Borgin Keep

by Ron Ripley

  A moment later, the phone rang and Harlan leaned forward to read the caller ID.

  All he could see was a random assortment of numbers.

  The phone stopped ringing at ten.

  Less than a minute later, it rang again.

  Once more, it was the same random numbers.

  It stopped ringing at nine.

  The pattern repeated itself until Harlan answered the call after it had gotten down to three rings.

  “Who is this?” he yelled into the phone.

  “My, you’re a little testy,” Shane Ryan said.

  Harlan was shocked and couldn’t respond.

  “I can hear you breathing,” Shane said, chuckling. “Which is good.”

  “What do you want?” Harlan said, in perfect control of himself.

  “I want to chat,” Shane said. “See how you are. Find out what the weather’s like down in Boston.”

  “You could always come down,” Harlan replied. “You have the address.”

  “I may,” Shane said. “Don’t count it out. When I do though, it’ll be to finish this whole show up.”

  “And what if I send someone up there first?” Harlan inquired.

  Shane let out a pleased laugh. “Oh, Harlan. You already have. Two observers in the house across the street. Someone to set fire to my house. The Lieutenant. And let’s not forget Lisbeth. Did you forget her, Harlan?”

  “No,” Harlan growled. “I certainly did not.”

  “Excellent,” Shane said. “Fantastic, really. You know, I’ve been doing a bit of research on your organization. Fascinating stuff. I’m not quite sure what your endgame is, but I’m looking forward to helping you fail.”

  Harlan’s heart beat erratically in his chest. He tried to speak but his anger refused to allow words to form.

  “I will find out,” Shane said and the joking, playful banter was gone from his voice. It was replied with a cold, hard edge. “I want you to understand that. You need to remember, Harlan, that I have one of your little workers with me. And they like to talk. I like to listen. You should too. Soon, and I mean very soon, you’re going to hear something you won’t like.”

  Shane ended the call and Harlan held the phone to his ear until the busy signal beeped.

  He returned the phone to the base and sat at the desk, his back rigid.

  There were a great many places Shane could strike. Each of them would set the program back. Some more so than others.

  The problem then wasn’t when Shane would attack, but where.

  And if he had someone like Lisbeth trapped and questionable, then there were several structures that would prove to be more enticing targets.

  The Watchers had always been a moderate-sized organization, and therefore lacked the numbers to protect all of the properties.

  Harlan forced himself to stand, his legs stiff as he walked to the map on the wall which displayed all of the organization’s holdings. He stared at it for a long time, trying to decide which places to protect.

  Where Shane would strike first.

  After a long time, Harlan turned away from the map and returned to his desk.

  He had phone calls to make and troops to assemble.

  Chapter 37: Preparing for War

  “So what now?” Frank asked.

  Shane tapped his fingers on his pack of Lucky Strikes.

  “Now,” Shane said, “I’ll have Eloise question Lisbeth again.”

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “I know,” Shane replied.

  “There has to be a better way,” Frank said. “We have to let her soul move on.”

  Shane waited a moment before he responded.

  “I agree that her soul needs to be allowed to move on,” he said, “but not yet. Not until this thing with the Watchers is done. I’ll leave word with Eloise that if something happens to me, she should let Lisbeth go.”

  Frank frowned. “There’s no guarantee that she would do that.”

  “You’re right,” Shane agreed. “There isn’t. Eloise can be a little difficult at times.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow and Shane sighed.

  “Alright,” he admitted, “she can be extremely difficult. But I can make sure she takes care of it.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Frank said. “But I don’t suppose we have much of a choice at this point.”

  “Not if we’re planning on coming out on top,” Shane said.

  Frank gave a reluctant nod. “Alright. So we torture Lisbeth for more information about Borgin Keep.”

  “Yup,” Shane said. “Then we arm ourselves as heavily as possible before we go in.”

  “Why go in?” Frank asked. “We should try to burn the place down.”

  Shane shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy. I think we’ll have to find Emmanuel’s bones first, then salt and burn them. Otherwise his ghost will linger on the ley lines and the Watchers will still be able to tap into his energy.”

  Frank snorted, his mouth set in a grim line. “This situation is terrible.”

  The front door opened and was slammed shut.

  In a heartbeat, Shane and Frank were on their feet and moving towards the study door. Neither of them had a weapon. Shane pressed himself against the left wall while Frank did the same on the right. From the hallway came the sound of heels on the floor.

  Whoever it was, Shane realized, didn’t care if they were heard or not.

  And that bothered him.

  He clenched his fists and crouched down. Shane lowered his center of gravity and tensed the muscles in his thighs.

  The doorknob turned halfway and then stopped. Shane’s eyes never left it, even as it returned to its original position.

  The door exploded inward, the latch tearing through the jamb and the hinges ripping out of the same.

  In an awkward spin, the door arced to the floor and slammed down, bouncing twice.

  Shane sprang forward but Frank’s arm caught him and pulled him back.

  Marie Lafontaine stood in the doorway, glaring at him.

  Shane couldn’t find any words to speak.

  “Shane Ryan!” she snapped.

  He shook himself out of his stunned daze and managed a weak, “What?”

  “What the hell is going on and what are you planning on doing?” she demanded.

  Frank answered before he could.

  “Detective,” Frank said, smiling and keeping his distance. “We’re going to a place called Borgin Keep in Vermont.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What are you going to do there?”

  “We’ve been led to believe that there is a ghost there who has a considerable amount of strength,” Frank explained, “and that a rather disagreeable group of people are seeking to channel his energy.”

  Marie looked at Shane and asked, “Does this have anything to do with Kurt?”

  Shane could only nod.

  “When are you two leaving?” she asked.

  “We’re not sure yet,” Frank answered. “We still have some information and equipment to gather.”

  “Alright,” Marie said.

  She walked into the room, passing Shane to go and sit in his chair. The detective crossed one leg over the other, picked up a book from the end table, and opened it up.

  “Marie,” Shane said, finding his voice.

  “What?” she asked. She continued to flip through the pages, not bothering to look at him.

  “Marie,” Shane said again. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Shane heard Frank sigh but he didn’t care. Marie was forcing him to retain control as she sat in his chair.

  “I think I’m looking at a book, Shane,” she said.

  “No,” Shane said, his voice tight and angry. “What the hell are you doing in my chair?”

  “I’m waiting for you,” she replied.

  “Waiting for what?!” he yelled.

  Marie glanced over at him. “I’m waiting for you to get the information and y
our equipment together.”

  “Why?” Shane asked, confused.

  “Because I’m coming with you,” she answered, and she turned another page.

  Chapter 38: Surprised and Shocked

  Frank stood beside Shane and stared at Marie Lafontaine.

  The detective continued to ignore them both, and Frank felt a sudden wave of admiration for the woman wash over him. He grinned and shook his head, a small chuckle escaping. Frank let out a laugh, and then he laughed harder as Shane shot him a disgusted look.

  “Come on, man,” Frank said as he went and dropped down into his chair. “She got us.”

  Shane opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and turned around sharply, executing a perfect about-face. He stomped on the broken door as he left the study.

  Marie closed the book, returned it to the side-table and eyed Frank.

  “Hello, Frank,” she said.

  “Marie,” Frank said, chuckling. “I have to admit it, I’m impressed. Not too many people can get away with talking to him like that.”

  “No, they can’t,” she agreed. “It’s the Marine in him.”

  “Partly,” Frank acknowledged.

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at the doorway. “The rest of it is sheer stubbornness.”

  “Exactly,” Frank said. “So, you’re in it for the long haul?”

  "I am," Marie said. "He got me thinking today when we had him in the station."

  “About what?” Frank asked.

  “Why he was in there,” she answered. “See, there was no real reason to bring him in. Not at first. Doesn’t matter if a guy immolated himself in the yard. There was enough evidence gathered to support the claim that you and Shane made. Not only that, but why did they only bring Shane in?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said, watching her. “Why did they only bring Shane in?”

  Marie leaned forward and said, “He’s the primary threat.”

  Frank waited for her to continue and she did so.

  "I'm not exactly sure what it is you and Shane have done," Marie said. "And at some point, I may, but right now, what I do know is he's gotten rid of a few ghosts. I can only assume that there's some sort of ghost-loving community out there that might not be too happy with him."

  Frank nodded. “Bit of an understatement.”

  "So you've had some trouble," Marie said, and it was a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. He hesitated and then asked, “Did Shane ever mention someone named Mason to you?”

  She shook her head and asked, “Why? Is this someone I should be concerned about?”

  “No,” Frank said sadly. “He was a friend of Shane’s. Served with him in the Marines and helped us out a little while back. The people who tried to set the house on fire, they killed Mason and his wife.”

  “What! Why?” Marie asked.

  “Scare us off,” Frank answered.

  “Shane doesn’t work that way,” she murmured.

  “Evidently they didn’t know enough about him,” Frank said, nodding his agreement with her.

  “Tell me everything,” Marie said, her eyes boring into Frank. “Tell me everything these people have said and done.”

  “Alright,” Frank said, and he did.

  Chapter 39: With Mrs. Henderson

  “Who is she?” Eloise whispered from behind Shane’s chair.

  “Her name is Mrs. Henderson,” Shane replied. “She may be living here with us for a while.”

  The coiled length of piano wire was on the long coffee table, and Mrs. Henderson was on the other side of the room. Her back was to him as she looked out the window. After several silent minutes, she turned around and faced him.

  “I can feel death here,” she said. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Eloise. “Who is this?”

  “Eloise,” Shane murmured.

  The dead girl crept out from behind the chair and gave a small curtsy. “My name is Eloise, ma’am.”

  The right-hand corner of Mrs. Henderson's mouth twitched up as she replied, "A pleasure, Eloise. Where are we, Mr. Ryan?"

  "My home," Shane replied. "I am hopeful that you will reside here a while until we figure out what best to do."

  Mrs. Henderson nodded. “I will be happy to. Are there others, Eloise?”

  "Oh, yes!" Eloise beamed. "Many of us, Mrs. Henderson! You need to meet Carl, though, he seems to know absolutely everything about everything."

  Mrs. Henderson raised an eyebrow and Shane watched as she struggled to keep a smile from her face.

  “Will you introduce me to Carl?” Mrs. Henderson asked.

  Eloise nodded and said, “Follow me!”

  The two ghosts exited the room, leaving Shane alone. Suddenly the world seemed to weigh down on him, and he yawned, his eyelids far heavier than they should have been. He let his head rest against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. His thoughts raced, and sleep would not come to him, but he refused to look out at the world.

  Instead, he listened to the steady beat of his own heart and the way his blood thrummed in his veins. He found his thoughts drifted towards Mason and once more, he wondered if his friend had even known of what had happened. If the man had any knowledge as to the danger lurking in the shadows.

  Shane hoped he hadn’t.

  But thoughts of Mason twisted into a memory of the letter from Harlan. The audacity of the man, his brazenness.

  Shane wanted to hurt him. He wanted him to suffer for every breath he had taken after Mason had breathed his last.

  Maybe I will, Shane thought. If I’m lucky enough.

  His thoughts drifted, swung around to Frank and Marie Lafontaine sitting in the study.

  Shane didn’t want her in the house, but he didn’t think the woman would leave of her own accord. He was also curious as to what she knew, if anything, about the current situation. Shane wondered if she had managed to dig up some information on the Lieutenant.

  He knew he should ask her, but he didn’t want to.

  Shane didn’t want to talk to her at all.

  And Frank’s acceptance of her irritated him. On a less visceral level, he knew that Frank’s defense of Marie was right. Shane also knew that they would need her in the Keep.

  But he didn’t want her to know that.

  Shane let his mind wander as he stared out the window, not truly seeing anything beyond it. A short time later, there was a noise, and he turned towards it.

  Mrs. Henderson had come back. Once more, she walked to the window, but she didn't look out of it. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Shane.

  “You have a great many dead here, Mr. Ryan,” she stated.

  Shane nodded.

  “Most were murdered,” Mrs. Henderson continued.

  “Yes,” Shane said.

  “There are dead children here,” she added.

  “That’s true as well,” he said.

  “You didn’t kill them,” Mrs. Henderson stated, and then she added, “they have no one to care for them.”

  Shane wondered if he looked as surprised as he felt.

  “It would be good,” Shane said, choosing his words carefully, “if they had a woman to take them under her wing.”

  “So it would,” Mrs. Henderson said, a small smile playing on her lips.

  Shane peered at the murderess for a moment, then he made a decision. “Would you be willing to remain here, for however long you wish, to help me with them?”

  The dead woman gave a short bow. “I would be delighted. Where will you keep my wire?”

  “Where would you like me to?” he asked.

  “Here, if you could,” she said, her voice taking on a softer tone. She turned half way and looked out the window. “I like the view. It reminds me of my home.”

  “Then I’ll keep it here,” Shane said. “We’ll put it on a shelf.”

  She nodded and then left the room.

  After a moment, Shane stood, stretched, and decided it was time for him to leave the room as well. With he
avy steps, he made his way towards the library and Courtney.

  Chapter 40: The Meeting House

  For one hundred and fifty years, the house on Olive Street in Dunstable, Massachusetts had served as the meeting house for the Watchers. The building was small, a single-story structure that was innocuous and unassuming.

  A caretaker, employed by the Watchers, lived in the home and kept it ready for their use.

  A block away was a warehouse, one that changed in shape and size as need dictated. Every few years a new business moved into the warehouse, but each was a false-front.

  Like the house on Olive Street, the warehouse too was owned by the Watchers.

  Harlan thought upon the history of the organization as his driver guided their Land Rover into the warehouse. The massive door glided shut behind them and lights flickered into life. Bright, powerful beams illuminated the interior and revealed the other cars parked in neat, orderly rows.

  Harlan was the last one to arrive, as was fitting.

  He waited until his driver turned off the car engine before he climbed out. The man, whose name Harlan couldn't recall, remained with the vehicle. Using a cane for support, Harlan limped towards the door marked "Caution! Electrical Hazard!" When he reached it, he flipped up a small control pad and placed his thumb upon the reader.

  The lock clicked, and the door popped open half an inch.

  Harlan took hold of the latch, pulled it, and stepped into a small, wood-paneled elevator. He closed the door behind him, and selected the down arrow. The winch hummed and the elevator descended. When the door opened a minute later, Harlan stepped into a bright hallway.

  There was a moving sidewalk set into the long corridor, and Harlan stepped onto it cautiously. Falling on his way to the meeting would in no way impress the others.

  It might, Harlan knew, cause them to question his abilities.

  And I am sure they are questioning that already, he thought with a grimace.

  The corridor, and thus the moving sidewalk, led directly to a second elevator a block away. When Harlan reached it, he rode it to the main floor of the house on Olive Street.

  The others were gathered around a long table. Men and women of varying ages. Each had a silver goblet in front of them. An identical goblet waited at Harlan’s seat at the head of the table.