The wind or the wail of the banshee.

Mary is looking at the lights on Park Avenue, New York City as she sips a well-aged scotch alone. The phone rings.

Mary

'Hi Bernie. Happy Saturday...'

Bernie

'I'm well-awre it's the weekend. I think it's time to shuffle the Account Executives offices.'

Mary

'Just a little panic...a little fear to keep them on their toes...like someone other than them is moving up.'

Bernie

'Exactly. Not the ones in the corner offices.'

Mary

'I know.'

Bernie

'Plan some thing out. And I'll see you Monday.'

Mary

'See you Monday. Bye.'

In Seaside Heights New Jersey, John steps off the porch into the darkness. Patty's face is beaming with a sense of adventure.

Patty

'Listen'

John looks towards the skeletal frame of the coasters and rides on the closed-for-the-season  Funtown pier.

John listens and hears this distorted wail coming from somewhere among the shadows.

John

'What is that?'

John gazes around at the empty gray streets and white sand dunes.

Patty laughs and begins to cross Ocean Boulevard. John glances back at the house with the Tiffany lamp in the window and lighted green shamrock in an upstairs windows.

John

'You know, once a mystery is solved...it's not much of anything. Like Peter Pan...the best part is before they get to Never, Neverland.'

Patty stands with her back to a six foot sand dune that anyone or anything could be hiding.

Another wail cries out from the empty boardwalk.

'Only one way to find out. Come on before he...or it leaves muwhaaaaaaaaa.'

John

'Oh, what's St Patrick's Day without a banshee.