The Mourning Tree

This is my entry for the Halloween writing contest so please remember to vote when you're finished reading. I hope you enjoy my story!

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"Can you speak up, Ted, I can't hear you! You know what, hang on a second..."

Detective Nathan Yost lowered his cellphone, pressing it to his chest to muffle the noise of what sounded like an angry beast in the same room with him. In reality, the almost inhuman sound was coming from the vocal cords of his six-year-old son, Jonah, who was dressed as a werewolf for Halloween.

"Hey, HEY, HEY! Pal...cut me some slack, huh? Daddy is trying to talk to his work friends."

Jonah froze in the midst of a snarling crouch, arms raised over his head, and glanced up into his dad's face.

"Sorry, Dad..."

His voice was slightly muffled by the rubber mask covering his mouth.

"It's alright, just give me peace for five-minutes, and we can go do the trick-or-treating thing to your heart's content."

"Yeah! Trick or treat!" yelled Jonah, dancing in a tight circle.

The noise attracted the attention of Nathan's wife, Cindy, who entered the living room from the kitchen. A tall, willowy, blond-haired woman with a long face and deep-set green eyes, she smiled patiently at her husband and the tiny monster at his feet.

"Jonah, why don't you come with me and get your shoes on?" said Cindy.

Running in a crouch, Jonah wrapped his arms around his mother's legs in a brief hug before darting into the kitchen.

"You promised no work tonight," she said to Nathan, her soft, full lips dropping into a frown.

"This will just take a few minutes. I need to fill Ted in on the progress of the Ryerson investigation. Why don't you and Jonah get started, and I'll catch up?"

Cindy shot a look up at the ceiling. She had heard this, "just a few minutes," talk before, and it usually meant far longer.

"It's Halloween, Nathan. Give it a rest for one night. This is important to Jonah."

It was Nathan's turn to frown.

He thought this was hitting a little below the belt. Cindy was well aware of how sensitive Nathan was about being a good father after the way he had been brought up. His dad had been a raging alcoholic, emphasis on the raging, who had constantly cheated on Nathan's mother, and been very free with his fists when it came to dispensing discipline in his household.

"I promise, five-minutes. Tops."

"Fine..."

Cindy turned to leave the room, and Nathan let out a playful whistle at the sight of her sweet rear end in blue jeans.

"Don't think sucking up is going to get you off the hook, Buster! Five-minutes..."

Nathan laughed as his wife passed out of sight.

"Sorry, Ted. Where was I?"

As his wife had predicted, five minutes turned into ten, and then twenty before Nathan finally broke the connection feeling like he had done his duty for the night. Slipping his cellphone into a back pocket, he stopped to set the alarm system on the house before stepping out into the cool, October air.

The neighborhood was alive with the sounds of children's laughter, and the scampering of tiny feet as costumed monsters, superheroes, and assorted creepy villains went from house to house in pursuit of the ultimate sugar high. Nathan smiled at the neighbors he recognized and nodded at the ones he didn't. It was a big housing project, and no one could be said to know everyone. He and Cindy had moved out here to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city where Nathan still worked and now commuted. They had both agreed this was a better, safer place to start the family that they both had dreamed of since their wedding day almost nine years prior.

His feet slapped audibly on the cement as he made his way to the end of the block and veered to the left. In all the years they had been taking Jonah trick-or-treating they had always followed the same route, up until the end of the block, then down to the next street over, right turn and work their way back along the houses on both sides, rinse and repeat on the next block until they reached Bedford Park. The park marked the edge of the neighborhood, on the other side was F.M. 19, a farm to market road that Nathan often took to drive into the city. The main road that bisected their neighborhood ran south off of F.M. 19, and here they would cross at the light to work the other side for more candy, assuming their bag wasn't fit to burst by the time they got this far.

"Hey! Yost! Wait up a second."

"Just my luck," thought Nathan.

Art Baker was a nuisance at the best of times. A nosey neighbor who was always trying to get Nathan to fix the plethora of parking tickets he stumbled into regularly. The fact that the man was an attorney made the situation both ironic and even more insufferable.

"You know, Art, I'm kind of in a hurry, Cindy and Jonah got out ahead of me."

"This will just take a second. See, I was trying to find a parking spot at the courthouse, big case I'm working by the way..."

Nathan waited impatiently for Art to finish and promised to look into it, dismissing the idea from his mind as soon as Art had moved off.

The endless flow of kids had not stopped while the two men had been talking, and it served to remind him just how far behind he was falling.

Nathan whistled to himself and picked up his pace a bit. He knew Cindy was going to be pissed when he caught up with them, so the sooner, the better. As much as he loved his wife, her fire in the bedroom, which was considerable, was easily matched by the fire of her temper when she had been crossed.

He decided that maybe they had moved more quickly than he had imagined, and so he gave up crisscrossing the neighborhood streets and stuck to the main boulevard figuring to get ahead of them and be waiting at Bedford Park when they arrived.

The lights in the distance caught his attention immediately. A red glow that faded in and out rapidly, strobing from a turning light atop an emergency vehicle. Without thinking, his footsteps picked up, carrying him more quickly forward.

The closer he came to the intersection by the park, the more lights were revealed. A firetruck was sideways across the road blocking the turn off to the neighborhood, cop cars with strobing lights of their own parked on both sides of the street.

Nathan's pace increased even more now. He was jogging along, a slow, dark, panic welling up inside him.

Less than a hundred feet from the intersection, he could make out a crowd gathering pretend ghosts and ghouls bearing witness to a real horror right in their midst. He pushed his way through, reaching a cordon of police officers who were trying to hold a perimeter.

"You need to stay back, sir!" snapped a uniformed policeman.

Nathan pulled his badge from his back pocket, flashing it in the officers face.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Oh, sorry, Detective. It's pretty bad, I'm afraid. A couple of drunk teens ran the light and plowed into the intersection right when a group of folks was crossing."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"I don't know for sure. I think most of them got lucky and managed to get out of the way, but I just got here."

Nathan brushed past, making his way closer to the intersection. The garish glow of angry red lights lit the accident scene in a macabre fashion that was not at all out of place. As he passed a police cruiser that had been blocking his line of sight, he saw two bodies on the ground covered by dark blankets and surrounded by firemen.

Not everyone had been lucky, after all.

Nathan's eyes passed over the crowd, scanning for the familiar faces of his wife and son. He was sure any minute he would lock eyes with Cindy, and he would sigh with a sense of relief at knowing that everything was alright. He looked from one side of the street to another, his feet still moving forward, bringing him closer to the bodies on the ground. The white line of the crosswalk marked the border between the street and the relative shelter of traffic rules meant to protect the people caught in between. Nathan walked past the line, eyes still on the crowd until his foot slipped on something in the roadway.

He looked down, and in the churning red light, saw the face of a Halloween mask staring back up at him.

A werewolf mask.

With trembling hands, he lifted it from the ground.

"No..." he whispered to himself.

An ambulance turned onto the street. It's headlights illuminating the two unmoving bodies, not twenty feet from where Nathan stood. He realized now that in their haste, the firefighters hadn't completely covered the larger of the two. A hand was sticking out past the edge of the wool covering. A well-manicured hand with long, blood-red nails, and on one finger a diamond ring that Nathan knew all too well. The ring he had placed there in a tiny chapel nine years ago.

"Oh...Oh...God...No...NO!"

It took the combined efforts of half-a-dozen firefighters and police officers to hold back the grief-stricken man. Eventually, they managed to wrestle him to the ground, but no words that any of the assembled emergency personnel could conjure seem to bring him any solace. The paramedics would ultimately have to sedate him before he could be removed from the scene.

The duty officer would report later that in twenty-years on the force, he had never heard such heartbreaking sorrow as the cries that poured from Nathan Yost on that Halloween night.

ONE YEAR LATER - (FOUR DAYS BEFORE HALLOWEEN)

Captain Joe Peters had led the Robbery/Homicide division of the Houston police force for the past fifteen years. He was considered a stern task-master by those who worked under him, but a fair man who believed in the importance of the work that his people accomplished. He generally didn't take to the field much anymore, spending a far more significant percentage of his time behind a desk, but this robbery had occurred near his old neighborhood to a store owner he had known. Though he was supposed to be impartial in his dealings, this case would fall into a more personal arena.

"What's the story, Carson?"

Detective Jack Carson, a balding man in his early forties, turned to face his captain. Peters towered over his subordinate by a good six inches forcing Carson to crane his neck upward to make eye contact.

"Looks like it was supposed to be a simple smash and grab that got out of hand. Three men hit this jewelry store," he explained, pointing at the store behind him, "and while one of them held the owner and customers at gunpoint, the other two started bashing in the cases with hammers and grabbing whatever they could. What they didn't know was that the owner's nephew was in the back, and when he heard the commotion, he grabbed a pistol that his Uncle had in his desk for protection and came out. He ended up exchanging gunfire with the armed assailant, with both of them taking multiple rounds. The bad guy was dead before we got here, but the nephew, uh...Phillip Barton, yeah, he was still hanging in there. Paramedics took him to the hospital."

"What about the other two?"

"They beat feet to their vehicle in the alley behind the store and took off."

"Someone see them?"

"No, but there was a surveillance camera pointed at the alley. I guess these criminal masterminds didn't notice it. Anyway, we got a good look at them and their vehicle. They had been wearing masks, but they pulled them off when they piled into their car."

"Any identification?"

"The car was registered to a Hank Forbes. He has a jacket, small-time crook been busted a few times for possession with intent and dealing in stolen merchandise. I guess he decided to up his game. His accomplice was identified as Travis Coleman. Mr. Coleman is a bit more of a mystery, no priors, and a clean record before this little incident. The deceased was a Greg Talbot. We're still digging on him."

"Any idea where they were headed?"

"We've just started to pull data from the traffic cams in the area, but my guess is they'll dump that car the first chance they get. If they're smart, they won't stick around. In most cases like this, they run for the border. Mexico looks mighty inviting when you got a potential murder wrap hanging over your head."

"I'm sure it does."

Peters looked off into the distance in thought, "Best get an A.P.B out on that car just the same, and put a watch on the train stations and bus depots with photos of these gentlemen."

"Already on it. Say...When did he come back on duty?"

Peter's followed Carson's gaze to a green car that had just pulled up to the curb. Its owner was climbing out of the driver's side and made his way over to where the other two cops were standing.

"Detective Yost," said Carson with a nod.

"Nathan. I believe we discussed your return to duty, and you were going to spend the first month or two in the office."

Nathan Yost turned his gaze on his commanding officer. At one time, his eyes would have been described as lively and full of mirth, but now the dark green orbs seemed devoid of light, dull and flat.

"I can do more good out here. I've spent enough time indoors."

"That may be so, but you know the drill. You have to spend three months on light duty, and then be evaluated by the psyche folks before I can put you back in the field."

"Captain, I'm fine. I can't stand being cooped up anymore."

"That's not your call, Nathan."

Yost frowned.

Carson's phone rang, and he stepped away to take the call.

"Please, Joe...I can help."

"Nathan, you've been out of service for the better part of a year. Now, no one blames you, tougher men than you have been taken down by smaller tragedies, but given your history..."

"I've got things under control now."

"When was the last time you had a drink?"

"I've been stone sober for six-months. I promise you. I've got a handle on things."

"I want to believe you, Nathan. I surely do. You were one of my best detectives, but after what happened..."

Nathan looked away, his handsome face, once a magnet for many a fine young woman when he had been in school was now drawn, haggard-looking, with a hint of beard stubble darkening his jawline.

Carson returned hanging up his cell as he approached.

"Just like we figured. They dumped the car in mid-town, and stole another from some poor elderly gentlemen, or at least one of them did."

"One?"

"There's some conjecture on that point. We got a couple of witnesses who say the two of them were together and another that says it was just one guy."

"So they may have separated?" asked the captain.

"Possibly."

"Can I see the ID photo's" asked Nathan.

Carson glanced at his captain, who nodded.

Nathan took the cellphone offered too him and ran a finger down the screen, watching the grainy surveillance video.

"Travis Coleman..." he mumbled.

"Wait? You know this kid?" asked Carson.

"No, but I recognize him. My dad was a huge high school football nut when I was growing up. He lived in a small Texas town as a boy, and in those places, they live, eat, and breath the local teams. He used to follow the state championships in every division, and I guess that rubbed off on me because I still do it myself. This fellow here is Travis Coleman, eight years ago he quarterbacked the Harwood Wranglers to the state 2A division championship."

"Where in the Hell is Harwood?"

"Tiny town in Central Texas. The kind you would miss on the map if a fly had his foot on it," explained Nathan.

"Well. It looks like their football hero has grown up into a real nice crook."

"Carson figures they're heading for the border."

"That would be the most likely possibility," admitted Nathan.

"We had best get on their trail and run them down before they get there," said Carson.

"O.K. Jack, I want you to coordinate a search along with the country Sheriff's department. Let's see if we can corral these boys before they get too far."

Carson moved off, leaving his captain alone with Nathan.

"So I'm out," grumbled Nathan.

"Not necessarily. I thought that maybe you should head out to Harwood and poke around. Carson got some info that maybe these two have split up. It's possible that a scared young man like Coleman, an inexperienced criminal with no priors, he might run home instead of heading for the border."

"Begging your pardon, Captain, but that seems like a real long shot. Is this your way of letting me back in without really giving me anything to do?"

"Take it any way you like, Nathan, but if you want back in the field, this is where you start."

Nathan sighed but nodded in the affirmative.

"Think of it this way. A quiet time in a small town may be just what you need."

The two-lane highway ran off into the distance, a gray ribbon unbroken all the way to the horizon. Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his back getting stiff from hours spent in one position. He could have pulled over and taken a break, but there was a strange solace in the seemingly unending road before him, and he was a man in great need of just that sort of tonic. The radio had long since lost connection with the last decent music station, and being too cheap to buy the satellite package had left him only with the quiet hum of the engine for companionship. A car flashed by speeding along, its red tail lights momentarily glaring in his face.

The colorful red burst took him back to almost a year earlier, a strobing light at a crowded intersection.

"Stop it!" Nathan yelled at himself, smacking the steering wheel with one hand.

His therapist had warned him about not dwelling on the past. He had confronted his demons, and now it was time to put them aside.

"Easy to say..." mumbled Nathan under his breath.

For a time, he had tried to bury the pain the same way his father had, the same way men in his family had for generations, but he couldn't find a bottle deep enough. It was quite likely one didn't exist. It had taken him months to climb out of that hole, and he had no interest in falling back in again. The urge was still there, though, especially at times like this when he was all alone with nothing but his thoughts and memories. The images and sounds of a child he would never see grow up, a woman he would never hold again.

"Enough already!" he yelled at the empty car, managing to startle himself.

He began to sing, anything to focus his thoughts elsewhere. Bits of half-forgotten songs reverberated off the interior of the vehicle, snatches of music from his childhood, pieces of hazy lyrics from drunken nights in school. Nathan had always had a hard time remembering the words to songs, but his voice was quite pleasant. In another life, he might have enjoyed a career in music. The miles blurred by until his eyes fell on a battered road sign, the writing on it worn down by wind and rain.

"Harwood, ten miles..."

Nathan slowed the car from a ripping ninety miles-an-hour down to a more reasonable speed. He hadn't spent much time in small towns, but he knew them to be havens for speed traps, and the last thing he needed right now was to get pulled over by some bored deputy. A few small houses appeared in the distance. He whipped past the aging structures taking note of their nearly uniform construction that likely dated back many years to a time when wrap-around porches were all the rage.

A giant billboard appeared on his right, "Welcome to Harwood. Home of the Wranglers!"

Nathan chuckled to himself, not surprised in the least to find the local high school football team to be the one thing the town chose to advertise.

He decreased speed further as he reached the town proper.

The two sides of the main street were occupied by an array of small businesses that would have been ubiquitous to any small town in America. A diner on one side, across from a laundry mat on the other, next to a grocery store, a florist, a barbershop advertising-free hair cuts to veterans on Thursdays. Nathan passed them all spotting what he was looking for, a small sign hanging off an older, gray brick building with the words, "Sheriff's Office," written in gold letters. He pulled into an empty parking space in front next to a pair of squad cars, both covered in dirt and having seen better days. As he exited his vehicle, he glanced around at the storefronts noticing all the spooky decorations for Halloween, from jack-o-lanterns in the window of the local drug store to paper ghosts taped to the glass of the restaurant across the street. The sight made him feel slightly nauseous, bile rising in the back of his throat.