zip!

  An arrow whizzed by Soka’s cheek, making Bridget jump. But Soka didn’t even flinch.

  “Stop it, Tammand,” she said, not turning from her task. “If you want to hit me, then hit me. Don’t insult me with these near misses.” Bridget spun around to see Soka’s brother warily approaching them, Chepi on his shoulder. He had another arrow cocked in the bow. His face was stone.

  “I can’t let you do this, Soka,” he called out over the wind. “We need her as a hostage. If you set her free, you could doom us all.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Soka answered, not glancing back at him. “Returning her to her people can only help us.”

  “You heard Tackapausha say how important it was that she remain a hostage,” Tammand continued. “When Askook showed me your trail, I knew I had to follow. I don’t want you hurt, Soka, so I won’t tell anyone if you just come back with me now. But I can’t let you do this.”

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” Soka informed him. “You’re my brother.”

  “Maybe I will,” he replied, sending another arrow whispering by her cheek. In a flash he notched another arrow. “You’re my family, but I can’t let you gamble with the lives of our people.”

  “We’re not scared of you!” Bridget said. “You’re a bully, just like your snake-faced buddy!”

  “You can’t stop me, Tammand,” Soka declared.

  Tammand looked miserable. “I’m sorry, Soka. I love you, but our people come first.”

  He let loose another arrow, and this one flew straight at Soka.

  Bridget reacted quicker than she ever thought possible. She launched herself at Soka, pulling the girl to the ground just as the arrow reached the space where her heart had been moments before. The arrow flew on, bouncing off the fountain’s pedestal, to land in the water with a splash. Soka was speechless with fury, pushing herself to her feet.

  “You are no longer my brother, Tammand,” she said, her eyes burning. “I don’t know what you are anymore. But you are not my brother.”

  “I’m sorry, Soka,” Tammand said softly, his face pained. “But you never listen.”

  Bridget raced across the plaza and tackled the Munsee youth to the ground. Tucket limped over, growling, and sat right by Tammand’s head. Bridget adjusted her grip to keep Tammand from getting up, but the Munsee wasn’t resisting. He seemed to know that his chance had passed. And lines were now drawn that could never be undone. She’d feel for him if he hadn’t almost killed his own sister. She turned around to yell back at Soka.

  “Finish it!”

  Soka nodded, and ran back to the fountain. Bridget lay back and stared up at the rain, watching the gray sky flash with lightning and thunder. The storm was getting worse and they were running out of time.

  A happy yell caught her attention. Soka had moved on to another corner of the fountain. And already, the angel was starting to sag, listing toward the ground. A frightened thought occurred to Bridget, which was confirmed once the second tie was undone and the statue leaned even farther toward the ground.

  “Tucket, watch him!” she ordered t
he dog as she jumped to her feet. She began to run toward the fountain as Soka, who hadn’t been looking up as she worked, concentrated on the last tie.

  “Wait!” Bridget yelled, but the wind had picked up so much that she couldn’t be heard over its roar. She ran more quickly, just as Soka stood up in triumph. Soka looked up, flushed with success, but her excited expression soon changed to panic as she realized what was happening. The statue, with no invisible binds to hold it, was falling.

  Bridget kicked it up a notch as the statue seemed to fall through the air in slow motion. It cleared the pillar it had stood atop for over a hundred years and dropped toward the shallow pool below. Bridget leaped into the pool, wading frantically through the shallow water. As she watched, the statue began to move, as if waking up. Bridget jumped through the air, sliding beneath the angel just before it hit the ground.

  The statue lay in her lap, faceup. Only it wasn’t a statue anymore. The wings had broken off midfall to land on either side of them. But the woman who had worn them for years and years of captivity was now free, slowly stirring in Bridget’s lap as her bronze skin faded to pink flesh. The angel’s head, which had looked down for decades, lifted up to gaze at Bridget. The mouth long closed moved once again.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked weakly, her voice scratchy from disuse.

  “I’m Bridget, Abigail,” Bridget said, smiling through the rain. “Welcome back.”

  29

  THE EYE OF THE STORM

  The number of gods in the plaza was growing quickly. Fear still sent ripples through the crowd as they stared across the road at the park, but Nicholas had hope that maybe they’d keep their composure when the time came to face the Munsees.

  “If we stay calm, we’ll be fine,” Nicholas advised the Mayor, who didn’t appear to be even listening as he kept his nervous eyes trained on the park. “Buckongahelas will talk to his father and hopefully we can nip any fighting in the bud.”

  “You will be shot down before the savage has time to take a step,” a new voice interjected. The crowd fell back as Willem Kieft walked up, Tobias and Boss Tweed at his heels. “Tackapausha does not care for forgiveness. He lusts only for revenge.”

  “You don’t know that,” Nicholas insisted.

  “Do you remember how you died?” Kieft asked Hamilton, ignoring Nicholas. “Out on that godforsaken cliff across the river, dueling pistol in your hand, facing Aaron Burr, a man who hated you more than anything? You didn’t want bloodshed then, either, did you? So what did you do?”

  “I fired into the air,” Hamilton muttered, his eyes pained. Kieft shook his head at the fragility of honor.

  “Leaving Burr to calmly shoot you down like a wounded dog. Will you repeat your mistake here? Will you fire into the air when faced with someone who hates you that much? Tackapausha will not hesitate to cut you down where you stand.” Kieft turned to address the rest of the crowd. “We created this Trap for a reason. This is not a question of right and wrong. This is about fantasy and reality. The fantasy is that the Munsees will reemerge, see that we didn’t kill one of their own the way they’d believed, and then forgive us for locking them away for a century—promising to live with us side by side in harmony until the end of days. We all know that will not happen. The reality is that we will fight, they will fight, we will die, they will die, and blood will run through these streets again. We cannot live together, that has been proven again and again. We took this island from them, yes, and it no longer matters if it was right or wrong. It happened. And Mannahatta has been ours alone for a hundred and fifty years. Now the savages want to take it back for themselves. Well, I say that they don’t belong here anymore. We do. Under their watch, this island was practically deserted; under ours, it has blossomed into the greatest city in the world. That makes this land ours and ours alone. And I, for one, refuse to give it up!”

  To Nicholas’s horror, heads were nodding throughout the crowd behind Kieft. The old god sounded so matter-of-fact, so reasonable, while talking about trampling a people into the ground, that Nicholas had to shake his head in horrified admiration. But he could not let the man go unanswered.

  “You are a liar, Mr. Kieft!” he exclaimed, leaping up the steps that led to the base of the pedestal. “You speak of fear and war as if they are the natural order of things. You talk about the past as if it had to happen that way. You are wrong. We created our past, with the Munsees. Together, we made every war, every watchful peace, every sneak attack, every truce. Together we can agree to change.”

  “Words won’t stop the bloodshed, Nicholas,” Kieft said scornfully.

  “Why not?” Nicholas shot back. “I grew up hearing about how things used to be, and I used to curse my father for every memory he forced upon me. But now I know how lucky I was. Because if we ignore the past, then we hand it over to people like you, Mr. Kieft. If we refuse to look backward, we let you write the histories. We let you tell us what is possible and what isn’t. We let you convince us that the Munsees were savages who had to be exterminated for the good of the city. And how can we say any different? What do we know? Well, unfortunately for you, I grew up with the past in my ear every day, and I have not ignored it. We had a chance a century and a half ago to turn a new page with the Munsees and put away the hatred and mistrust in the name of peace. Instead, we bottled them up like a frightened child who refuses to face his mistakes. Well, now we’re at that crossroads again. We can fight out of fear, or we can move on as one and see what kind of world we make together. Someone has to take the first step; it might as well be us. What say you, Mayor?”

  Everyone looked to Mayor Hamilton. It would all be on him now.

  As Rory watched the commotion, he spied Alexa walking toward him. She glanced around in confusion.

  “Where’s your father?”

  Before he could explain, Wampage came gliding up, carrying a leather bag.

  “It appears that I am just in time,” he said, handing over the bag. He glanced out at the crowd. “We are too exposed here. We need to move, perhaps inside this glass structure.” He pointed to the mall behind them. He glanced over his shoulder at the trees swaying in the storm. “To think I will soon be with my people again,” he said wistfully. Rory put a hand on his shoulder.

  “You should go,” he told the Munsee. “To be there when the Trap falls. Alexa can keep watch. You deserve to see their faces when they emerge a free people again.”

  Wampage gave him a look of profound gratitude and swiftly ran toward the crowd. Alexa smiled.

  “Nicely done,” she said.

  The intensity of the storm made it hard to hear, but Rory thought he heard a creaking behind him. Before he could turn, a loud thump sounded at his side. He spun to see Alexa slumped on the floor, blood streaming from her head. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but an arm flew out around his neck, cutting off his air. It pulled him back, through the now-open door to the jewelry store. Another hand reached out and slammed the door shut, kicking over a display case to keep anyone from coming in. Rory was flung into the corner, where the impact of his landing sent the leather bag flying. He scrambled to his knees, looking up to see who had attacked him. A familiar hulk of a man stood before him, clothing in tatters, staring impassively down at him.

  “You’re dead!” Rory cried, fear shooting through him.

  “I know,” Bill the Butcher replied, running a finger over a rusty cleaver. “That’s what makes this so easy.”

  Rory could see no one through the glass windows of the store; they were watching the park. Alexa was slumped right outside, unconscious. Rory had a brief wild hope that his father would come back, but he knew that was a pipe dream. He was alone, with a killer, and there was no one to save him.

  “You’re not supposed to hurt me!” Rory cried as Bill took a step toward him.

  “That was before,” Bill said, smiling with delight at his new freedom. “Before I realized that this city is a lost cause. Everything I fought for, to keep the island pure—i
t’s all come to nothing. This city ain’t nothin’ but foreign, and I can’t save it. I know that now. It’s beyond my trusty cleavers. But this storm . . . this storm is a godsend. It’ll wash everyone away, all the filth, so the city can start fresh and clean. That’s why I have to kill you, Rory. So you can’t turn that key and ruin my beautiful storm.”

  Bill the Butcher advanced on Rory, who cast about wildly for a way to escape. He was cornered, without any weapons, and there was no way he could overpower the crazed man before him. He looked into the killer’s eyes and he knew that hope was dead. This was it. Bill’s shadow covered Rory’s face and he braced himself for the inevitable blow . . .

  Crash!

  Something came flying through the window, sending shattered glass in every direction. Bill glanced back, surprised, and Rory used the momentary distraction to scramble out of the corner. To his considerable surprise, a familiar form pulled itself up from the floor, covered in broken glass.

  “Toy?” he said out loud, dumbfounded. Bill whirled back around to see that his prey had crawled away. Rory stumbled to his feet and ran as the crazed killer chased him, totally ignoring the paper boy who’d just come hurtling through the window. That proved to be his mistake.

  Toy launched himself through the air, landing on Bill’s back. He clawed at the man’s face, making him cry out in pain. Rory stood there, dumbly watching the struggle, until a familiar rat leaped through the broken window to land at his feet.

  “Where’s the belt?” Fritz cried up at him from his place on Clarence’s back.

  Good question. Rory scanned the floor, looking for the leather bag. Bill was banging into various display cases, sending jewelry and jagged glass flying everwhere in an effort to dislodge the paper boy. Rory shielded himself as best he could, but soon little cuts covered his hands and face. The scattered merchandise made it harder for him to find the bag, but he dug through the debris frantically, refusing to give up.