Worthe's Village

by Ron Ripley

  “Of course,” Abel murmured. “Where else would he? Has Subject B noticed yet?”

  “No, sir,” David replied.

  “Very good,” Abel said, clearing his throat. “I will be in the command center shortly. Please, get me immediately should the situation change drastically before I arrive.”

  “Yes, sir,” David said and hung up the phone.

  Abel fairly sprang from the bed and raced around his large room. He dressed quickly, snatched a power bar up from a box of the same on his private work desk, and hurried out of the room.

  By the time he reached the main hallway, he ran into the night guard.

  “I need,” Abel began, but the man nodded.

  “I know, sir. The commander phoned in and told me to have a car ready and waiting,” the young man stated. “There is a vehicle, prepared and equipped, at the end of the stairs.”

  “Excellent,” Abel said, jittery with nervousness and excitement. The young man opened the door for him, and Abel hurried down the steps. An older woman in black fatigues stood at the back, passenger side door of the Suburban and opened it sharply for him when he neared the vehicle. As soon as he was in, the woman closed the door with the same abrupt thoroughness.

  In less than three minutes, Abel was hurrying through the front door of the command center.

  The observation room had multiple feeds from static and free cameras, and David had slaved several drones to monitor 114 Broad Street in a constantly rotating pattern.

  “Has the situation changed?” Abel asked, taking a seat beside David.

  The other man shook his head. “No, sir. Not at all.”

  Abel leaned forward, flicked a switch, and then focused the camera on the shape chained by her legs to the chimney.

  Subject C lay on her side in the attic, shackles running through a steel bolt set in the central chimney. Her hair hid her face as her body rose and fell in a discordant rhythm that showed she was crying.

  Chapter 44: Disillusion and Disappointment

  Maggie shivered uncontrollably, the cold around her unbearable.

  Silence filled the attic, and she tried to move her legs.

  Sharp pain tore a gasp from her, and she whimpered. As soon as the sound escaped her lips, she clapped her hands over her mouth. Breathing heavily through her nose, she waited to hear the dead man.

  But no sound came.

  Forcing herself to ignore the pain in her legs, she moved them again, the cold steel digging into her ankles. As the chain rattled across the floor, the noise grating against her ears, Maggie waited for the Reverend to take some punitive action.

  Yet still, nothing occurred.

  A flicker of hope was kindled in her heart, and Maggie pushed herself up into a sitting position. In the dim light of the attic, she stared with dread at the open doorway that led out into the hallway. She waited, her heart thundering against her chest.

  Finally, after she couldn’t bear it any longer, Maggie got to her feet.

  “Feeling better?” the Reverend asked solicitously from behind her.

  Maggie squealed in fear, her damaged vocal chords incapable of producing anything louder.

  Twisting around, she saw the Reverend standing by a window, looking out across the compound.

  “It is a beautiful night,” the dead man said, his hands clasped behind him. “You cannot see it from where you stand, but I have a marvelous view of the little chapel your friends and my Elaine have holed up in. I had hoped, well, it seems to be more of hubris than anything else now, that I might entice your elderly friend to come up to the attic once more. Perhaps without the aid of his pitiful iron chain. Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the case and, to be perfectly blunt, my dear, the breaking of your voice has made you essentially worthless to my plans.”

  He turned around and peered at her, a beatific smile on his face.

  “You would like to be released, I know,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “And so you shall. Yes, so you shall. So, you would like to leave now?”

  Maggie nodded so hard, her neck hurt.

  “Excellent, all is forgiven, all is forgotten,” he said, extending his arms to her. “Come, let us free you from your chains and return you to your friends. I will speak with the elderly man myself, and perhaps then we can have a discussion about the wandering eye of my wife.”

  Maggie wept as she staggered toward the Reverend, her relief indescribable.

  ***

  The screams in his nightmare were hideous. They punctured the loud, vibrant ambient noise of the jungle and set his teeth on edge. Something pounded through the air, and Marcus desperately sought cover, expecting mortar rounds to drop in on their position at any moment.

  Someone gripped his arm, shook him and his eyes snapped open.

  Alex stood beside him, a look of deep concern on the boy’s face.

  “What is it?” Marcus asked in a low voice, sitting up.

  Before the boy could answer, something thudded against the wooden door of the chapel with enough force to cause the old hinges to rattle. A chuckle followed, then the unknown object slammed into the door again.

  As he sat there, Marcus listened and flinched with each blow, counting three before he finally forced himself up.

  “Get behind the lectern, Alex,” Marcus said softly, pointing to where it stood on the small dais.

  The boy nodded and, without any argument, hurried up to crouch down beside it.

  Again, the door shook in its frame, and Marcus braced himself. He walked to the door, grasped the handle, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

  Something hard and heavy and wet struck him in the chest and sent him several steps back. The object hit the floor, rolled unevenly and came to a stop beneath one of the pews.

  “Ho!” the Reverend called from a few feet in front of the door. “It seems I have awakened thee.”

  “You certainly have,” Marcus said, approaching the door cautiously. A glance down showed the line of salt in the dim moonlight, and he felt some small sense of relief. “Why have you been banging on the door?”

  “I was recalling my youth,” the dead man replied. “It was not unheard for us to bounce a ball now and again off the door, ere our father could catch us. Was it not so for thee?”

  Marcus frowned. The dead man’s tone was mockingly familiar, the ‘thee’ more an insult than a term of affection.

  “It was,” Marcus admitted after a moment. “Was it your ball that hit me?”

  “Of a sort,” the dead man said, grinning. “When you are ready, bring my ball to me. I shall be in my favorite place. It was my wife’s as well.”

  The Reverend vanished, and Marcus closed and locked the door. He turned around to speak to Alex and Maggie, but saw the woman was gone.

  A cold wave of fear washed over him, and he said, “Alex, did you see Maggie leave?”

  The boy stood up from behind the lectern, fear on his face. “No. Marcus, what’s on your shirt?”

  Looking down, Marcus saw there was a dark smear down the front of his chest, and for the first time he smelled the sharp, bitter tang of copper. He reached up, touched the darkness and felt it was tacky and damp. His fingers trembled as he brought them up to his nose and sniffed, jerking his head back at the tang of blood that assailed him.

  Marcus lowered his hand and said in a low voice, “Alex, I want you to remain where you are.”

  The boy nodded.

  Marcus crouched down, glanced under the pew and saw Maggie’s dead eyes stare back at him.

  Chapter 45: Sent Away

  Around them, the music thumped dully from the old-style jukebox tucked up in the right-hand corner. A handful of employees from the Village drank at the bar, mingling with the townsfolk and lumberjacks down from their camps for the weekend. There would be fights later, Timmy knew. Townies and ‘jacks thought the men and women who worked at the Professor’s estate were soft.

  It had happened once before, and even though the regulars had suffered a be
ating, it appeared that after a few drinks, the townies hadn’t learned from the experience.

  Timmy looked across the table at David, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “Are you kidding me?” Timmy finally asked.

  David shook his head.

  Timmy lowered his beer, changed his mind and brought the bottle up to his lips. The mouth of the Heineken was cold and helped to take the chill out of the anger he felt rising in his chest.

  “So,” Timmy said, pausing, “why in the hell am I being put on scouting duty?”

  “Timmy,” David said, spreading his hands out and shrugging his shoulders.

  Timmy rolled his eyes, snorted with disbelief and looked away. “Suzie.”

  David didn’t speak, which spoke volumes to Timmy.

  “We all think you need a break,” David said in a voice which, despite the calmness of it, told Timmy there was no room for argument.

  “All?” Timmy asked without looking back at him.

  “All,” David said. “That would be Suzie, Jane, myself, and the Boss.”

  Timmy groaned inwardly and hid his disappointment behind another drink from the bottle. He didn’t doubt David’s statement about the Boss lending his weight behind the decision. It simply meant Timmy wouldn’t be able to fight the order.

  He considered the situation the subjects were in, especially Subject B, and thought, What the hell?

  “David,” Timmy said, turning around to face the other man, “it’s not that I wouldn’t like a little time to mellow out after Amir’s death, but it would kind of make his death completely pointless if Subject B acted up again.”

  “Timmy,” David said, sighing, “we don’t want you killing the guy.”

  That’s what they think this is about, Timmy thought, stifling his surprise. Well, what they think. Suzie thinks it’s something else.

  “I wasn’t going to kill him,” Timmy said, and he hated the unconvincing tone of his own voice.

  David gave a grim chuckle. “You sound like a fox standing outside a henhouse.”

  “You know that makes zero sense, right?” Timmy asked.

  “Doesn’t have to,” David said, smiling. “What has to make sense is that you understand I am sending you away. You’re going to New Hampshire.”

  Timmy didn’t hide his groan.

  “What?” David asked.

  “Send me to New York City!” Timmy said, gesturing with his beer and almost spilling it. “There have to be ghosts there, right?”

  “Sure,” David answered, “but there aren’t any houses the Boss is interested in.”

  “Fine,” Timmy said, finishing his beer. “Great. When do I leave?”

  “Now,” David said.

  Timmy looked at him with surprise, and the other man nodded.

  “No word of a lie,” David said. “Grab your gear bag, make sure it’s packed and then get on down to the airport. You’ve got about fifteen minutes.”

  Timmy muttered and cursed under his breath, and when he finished, David said, “You’ll have a new card issued to you as soon as you touch down and get squared away. Boss wants you out soon. He’s really excited about a change in the ‘dynamic,’ as he calls it. Suzie put a bug in his ear, and it was all I could do to keep them from slamming you into a bag and shipping you third class to New England.”

  “Might be better,” Timmy grumbled.

  “Knock it off,” David commanded, and Timmy stopped.

  David could be pushed and prodded, but the man had his limits.

  “Get your gear squared away and catch your flight out,” David said, his tone stern. “I want you to scope out the new place. This one, according to the Boss, is even more dangerous than the last.”

  “That,” Timmy said, picturing 114 Broad Street, “is hard to imagine.”

  David nodded, raised his hand, and ordered another beer.

  ***

  The head was wrapped in one of Maggie’s shirts and placed outside.

  Alex added a few small branches to the fire and glanced nervously at Marcus.

  “It’s alright,” Marcus said with resignation. “I only wish I was able to clean up at this point. I’m sure there are pumps in or behind the houses. But after this, I’d rather not wander around in the night.”

  He saw the boy glance over at the shirt-wrapped head and nod in silent agreement.

  “Why did she go out?” Alex asked, fixing his penetrating gaze on Marcus.

  “I wish I knew,” Marcus confessed. “She was not doing well, unfortunately, and I had hoped I might gain some clemency for her if I could speak to a guard in the morning.”

  “I don’t think they would have,” Alex said in a soft voice. His words were nearly smothered by the sparks and pops of the burning wood. “This whole place,” Alex continued, looking around him, “all of it feels wrong. It reminds me of my stepfather. He’d get so angry, it was like the room was filled with electricity. It was everywhere. And the angrier he got, the more, well, static filled the air. You know?”

  Marcus nodded. “You can feel the anger here?”

  “Right now, yeah,” Alex answered, a glum expression on his face. “It started to go away yesterday, but it’s back now. And more than before. Um, Marcus?”

  “Yes?” Marcus asked, half-listening to the boy and half-listening to the night sounds of the forest beyond the fence.

  “Marcus,” Alex asked, his voice distant and somewhat shocked.

  Marcus turned and looked at him, noticing how the boy stood rigid, his lower lip trembling, his eyes wide with horror.

  “What are we going to do with her head?”

  ***

  Abel adjusted the straps of the oxygen mask on his face and couldn’t repress a grin. His need for the ministrations of Nurse Schomp had risen sharply while watching the Reverend attempt to gain Subject B’s attention by way of Subject C’s screams.

  He didn’t hear her, Abel thought, and that is what made the situation at the chapel so interesting.

  Abel brought the still-shot of Subject B’s face onto the main screen. The picture, taken when the realization of what had struck him settled in, showed the subject’s face in vivid detail.

  There’s fear there, yes, I see it, Abel thought, zooming in on the man’s eyes. But there is far, far greater strength. Will it be possible to break this man through fear?

  Abel straightened up in surprise, smiled and thought, Yes. Yes, that is what needs to be done. He must be broken by fear.

  ***

  Marcus and the boy walked together. In one hand, Marcus held the shirt with Maggie’s head in it. His other hand clasped Alex’s.

  They no longer wrestled with the question of what to do.

  With their decision made, they moved toward the gate.

  Guards appeared, lowered their weapons and waited.

  Marcus didn’t concern himself with the black-clad figures. Or their weapons. He and the boy wouldn’t leave the cobblestone road.

  They wouldn’t have to.

  The two of them reached the last streetlamp on the left and stopped.

  “Are you ready?” Marcus asked the boy, and Alex gave a grim nod in reply.

  Marcus’s knees cracked loudly in protest as he squatted, and the boy scrambled onto his back, his legs hooked around his waist. Taking a deep breath, Marcus straightened up.

  “Okay,” Alex said, his voice rough.

  Marcus handed the shirt up, hating the way the congealed blood had formed a twisted silhouette of Maggie’s face on the fabric.

  A moment later the shirt fluttered to the street, and Alex grunted before he asked, “Can we leave now?”

  “Yes,” Marcus whispered and lowered the boy down.

  They returned the way they came, hand in hand, and no longer burdened with their dead.

  ***

  “We should terminate them both, sir, and the sooner, the better,” David said.

  Abel could see the muscles jumping along the man’s jaw.

  “Davi
d,” Abel said, “those two are a challenge. I enjoy challenges. And, as you can easily see, they are everything and more. Much more. I had considered, after the coordinated attack by the dead, that perhaps I should remove these two test subjects. But then, I decided against it. When the new house arrives, we will put a sort of treasure in it. An incentive, if you will, to do the job and to do it properly, yes?”

  “Yes, sir,” David said.

  “Relax, David,” Abel said, smiling. “It only gets easier from here.”

  Chapter 46: Ministrations and Devotions

  Marcus and Alex sat beside one another, the fire nothing more than embers in the pit. They would use the remains of the last fire to build up another, and Marcus smiled at the symbolism in it.

  Alex was wrapped in a blanket, reading his Rowling book, and Marcus wondered, Should I be concerned for him? Or is he already too damaged from his stepfather for him to care about a woman he did not know?

  Marcus didn’t know the answer, and that moment, he realized it didn’t matter.

  The two of them would do what was needed to survive.

  Marcus took his pipe out, packed and lit it, and looked at the back of 114 Broad Street. In the attic window, he glimpsed a shape, and he assumed it was the Reverend.

  It’s time, Marcus told himself and cleared his throat.

  “Elaine,” he said aloud. “Elaine, can you hear me?”

  In the space of a heartbeat, the dead woman appeared across the fire pit from them.

  Her expression was mournful, and she gazed at the ground.

  “None of this,” Marcus said, understanding the dead woman’s posture immediately, “is your fault. There is another man who is responsible for all this, and he is still living.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his and nodded.

  “I need to know where the Reverend’s object is in the kitchen’s corner hutch,” Marcus said, trying to keep his anger out of his voice, to keep control of himself. “Can you show me?”