Barry B. Longyear's
Poetry of A Serial Killer
Characterization Background research for The Hangman's Son,
a Joe Torio Mystery by Barry B. Longyear
Copyrighted Material
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Barry B. Longyear's |
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| The Sunday Papers Poetry of A Serial Killer Characterization Background research for The Hangman's Son, a Joe Torio Mystery by Barry B. Longyear Copyrighted Material |
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Nathan
Sunday, was born Nataniele Domenica, April Seventh, Nineteen sixty-five
to sometime
gentleman club dancer and addict Angela Domenica . The father was never
identified. Nathan was tall for his age, physically strong,
academically
brilliant, and extremely unpopular with his classmates. When
he was eight he wrote this winning
submission to a school poetry contest.
dreams
i have no control
in dreams no judgment no sense of what is right wrong or possible she is in my dreams faces and faces dark eyes dark moments there is always blood unrealistic amounts all from unlikely sources the things i want the things i need never fulfilled lucid dreams are when in a dream you know you are in a dream and in a dream that is lucid you are in control and can do anything you want i tried many times to lucid dream but i only did it once i did not kill anything or heal anything make or take a life or do any of the things they or i would call my obsessions instead i flew up into the sky through the clouds into the light
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The
following
selections were believed written shortly thereafter, about the time
Patrol Officer Mango Bayo, SRPD moved in with Nathan's mother. parenting
each night
on the streets along canal and south into the zone dangerous places the land sharks cruise searching for prey i tease the killers play with the disease invite death just to punish her to show her what she does to me she never notices though if i am watching tv doing homework or in the park playing with the killers its ten oclock do you know where your children are |
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The following poem was
probably written the night of the brutal murder of a still as yet
unidentified woman in Canal Park, Vadalia District, South River, a
murder the youth apparently witnessed.
patience its dark
in the park i wait and watch the man as he waits and watches the woman as she waits and watches the west path entrance in the night the three of us never learn what the one she is waiting for is waiting for |
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i dream
it is like some force throws a blanket over the universe hiding the other from me making me feel alone complete but then as in a dream i have no sense no judgment no control and i never think to ask for them keeping the other in shadows keeping it a dream |
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Mango Bayo was an abusive man, large and powerful. He took on the responsibility of teaching the young Nathan Sunday what it is to be a man. lamby
lamby
an old stuffed animal floppy soft an infinite capacity to absorb hugs he takes a knife eviscerates lamby slashes the remains into a hundred bits tells me to clean up the mess and to grow up in the park I bury lambys pieces at the top of the bluff overlooking the canal sit in the dark and wonder why beating my body does not hurt me but tearing apart an old stuffed animal does only understanding can kill me no one understands so if i do not kill myself or let anyone know me i can never die but how did he ever know that about me i cannot cry ever again about anything |
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big hands
hold the back of my head like a cantaloupe and smashes my face into the windowsill into the floor into the sink into the tub anywhere not soft the headaches make reality melt makes my skin go walking on its own makes blood dance in the water makes the gods sparkle there are no whys no understanding no absolution only survival and reaction when the hammer comes down i wont be there even if i am and when the time comes to bridge our troubled waters i will offer him a branch When Nathan was eleven, Mango Bayo's body was found beneath the Seventh Street Bridge. This structure, which crosses the East Branch River, abuts the campus of Turner Elementary School. The first psychiatrist who reviewed Sunday's file found it unbelievable that an eleven year old boy could have lured a powerful grown man, who was also an armed law enforcement professional, to his death [hinted at by the "i will offer him a branch" line at the end of the above verse]. It was subsequently learned that Officer Bayo was the third of Nathan's killings. The first was a homeless man, Charles Bonner. The second was park rapist Walter Storrow. The bodies of both Bonner and Storrow were found in the East Branch River downstream from the Seventh Street Bridge. In fairness to the psychiatrist, from the 'Fifties to mid-'Seventies the East Branch River was one of the city's favorite body dumps for mob hits and other killings. |
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Once Sunday's writings were put into historical context, it was believed because of the next poem that his last killing while a student at Turner took place up in Canal Park where the remains of Alice Denning were found. promises
jesus loves you
she says this to me in the park it is only a word jesus it is only a word love i love you she says that face that lying mouth and a flower her tongue I feed it to a stray dog and watch him eat it he asks for more i show him and go home to finish my homework i put the flower in a stem vase on top of the tv things will be better in junior high After a single visit to the gentleman's club where Angela Domenica was dancing, Gold Medal Mart magnate Harry Douglas became thoroughly infatuated with the performer. Douglas's wife was deceased, his children grown up and married. He undertook the salvation of the beautiful woman and her brilliant son. To put a troublesome police investigation of Nathan's behind them, Douglas had the mother and son change their names to Angela and Nathan Sunday, moved them uptown to St. George, and entered Nathan in St. George Junior High School. A teacher at St. George Junior asked Nathan in class to define metaphor. Nathan wrote and handed in the following. metaphor
a pilot
wounded face all bloody cockpit full of smoke flames licking the outside of the canopy everything fuzzy out of focus the stick jerking beneath his bloody hand canopy jammed can’t get out the pilot knows his plane is going down into the dirt out of control calls on his mike no answer crackles of static the scream of the plane as it streaks down through the smoke toward the inevitable the first movie i ever saw dont know the title if i ever did metaphor i didnt know the word then but i knew that movie was one about me |
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In the ninth grade he turned in the following piece after being assigned to write a theme on "An Interesting Character." street mystery
moochy was very weak
short and thin no visible muscles or possessions a beard like a molting rat he never spoke a harsh word to anyone no matter what the provocation and little people on the street get provoked a lot one day in pellas diner moochy slapped freddy matranga yes that freddy matranga moochy slapped this assassin slapped him so hard freddy matranga fell from his chair so freddy made a call they found moochy the next morning floating face down in the east branch river two in the hat that moochy didnt even have suicide by wiseguy swift and relatively painless as such things go moochy had aids you see few remember that moochy had aids everyone though remembers the man the man who slapped freddy matranga so hard freddy fell from his chair a puzzle you see no one ever suspected that the little man had ambitions or that moochy knew how to play people |
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The following was what he handed in after being
assigned a theme with the title "My Confession." omerta
bless me father
for i have sinned it has been four and a half billion years since my last confession i cannot confess if i told you what i have done i would have to kill you no i dont believe you would break your vow of silence but see if i tell you my sins you could not bear the pain and i would have to put you out of your misery you can pray for me that is as much as you can do certainly i trust you who wouldn't trust a man who prays to god wearing a dress with a jug of wine in one hand and a cracker in the other |
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The
following was found in a folder from his junior high days. The date
corresponds closely with the gruesome murder of wife and mother, Linda
Coltrane, in Canal Park: decisions decisions
kitten
in the park left there by a mother who took it from her child kitten makes messes carves up the upholstery chews on cords. needs to be fed given shots wormed treated for fleas stroked of course there is all that hair kitten turns into cat and it gives love to a child whether the child deserves it or not which was its big sin after all so the kitten is turned out of the childs bed to be left in canal park among the sharks and tigers i ask the mother why she says i am setting it free i could not kill the kitten he and i are brothers after all havent made up my mind yet about the mother Shortly after Nathan began at the senior high school in St. George the media reported the senseless death of a baby. curriculum vitae
a baby boy cries
and cries and cries and then dies a rubber band on his babyhood to keep the boy from messing his diaper and the magic lantern tells us all about uremia the man got three years in lock up watching tv doing free drugs and out in eleven months for murder better than disneyland the baby boy is dead but he doesnt mess his diapers anymore you see lucifer sir when i die i dont want to go to heaven instead i want a job in hell working on certain cases i would be an excellent addition to the firm i am thorough imaginative attentive to detail prompt untiring and motivated Beginning his junior year, Nathan Sunday was the starting quarterback for The Dragons, St. George High School's varsity football team. just guys
in the locker room
freddy says he made love to linda felton big tough russell always bragging about sex makes freddy confess linda was his first yet another act in the pimple and bubblegum rites of passage play from the look on russells face I know russell is a virgin so of course is freddy television thats what happens when you get taught self esteem friendship fellowship manhood manners honesty honor and sex by an appliance |
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is a poem of Nathan's written about the time the social worker
assigned to Nathan Sunday was found floating face down in South River
below the confluence of the South with the East Branch River. windows
what we really are inside
is ever so much more interesting than what we allow others to see please look into my eyes what do you see there its all right you can say that word here
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Shortly before his mother and Harry's wedding was to take place, Harry Douglas was taken to Riverside General Hospital suffering from broken ribs, a fractured ulna, contusions, bruising, and a concussion. His report to the police indicated that he had been mugged and that he could not identify his assailants. tough love
she is here
there everywhere how can she be everywhere and still not see me she cannot throw me away for respectability for security for love how can rage be so black cut rate harry i owe him my mind my freedom my future she says but he requires payment she says he wants all that we are in exchange for what he hopes we will become he tells me me i do not know the meaning of love in the hospital lying there he is watching star drek with his one good eye i beat him again just to make sure he understands the real meaning of love |
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When released from the hospital, Harry Douglas's driver took him directly to his summer home upstate in Magena, leaving Angela and Nathan Sunday in St. George. The wedding was called off. In a matter of days Angela Sunday was back to drinking. She eventually committed suicide in the garage workshop in their St. George house. Nathan, returning from school, was the one who discovered her body. the viewing
isnt she natural
so lifelike it looks like shes just sleeping the american funeral waltz they hide death powder it rouge it put suits on it dresses with long dark sleeves they stick death in impenetrable crates of wood plastic and zinc surround it with flowers chatter and song so no one can smell the rot or hear death eating no one mentions what went on downstairs with the knives the pumps and hoses the needles and thread all of that once precious blood flushed into the sewer to feed the rats cry out show us deaths face you frauds so we can recognize it show us the rot the maggots the grinning skulls splash the blood on the ceilings walls and floors fill the air with the stench let us feel the cold cold flesh and watch rot and gravity pull it from the bones but they dont they show us instead a vanity play in which the main player has no lines yet must pay to appear a first night closer there we sip coffee and nibble at crackers and say hi to each other as we gauge our chances of outlasting the others thats why we dont know death when we see it coming thats why we keep dying and killing oh hell oh hell oh hell she is dead i hope i never feel any of this |
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The
following was written after the funeral of Nathan Sunday's mother about
an event embracing life and afterlife, illustrating the edge on
Nathan's humor and his grief.
afterlife afterthought
the autopsy
when they finish they dump the brain into the gut cavity along with the other organs then before they sew it up they stuff the brain pan with pampers so it wont leak all over the pillow when they put the body on display quincy never told us that a tummy full of brains a head full of dirty diapers hello eternity |
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Since
Nathan was eighteen, well provided for with a trust fund, and very
mature, the orphans court allowed him to remain at his home under the
supervision of Child Services. safety net
she comes by to see
the poor poor boy how has it been dear doing well all on your own brave brave lad social workers they breed at child services like maggots hands full of papers mouths full of words heads full of air they should all be exposed at birth i took her to bed she said you’re almost eighteen so its really not sexual abuse of course not you fat forty-seven year old crypto pedophile report to the city he is doing just fine now she upbraids me for watching tv complains about reagan and cooks vegetarian meatloaf i dont know how much longer i can stand her meatloaf its like ketchup on ground corpse i have been accepted to yale the headaches are back she wants to walk with me in the park tonight walk and talk walk and talk hand in hand walk and talk shes going to bring meatloaf sandwiches what if I took her sack of granola her tasteless loaves of preservative free bread and stuffed her like a turkey top and bottom then breaded her in cornflakes theres a joke in there somewhere about cereal killers i bought a new ice pick today i will have to see how things work out |
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At
his high school graduation, Nathan Sunday was the valedictorian. While
the main speaker was addressing the students, faculty, parents, and
visitors, Nathan was on stage, seated next to school principal Martin
Callum. Nathan was writing something, A few minutes before Nathan got
up to deliver his own remarks, he handed the following to Principal
Callum for his reading pleasure. valedictory
faculty parents honored
guests fellow students
graduates our speaker today talks of futures filled with bright vistas unbounded opportunities that our only limits are the size of our dreams he should know our speaker is a corrupt district attorney who has purposefully imprisoned the innocent and looked elsewhere when his own friends fingers were found in the public pie this creature will one day become governor perhaps even president of these united states provided his liver doesnt fail him and his fingers dont get caught too many times in the wrong pockets james fitzgerald mccann our speaker i went to the library and looked up james fitzgerald mccann for years he is merely james gilbert mccann but james fitzgerald mccann decides adding a fitzgerald makes james fitzgerald mccann sound more like john fitzgerald kennedy james fitzgerald mccann you see has a dream graduates the question that needs to be asked today is this is he that stupid or are we this is the valedictory speech i would like to give just as soon as james fitzgerald mccann runs out of hot air i wonder if i will i wonder if he ever will |
My gaze lowered to a
green Buick stuck in traffic next to the bus. In the rear window was
the face of an angelic little girl. Seven or eight years old. Brown
eyes, black hair, and a tasteful sprinkling of freckles. She stuck her
tongue out at me and made a face. I mouthed the words, “I know where you live,” grinned
malevolently, and drew my thumb slowly across my throat.
As the bus crept forward a few feet and braked, I slumped down, my knees a- gainst the seat in front of me, and let my head sink to the back of my seat. “Man,” said Yukiko, “look at that traffic jam. We’re going to be stuck here all day.” “Too bad,” responded Geraldine. “I got me a weak bladder.” I checked to make certain that Geraldine was not within tinkle range, then closed my eyes and allowed the drugs to hijack me back to Goofytown. ---Joe Torio in JUST ENOUGH ROPE |
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At
Yale he took dramatics. There he met William Riggs, a senior in prelaw
with a minor in dramatics. The two of them decided to room together.
Weekly they would drive to Philadelphia to prowl around the seedier
parts of the city. It was in Philadelphia where two gruesome couple
killings took place: Brad Pastor and Gina Fusco at Gina's home on
Locust Street, and a year later Leander Johns and Maria Corvo at
Maria's home on Green Street. Nathan Sunday and William Riggs were
briefly suspected in both sets of killings but provided alibis for each
other. Their alibis were backed up by the members of Nathan's
study group at Yale. It was later learned that the corroborating alibis
were purchased through Sunday and Riggs keeping silent regarding their
fellow students' illicit drug activities. career day
i am everyone
the whore in the shadows the thief racing across the rooftops the cop crying over the dead baby in his arms the dead baby i am always the dead baby roles parts to be played out on a stage for a director who never gets it quite right the instructor says i ought to consider an acting career and i tell her we already have |
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logos
if
in the beginning was the word then in the beginning was it a typo i dont understand why understand is the word for understand i dont understand who decided that i should be weaning myself off of the meaning of meaning how can anyone understand anyone if all we can use are these wretched things called words love is the word we use to kid ourselves into thinking we are not alone i is the word we use to grasp reality i is the loneliest word in the ending thats all that will remain the word and no one left to hear it |
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the patient advocate
we kill
mad dogs rogue elephants tigers in the village great white sharks in the water we dont treat them and set them loose is there anyone more gullible than the one who cares that others think he cares go home see if you can find some wax for your plastic halo |
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its a mad mad mad mad world
pick up that joint and smoke
and you will die so you pick up that joint make that bet and you destroy yourself and everything and everyone you love so you make that bet kill that man and you will go to hell and burn and scream and writhe in agony for ever and ever so you go ahead and kill that man finally a place that makes sense lets role play ted you play you and i will play the god who made you you lie down on the floor make your little fists kick your little legs sorry im having difficulty with my part how do you role play an avalanche ted how do you role play a volcano it wont work at all unless i can end the world again we watch something instead we are going to be allowed a treat the greatest story ever told is on tv john wayne in charge of executing jesus well pilgrim yo |
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mommy dearest
dear mother
i am supposed to write a letter to you telling you how i feel about you me pooh and the giving tree they say you used me crippled me twisted my view of sex and manhood womanhood parenthood childhood and robin hood to these its like trying to explain quantum theory to a bowl of banana slugs no banana slugs would be better at it you wouldnt have to put up with all these winks nods knowing chuckles god i hate group therapy why me why me boo hoo let it all out tilly its okay boo hoo group hug i want to puke now group therapy in israel would be cool hamid would you share with the group how you really feel and i would trigger off my dynamite stuffed vest let it out hamid let it all out its okay today in the news another palestinian blows up another bus i can understand it if the driver gives him some guff about his fare but the issue was all about doing the right thing meeting god cashing in a chit for all those virgins look at all the bodies and the half burned stuffed toy either allah is very sick and twisted or the bomber got his information wrong i look in the book and the messenger says allah hates the murderer allah hates the bringer of war so i guess the bomber was just another shmuck who bought it from the con man like it was on sale to do group in israel i wouldnt have to learn another language out there everyone is born without ears |
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| Top of Page | ||||
| aTwitMystery Archive Index |
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| "Breach
of Contract" A
Blackbird Tale by Barry B. Longyear |
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| "A
Hitman's Lot" A Blackbird Tale by
Barry B. Longyear |
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| "The Milk Run" A Blackbird Tale by Barry B. Longyear |
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| The
Sunday Papers: Poetry of a Serial
Killer by Barry B. Longyear |
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9.7.2008: 156
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