The Siren of West Bridgewater

A Story by Noah I.

A crime fiction on the happenings of West Bridgewater. Was based on an image. Please leave comments, I want to know what you think

Oliver Ames had always seen a car as a personal statement, and his favorite was his white chevy deluxe.

The car’s elegant curves, and calming purr reminded him of his wife. This car went everywhere with him, and he was the only one to touch her. This car was the only reason the Ames’s corporation had not hired a chauffeur. It was late, a little past 9:30. Mr. Ames had just finished his work for the night and was heading home.

The colorful farm fields of fall Harvest were now gone as winter began to take its hold. Lightning flashed as he turned down old Turnpike road. The Dark woods of the Hockomock Swamp flew by him on either side. The densely wooded swamp seemed to slowly suffocate the Deluxe the father he drove. Rain was pinging against the windshield, when he started to hear a beautiful of kind shriek maybe even a shriek. The rain began to hit the windshield harder as the Deluxe began to accelerate without instruction. Mr. Ames could not take his foot off the gas, just push it closer to the floor. The headlight began to flicker and then there was nothing but darkness. Guided only by the occasional glow of the lighting above, he did his best to stay on the road. There was another flash from above and on the horizon he could see the figure of someone. As he got closer he could make out a large woman in purple singing. The next thing he knew the steering froze up, and he flew by the fat lady into a tree. Oliver flew through his windshield and hit an oak tree.

“I guess it really isn't over until the fat lady sings,” he mumbled to whoever may have been listening. Olivers vision went red.

***

Quincy was sipping his morning coffee at his desk. The days always started late at the West Bridgewater station. It was quiet, except for the occasional clicking of a keyboard, and the hourly phone calls from the self-proclaimed neighborhood watch Mrs. Johnson. Today felt unusual to him for some reason, like there was something in the air, but he just couldn't put a finger on it.

Quincy slunk into his desk and began scribbling notes into a report.

“Nothing ever happens in this damn town,” he grumbled. “I’ve been the only detective at this station for two years now, and am still considered a rookie because there hasn’t been a single case in two years.”

“Adams! Get your a*s in my office!”

“S**t”

All of the eyes in the room were drawn to the back of Quincy’s head. He walked from his desk to the Chief’s office. Chief Wilson was a large stocky man with bushy eyebrows, so much so that you could barely see his eyes, and a wedge of a mustache. The thatch on his head was greying, and hanging on for dear life. He seemed to cover the desk in front of him with his shadow.

Quincy sat down in the cair at the front of the desk and braced himself.

“What can I do for you Chief.”

“Don't sass me boy. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you in here.”

“Not at all Chief, I thought we were just gonna have a little chat”

“Adams you're on thin ice right now. I was actually gonna tell you that you’ve got an assignment. Oliver Ames’s body was found this morning in Hockomock swamp, and I want you to lead the charge.”

Adams’s jaw began to drop. The Chief had gotten his attention.

“We’ve gotta get this all under wraps as soon as possible. As you know Mr. Ames was considered an important figure of West Bridgewater, and we don’t want this to turn into a scandal.”

“I understand sir. What’s the address?”

“You’ll find the scene near the end of Turnpike Road.”

Quincy walked back to his desk and donned his homburg and brown duster. He opened the drawer and grabbed the sheeny pewter badge that he shined every night and his side piece, and strut to the door.

The drive across town was anything but dry, and the swamp was anything but welcoming. Light barely made it through the foliage, and the forest was so dense that it was just a wall of trunks. Quincy was driving up to the yellow tape. From the distance he could see the Chevy Deluxe crumpled against the trees and Oliver Ames’s disheveled body not far in front.

Ducking under the tape, Quincy asked,“What are we looking at here boys?”

“Well it look like the cause of death was this head contusion here,” said the M.E., “but we still can’t explain the car crash.”

“How so?”

“Well it’s clear that the car lost control at high speed, as seen in the intensity of the crash, but there are no skid marks from an attempted stop.”

“Another officer walked up, “Sorry to Interrupt, but we just found that the brake lines are still intact.”

“Thank you officer, keep up the good work,” said Quincy. “If this is just a car crash, then I see no reason for me to be here.”

“It’s still a possible suicide, there’s no way to explain the sudden acceleration,” said the M.E.

“Yeah it’s possible, but we’ll have to talk with any family about that.”

“There are is no immediate family. His parents are long dead, and his wife died two years ago. They had no children.”

“Well isn’t it possible that so geezer just wanted to have a bit of a joy ride?” Quincy said annoyed, “I meant look around, this road has no witnesses. And we can’t even explain why he was here in the first place. He lives in the other direction!”

“Think whatever you’d like detective, it’s your case. I’m just here to state the facts, it’s your job to interpret them.”

“Sigh, do we have anything else to go off of?”

“Yes actually. There’s a set of lone footprints on the side of the road, but there’s no sign of entry or exit. Just a set of prints.”

“That’s odd, but I don’t think it’s anything worth mentioning.”

“Well you're the boss.”

“Alright thank you, I want the finished file on my desk by tomorrow morning. I’m heading to the Ames corporation.” Quincy turned towards his sedan and opened the door “Best of luck detective.”

“Thanks, I hope I don’t need it,” and drove off.

The Ames Corporation was a ten minute drive across town, in the industrial park. Smoke billowed from three tall smoke stacks, on top of the sad grey factory. A thick smog covered the entire area as Quincy drove in.

“Identification please,” said the man at the gate.

Quincy held out his badge,“I’m detective Quincy Adams, im here about the recent death of Oliver Ames.”

“Oh, certainly officer go on right ahead.”

The gate shuddered open.

“Thanks,” mumbled Quincy. He continued into the factory and parked his car. “This place just gives me the creeps.” At a closer glance he could see that the bricks were beginning to crumble around the forgotten founding factory of West Bridgewater. This factory had put them on the map, and now it was disheveled and neglected.

Quincy strode through the front doors.

“Hi sir how may I help you?” said the peppy secretary at the front desk.

“Hello ma'am,” he set his badge on the desk, “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.”

“Sure, what about.”

“Some questions about the recent death of your employer have been brought up. What did you think of Mr. Ames?”

“Not much, I never met him, and he didn't say much anyway.”

“You never met your employer?”

“Nope, I was hired by the board. Only person Mr. Ames gets to hire himself is his personal secretary.”

“Is she in at the moment?”

“Yes, I’ll tell her you are on your way.”

“Thank you,” Quincy began walking to the stairs, “Oh, which floor is her office on?”

“Third floor on the right.”

The clicking of his shoe were all that Quincy heard as he walked to the third floor. In the hall to the office, the walls were line with portraits of the five generations of Ames. Father son and then father son again all the way to Oliver Ames.

The uptight women that sat infont of the office wore a long, grey skirt and suit coat. Her desk, mahogany brown and tidy, seemed to match her ridged persona.

Before Quincy could even introduce himself she spoke. “Yes, I know who you are and why you're here.”

Quincy opened his mouth to talk.

“And yes I did know Mr. Ames, he was like a father to me.”

Silence consumed the room.

Quincy finally said, “I see. Did he seem alright?”

“Well he never talked much but we did have our occasional conversations. I even met his wife once, but then she died and he changed. He stopped talking to everyone except for me.”

“Do you think he would have ever gone as far as to end it?”

“No! Of course not. I can even explain why he was out there in the swamp that night. He liked to go for drives after work each day. He said it helped him think.”

“Alright thats all I need from you at the moment. Thank you for your time.”

Quincy walked out of the building. “Damn I left with more question than I came with.”

Back at the station Quincy was pouring over piles of files from the days events. “None of this is making any sense,” he said to himself.

“Any luck Adams?” said the Chief.

“Well I know it wasn’t a suicide, but everything else says that it wasn’t an accident.”

“Well I want an explanation in a two days.”

“Can’t we just say he avoided hitting some sort of animal and crashed?”

The Chief’s shoulders sunk. “I wish kid, but they’re gonna want more than that. It’s past ten, why don't you hang up the badge for the day.”

Quincy looked at his watch,“Alright Chief see you in the mornin’.”

Quincy pushed the key into the lock, and nudged the the door open. Taking off his coat and hat, he set them on the curved wood coat stand behind the door. The house was quiet and dark. The kitchen sink piled with dirty dishes, and several old newspapers on the table. Quincy took a right up the steep stairs into a narrow hallway, with nothing put the occasional lamp lining the walls. He passed a study filled with dusty old books and cobwebs in the corners of the door frame. He walked to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Quincy sat down on the bed and turned on the light has sat beside him on the bedstand. He opened its drawer and set inside his badge and revolver. He clicked of the light, and without undressing laid down and went to sleep.

Walking into the station the next day Quincy saw the Chief waiting for him at his desk.

“So, Quincy, who would you consider the main witness for the Ames case?”

“There are no known witnesses sir.”

Oh really, then what about the man that found the crash?”

Dread had its way with Quincy’s face. “He was no longer at the scene by the time I got there, and there was no mention of him in any reports.”

“Well there wouldn’t be any if you didn’t finish the questioning!” the Chief barked.

Quincy was unable to look at anything other than his shoes.

“I’m a little disappointed rookie.”

The work rookie was a jab in the gut for Quincy. “Do you have his address?”

“Why yes, I was just about to give it to you.” Chief handed a scrap of paper to Quincy. “And dont come back till you’ve got some real answers!”

Quincy bolted out of the station before the Chief could say anymore, and was on the road to meet up with the witness.

The witness lived on a farm near the swamp, and the big, white farm house was alone, with this seasons harvest already over.

“So Mr. Jakobson, tell me again, why were you out on Turnpike Road?”

Mr. Jakobson twitched in his chair. “ I don’t understand why I have to answer all these questions again, I already told the last cop that I was out for my morning walk, and saw the crash. I called the police as soon as I got home.”

“Nothing else happened that morning?”

“No, but the night before some weird noises were coming from those woods. Somethin’s in there, and I don’t intend on meetin’ it.”

“Do you hear these noises often?”

“Not real often, but once or twice a month.”

“What do these noises sound like sir?”

“It’s like a howling’ or shrieking, it not natural.”

Quincy scribbled some more notes into a notepad and said, “Alright sir, I believe that’s all I need from you right now, but call us again if you hear those noises.

Quincy walked back out to his car. He was upset, but he tried his hardest not to show it. He only knew one more place he could go and that was the bar downtown.

After one too many drinks at the bar Quincy got back into his car, and was debating where to go. It was already late, and not much more could be done at this time of day. He just started the car and headed wherever felt right, not really paying attention to where he was going. Unknowing, Quincy turned onto turnpike road. It was late and most of the day’s light was already gone, but as soon as he entered the swamp, it was truly dark. He unconsciously drove down the road, not making the connection that he was on the road that someone had just died on. Quincy began to hear singing. It was a beautiful set of notes that clashed and an eerie way and sent shivers down his spine. Something about it felt foreboding and untouchable. For some reason Quincy felt the need to go faster, and he began to press down on the gas harder. Then his lights began to flicker out. He could barely make out the shapes of the trees around him. He went faster. It seemed that the steering wheel was fighting his every move, like it wanted to throw him into the trees. Ahead he could make out a figure of a large woman. A woman in a dress. The noise was coming from her direction, and he had the urge to follow it. Then he realized that it wasn't the steering wheel that was fighting, but some kind of urge inside him.

“NO, NO, NOOO! I won’t let it happen to me. I’m different than he was, I still have things to live for!” The car hit the tree line and his vision went black.

***

“I swear Chief, thats what I saw.”

Quincy was back at the station, a little banged up, but alive from the previous nights events. His fellow officers were gathered around him and the Chief, watching and deciding why they should trust this rookie. He had a pouch of ice on his forehead, and a bandage on his chin. His duster was now in tatters.

“Quincy I know you think this is what you saw, but you had been drinking, and you hit your head, this couldn’t have actually happened. It’s just some excuse your brain came up so you could explain the death of Oliver Ames, there’s nothing else to it.”

“Chief, you gotta believe me, I’m not crazy!”

“Quincy, you’ve been under a lot of stress these past few days with your first real case, but let this go, it didn’t happen.”

Tears bubbled up in the corners of Quincy’s eyes. “Chief, please, trust me,” he cried

“Take the weekend off Quincy. Get some rest, maybe see your parents, and come back in on Monday. You can take another crack at this case then, but not any sooner.”

Quincy started walking to the door. “You’re not gonna see me next Monday Chief,” he said, and he disappeared into the morning’s fog.