by Ron Ripley
Chapter 38: Shane Reaches Out to a Friend
"Brian can't help us?" Frank asked.
Shane shook his head. "Guy's one bad phone call away from another heart attack. No way I could ask him to come in on this."
Frank nodded. After a moment he said, "Anyone else?"
Shane hesitated, then he said, "Yes. There might be. I haven't talked to him in a long time, but if he's around, he'll help."
"Does he live nearby?" Frank asked.
"Right over the New Hampshire, Massachusetts border," Shane answered. "I'll give him a call."
He stood up, took his phone out and walked into the hallway. In silence, he brought up his contacts, found the name and dialed the number.
It rang three times before it was answered by a woman.
"Hello?" she asked.
"Hi, my name's Shane Ryan, I was trying to reach a friend of mine, this is the last number I had for him."
"Hold on," the woman said.
Shane heard her repeat his name in the background, and then there was a bellowing laugh.
"You're damned right I know a Shane Ryan!" Mason Phillips yelled. A moment later, Mason was on the phone. "Holy hell, Batman! What have you been up to, Gunnery Sergeant Ryan?"
"Slaying bodies," Shane said, chuckling. "You know how it is, Marine."
"I do, I do. Tell me what this phone call out of the blue is for," Mason said. "It's not like you to break radio silence for no reason."
"Yeah," Shane apologized, "there's a reason. I need a hand up in New Hampshire. I'm not sure if you'd be okay doing it, though."
The humor went out of Mason's voice. "Gunny, do you remember that hillbilly punk down in North Carolina who pulled a gun on me?"
"Yeah," Shane said, sighing. "That I do."
"Then I'll do whatever needs to be done," Mason said. "Tell me where you need me to be, Shane."
He nodded and gave Mason the address for Oliver Dawson's place.
Chapter 39: Speaking with the Trapped
Laura holstered her sidearm and fought the urge to reload it. The bullets had not had any sort of effect on the ghosts.
She shook her head at the thought of the prisoners.
Ghosts, she repeated to herself, still in disbelief. Ghosts.
George, the man who had rushed out of the house to combat the dead, handed her a cup of hot tea. She could smell a dash of brandy in it, and she nodded her thanks. Laura looked around the small room and saw that the lights which had been on when she had arrived were out.
The room was lit only by the surprisingly cheerful light of the fire burning in the hearth. On the gray suede couch which rested against the right wall, the two little girls played paddy-cake. George sat down on the floor beside Laura and the woman, Merle, occupied an old, cane-backed rocking chair.
Evie had gone into the kitchen to fetch her daughters some goldfish crackers.
"How are you doing?" George asked.
He was a middle-aged man, balding with strawberry blonde hair. Freckles formed a rough swath from his left cheek to his right, bridging his wide nose. Beneath his pale green eyes were dark circles, signs of several sleepless nights and Laura wondered how long he had been trapped in the house.
"Alright," Laura answered. She took a sip of the tea and felt the nip of the brandy. A rush of warmth trickled through her. "Confused, really."
"I'm not surprised," Merle said. The woman was dressed in mismatched clothes, an iron fireplace shovel on her lap. "This is a rather odd situation for any of us to be in."
Evie re-entered the room, handed a bowl to each of her daughters and sat down to the left of the fireplace. She looked at Laura and asked, "How is it out there?"
"Where?" Laura asked. "The rest of Gaiman?"
Evie nodded.
"I don't know," Laura said. "There are accidents, but until just now, there weren't any lines down. People have been concerned about Mulberry Street. I was sent to do health and welfare checks on everyone here. Unfortunately, it didn't go exactly as I thought it would."
"No," George agreed, "I don't imagine it did."
Laura finished her drink and set the cup aside. "When did all of this start?"
"A few days ago," Merle said. "There was a blast of some sort at the prison. I heard the windows break. After that, well, the ghosts showed up."
Laura looked around the room and said, "Whose house is this?"
"Mine," George said. "They're my neighbors."
Laura frowned. "How did you all end up in here?"
They told her.
She learned of the murder of Merle's husband. George's accidental discovery of the power of the iron fireplace poker. Evie's similar salvation with the frying pan. Merle told her of the chase by the fat ghost, and of George rushing to her rescue. Of Merle and George both going to help Evie and her daughters.
"What's the salt for?" Laura asked when they had finished their stories.
"It keeps the ghosts out," George explained.
"How?" she said. "How does salt do that?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"I mean, how did you even find out salt could serve as a barrier?" Laura asked.
"The internet," George said. "Before we lost power a little while ago, we had everything. After I got rid of the twin prisoners, I looked up online as to why it happened."
"Excuse me," Evie said.
Laura looked at her.
"Yes?" Laura asked.
"When are the rest of the police going to come and get us out of here?"
Laura could hear the panic in the woman's voice. Evie may have held off the dead with a frying pan, but she wouldn't hold onto her composure much longer.
Laura smiled and lied. "Soon. They'll be here soon."
One of the girls laughed. They were throwing goldfish crackers at each other and trying to catch them in their mouths.
God, Laura prayed, please let it be soon.
Outside, the wind howled and railed against the house.
Chapter 40: Getting to Ollie's House
Pete had been forced to switch cars. The front end of the Cadillac had been knocked out of alignment when Frank had smashed Shane's car into it. Pete didn't mind too much, it meant he could take his new toy, his Jeep Wrangler, out in the snow and try it out.
The vehicle had handled the snow like a dream.
With Kenney Chesney blasting out of the radio, Pete had sung along, racing past people stuck in snow drifts or too afraid to put the pedal down.
Pete was not intimidated by the weather.
He chuckled to himself as he took the exit and cut the wheel hard so he could slide down the off-ramp.
Yeah, he thought, nodding, this is why I bought the damned thing. Serious driving for the serious driver!
Rock salt and sand popped beneath his tires as he raced along, following the recently scraped and treated pavement towards Ollie's street. Pete wondered what sort of team-up he and his brother would have.
Sure, Kurkow's kind of messed up, he thought, but we can still save it. I mean, hey, one of those girls is alive, and that's got to count for something. And there's got to be a good way to spin this. Ollie will know what to do. He always does. I shouldn't have freaked out last night, but it's okay.
Pete rubbed at his face, remembering Frank's punch. Part of him wanted to hit Frank back, but he knew it wouldn't be the best idea.
Frank was a little disturbed at times.
Then Ollie's house appeared on the right, and all thoughts of vengeance slipped away. Pete slowed down, eased the Jeep into the driveway since Beth wouldn't like it if he raced in, and parked beside Shane's car.
Bet old Ollie reeled those two in, Pete thought, smirking. My brother's always in charge.
Pete whistled again as he got out of his Jeep, swung the key around on his index finger and hurried out of the cold and into Ollie's garage.
"Hey, Ollie!" Pete called, climbing the stairs to the interior door. He rapped on it twice then opened it, saying, "Hey, Bro, I'm here!
"
"Come on into the kitchen," Ollie yelled back.
Humming, Pete made his way down the long hallway, passed the main stairs and entered the kitchen. Ollie was alone in the room, his back to Pete as he looked out the window. Pete wandered over to the breakfast nook and sat down in it.
"How's it going?" Pete asked.
"I've been better, to be completely honest, Pete," Ollie said, turning around.
Pete winced as he saw Ollie's lips. The bottom one was a wreck, split open on the left and a red lump on the lower part of his chin. "Damn, what happened?"
"Shane happened," Ollie answered.
"Why?"
"Because of Kurkow," Ollie said, walking over and sitting down across from him.
Pete noticed how his brother limped. "Did you hurt your legs?"
"No," Ollie said. "Shane did."
"And he's still here?" Pete asked, lowering his voice. "I saw the car, so he and Frank are here? Do you need me to call the police?"
Ollie shook his head. "No. What I need is for us to figure out how we're going to make this right."
"Him hitting you?" Pete said.
"Kurkow," Ollie said, looking hard at Pete. "We need to fix what went wrong with Kurkow. The ghosts got out. We need to put them back in. And then we need to keep them in there."
"How the hell are we supposed to do all of that?" Pete asked, sitting back. "Is there some group we can call?"
"No," a voice said from the doorway.
Startled, Pete twisted in the seat as Shane and Frank entered the room. Their brows were furrowed and the lines around their mouths tight. Frank went to the sink and got himself a drink of water while Shane took out a cigarette and lit it.
Pete glanced at Ollie, but his brother didn't seem to care about Shane smoking.
Tapping his feet on the floor, Pete asked, "Um, then who do we get in touch with?"
"I've already reached out to one friend," Shane said, exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling. "I'll be talking to another soon."
"And I've left a message with the Abbott of my former Order," Frank added. "We'll be gathering our forces. We're hopeful to have everyone in the next few hours."
"Okay," Pete said, shifting himself in the nook. "You don't need me for anything then, right?"
"On the contrary," Ollie said. "We need you to speak with the hotel in Ennis."
"Um, hey," Pete said, clearing his throat. "You know, Melanie works there."
"Exactly," Ollie said.
"Yeah, she's the manager," Pete continued.
Ollie nodded. "I figured it would be best for you to speak with her."
"She doesn't exactly like me, Ollie," Pete said, upset at the whine he heard in his own voice.
"Who is she?" Frank asked.
"Pete's second ex-wife," Ollie explained. "It was a surprisingly peaceful divorce considering the way they used to fight."
"Ah," Frank said. "So you're thinking maybe Pete here could get a deal on some hotel rooms?"
Ollie nodded.
"Why do you even need hotel rooms?" Pete demanded.
"No," Shane said, his voice cold and hard. "The question is why do 'we' need hotel rooms, Peter."
Pete shook his head. "No. You know what, that doesn't sound like the right question at all."
"Why doesn't it?" Ollie asked. "We're both to blame for this situation. We bought the place. You opened the doors. I sent that team in. Something's going on in Gaiman. People are getting hurt. You know this."
"I don't care," Pete said, sliding out of the seat and standing up. "I really don't. I did my part. I called Frank and told him what was going on. They got one of those girls out. So, yeah, way I see it, my part's done."
Pete turned to leave and stopped.
Somehow, Shane had crossed the tiled floor without a sound. He stood between Pete and the hallway. The cigarette was between his lips, clinging to a precarious position in the left corner of his mouth. Smoke drifted out of his nostrils, and the look in Shane's eyes tied an uncomfortable knot in Pete's stomach.
"I need to leave," Pete whispered.
Shane shook his head.
Pete straightened up, forced himself to speak louder and said, "I'm leaving."
Shane remained silent.
"Fine," Pete said, and he tried to push his way past the man.
Shane's right fist was a blur and Pete yelled, staggering back. Pain exploded in his left shoulder, and the arm hung dead at his side.
“You’re going to stay and help make this right,” Frank said.
Pete shook his head.
Shane's left hand lashed out, and Pete's right ear began to ring and pulse.
"We're not asking you, Pete," Frank said, a mournful expression on his face. "We're telling you.”
Pete shook his head.
Shane sighed, gave a shrug, and then punched Pete in the stomach.
Gasping for breath, Pete collapsed to the floor, writhing on the cold tile.
Shane squatted down in front of him, took the cigarette out and said, "Pete, are you listening to me?"
Pete looked at him through tear-filled eyes and nodded.
"Good," Shane said. He took another pull off the cigarette, the smoke slipping out of his mouth as he spoke. "Good. Now I want you to hear me. If you don't make the call to your ex, then I'm going to have to start hurting you."
Pete closed his eyes and let the tears fall.
Chapter 41: Angry at the World
Shane sat on the stairs in the hallway, his hands hurting. A small part of him was disgusted with what he had done, the way he had hurt the Dawson brothers to get their agreement and assistance.
The rest of him wasn't.
The rest of him wanted to bring the two men to Kurkow and show them what had happened.
And that's just what I know happened, Shane thought. He snorted, took his cigarettes out and tapped the pack on his leg. What the hell's going on in the rest of Gaiman?
Frank walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and sat beside Shane.
"How are you holding up?" Frank asked.
"I'm alright," Shane said.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
Shane nodded.
"You're looking a little stressed to me, Marine," Frank said.
"Little bit," Shane confessed. "I don't like waiting. Not when I know something bad is going on."
"Neither do I," Frank agreed. The former monk's phone rang. Frank took it out, looked at the caller ID and said, "It's my Abbott."
Shane nodded and continued to play with his pack of matches while Frank answered the call and stood up. His voice trailed off as he left the hallway. Ollie appeared in the doorway, glanced after Frank and then walked over to Shane. He stopped a few feet away from him.
"What's up?" Shane asked.
"Did you have to go so hard on him?" Ollie asked. There was anger in his voice, his face flushed with the same.
Shane stared at Ollie until the other man looked away.
"That wasn't hard," Shane said, his voice low. "Not hard at all. If I had my way, Oliver, I would have broken his God damned fingers, and yours as well. I still might. Depends on how many bodies end up at your feet when all of this is done."
Ollie took an involuntary step back.
"You wouldn't," Ollie whispered.
"I would. I can, and," Shane said, "I'd like nothing more. Greed and arrogance are two of my least favorite traits. Show me you're different and I'll leave you be."
Ollie shook his head, turned and hurried away.
Frank returned, putting his phone away and asking, "Can I borrow your car?"
"Sure," Shane said. He dug his keys out and tossed them to Frank.
The other man caught them with one hand and said, "The Abbott's got some items we can borrow. I was hoping for some more men, but evidently, there was a situation at a Church in Boston. All of those in the Order who are capable of combating the dead have been sent there."
Shane sighed. "Great. Hey, any word from Asa
as to what's up with him and Emma?"
"Not yet," Frank said. "I'll send him a text. Want me to give him your number?"
"Please," Shane said. "Are you going to talk to him about going up to Ennis?"
Frank nodded. "Yeah. Damn, I forgot all about that. I'll call him from the car then I'll have him text you, and the two of you can set up everything once Pete gets those rooms for us."
"Okay," Shane said. "Be safe out there."
"When aren't I?" Frank asked, grinning.
"Given our short friendship," Shane replied, "I'd have to say always."
Frank's laughter followed him as he left the house.
Chapter 42: Becoming Concerned
The snow had stopped, and George was thankful. He was also pleased with the fire, the food, and the pleasant company considering the circumstances. His phone, however, had finally died.
And Evie was becoming worse with each passing hour.
She was no longer content to sit by the fire and watch her girls play. Evie no longer had any desire to engage in conversation or play cards.
Instead, she paced from window to window, always careful of the salt. While she had started doing so in silence, she had begun to mumble after darkness had fallen.
George, Merle and Laura had all exchanged concerned looks. Evie's daughters didn't seem to notice anything was wrong with their mother.
When both Alison and Rachel had fallen asleep, and their breathing was in a steady, deep rhythm, Laura got up. George watched as her face became a mask of concern, a police officer worried about a citizen.
Laura's voice was soft, her words picked with care, her touch gentle on Evie's arm as she stopped her. Evie's eyes darted about, frantic as they moved from one window to the next. Her fingers twitched, and she licked her lips every few seconds.
“Evie,” Laura said. “How are you doing?”
Evie jerked her arm away and took a step back as she snapped, “How do you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said. “That’s why I’m asking.”
George started to stand, but Laura shook her hand at him. He sat back down, scooting himself closer to the couch where the girls sat.
