The Burning Girl (Haunted Collection Series Book 5)

by Ron Ripley

  The book, filled with chess problems written out in the old, algebraic formula, presented situations from games of the past masters. Games that were a hundred years old, and that had been bitterly contested between the two players.

  Victor had rarely solved any of the problems successfully, and he doubted he would have much luck. But the book had relaxed him in high school, especially after his mother had died of cancer.

  He hoped it would again.

  Tom entered the room, without his prosthetic, rubbing at his eyes with his sole hand.

  “Hey,” Victor said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” Tom said, walking to the fridge and opening it. He pulled out the orange juice and poured himself a glass.

  Victor smiled, impressed with the boy’s rapid adjustment to the loss of his arm.

  Tom sat down at the table and asked, “Playing both sides of the board?”

  Victor shook his head and explained the purpose of the book.

  “Oh,” Tom replied. He leaned forward, looked at the page Victor had it propped open to, and frowned. “Is that math?”

  “Yes, sort of,” Victor said, chuckling. “You know, my mother said the same thing about this book.”

  At Tom’s confused look, Victor explained his own history in relation to the volume.

  “Wow,” Tom said, sounding impressed. He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Victor, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure,” Victor said, reclining in the chair.

  “Um, are your parents still alive?”

  The question caught him by surprise, and Victor shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. When he could, he said, “No. My mother died when I was still in high school. And my father, well, he didn't take it well. I didn't either, but dad, he definitely didn't handle it. He started to drink. A lot. Um, eventually he went to work one day, and when everyone went out for lunch, he took his belt off and hung himself from a rafter.”

  Tom looked down at his drink and murmured, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything bad.”

  Victor smiled. “You don’t have to apologize. I just haven’t talked with anyone about my parents since Erin, so it’s a bit of a shock to do that still.”

  “Do you miss her?” Tom asked in a low voice.

  “Yes, every day,” Victor answered. “I’ll never stop missing her. They say that it gets a little easier to handle, as time passes. But from what I’ve read, you never get over it. There may come a time when I don’t think about her every day. Maybe every other, and then every few. I doubt that. She was everything to me, Tom. She helped me see value in myself when I didn’t have it. Erin encouraged me to be better, and she made sure I knew that I could be better.”

  Tom took a sip of his orange juice, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “Since we’re on the subject of romance,” Victor said, forcing a smile, “how is Iris?”

  Tom blushed and said, “She’s good. Really good. We had a good day.”

  “Do anything fun?” Victor asked.

  Tom's blush deepened, and he said, “No.”

  Victor grinned and kept his thoughts on that point to himself. “Are you two hanging out tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Tom said, “there’s another antique shop in the next town over that she wants to check out. Plus, she applied for a job in a bookstore there. I’m sure she’d like to figure out what’s going on with her application, too. What about you?”

  “Research,” Victor said. “I’ve got a possible lead on an item from Korzh. I want to follow it through. Plus, I want to do a little bit of research on an article I’ve been thinking about.”

  “On what?” Tom asked.

  “Air assault operations in Vietnam,” Victor answered.

  Tom grinned. “Sounds thrilling.”

  “I hope it is,” Victor said, and he chuckled.

  Silence fell over them for a few minutes, then Victor said, “You know, Tom, Erin used to hate it when I would talk to her about military history.”

  “She did?” the boy asked in surprise.

  Victor nodded. “She loved me, she just didn't love military history. Although she used to joke that if she ever needed to fall asleep, she would ask me about World War Two.”

  Tom snickered.

  “Yeah,” Victor said in a soft voice. “She had the best sense of humor.”

  “I’m really sorry she’s gone, Victor,” Tom said.

  “I appreciate that,” Victor said, clearing his throat and brushing at his eyes. “Hey, want to play a game before you go back to bed?”

  Tom eyed the chessboard warily and said, “I don’t play well.”

  “Good,” Victor said, setting up the board for a new game, “because I’m terrible at it.”

  Tom laughed, and the two of them began to play.

  Chapter 32: Shivering

  The alarms went off, jarring Stefan out of an oxycodone induced sleep. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and he couldn’t gather his thoughts as he clambered out of bed. He managed to find his pistol, chambered a round and staggered his way to the observation room. As he collapsed into the chair, trying to focus on the multiple screens with his one eye, the building shook.

  Earthquake? He asked himself, turning his head from left to right as quickly as he could. A storm?

  His thoughts were frantic and fragmented, a multitude of answers, both rational and ridiculous, flooded him.

  Movement in the far-left monitor demanded his attention, and Stefan focused on it.

  His body trembled as his brain fought against what he saw, refusing to accept it.

  But there was no denying the sight on the screen. No matter how much he wanted to.

  Standing on the other side of the fence was a man, ragged and disheveled. Someone who had lived in the wild for months, if not longer.

  It wasn’t the man who demanded Stefan’s attention and acceptance.

  What was held in the stranger’s arms was important, nothing more, and nothing less.

  He carried the porcelain doll possessed by Anne Le Morte.

  The last he had seen of her, and the foul man who protected her, was at the gas station. Stefan had hoped, desperately so, that the creature had been destroyed. It hadn’t been an unreasonable hope, especially given the size of the explosion and the complete destruction of the gas station.

  But there she is, Stefan thought numbly.

  He understood then that she had shaken the building. A reminder of the power she had, and her ability to destroy.

  And now, Stefan thought, she knows where I am. How did she find me?

  Then the answer came to him.

  The man in the woods, the one who had tried to kill him in the warehouse.

  The hunter.

  He had been working with Anne, which meant he had undeniably been working with Ivan Denisovich.

  Who else is out there? Stefan wondered. Who else is waiting for me? Hunting me?

  He felt unsettled, for he had believed he would be free to parcel out the collection, at least for a short time.

  Anger competed with the pain from his missing eye, and Stefan left the room to retrieve his rifle. He brought it back with him to the observation room and sat down. His single eye searched the monitors, seeking some sort of movement. The presence of Anne and her guardian meant Stefan wouldn’t be able to take his pain medication. Or even drink to help alleviate the agony the wound caused.

  He would need his wits about him should Anne attempt to breach his defenses.

  Fuming, Stefan settled into the chair as best he could, and waited to see what happened next.

  Chapter 33: Coming to an Accord

  Leanne Le Monde sat in her parlor, the same one where Stefan Korzh had tried to kill her. The room where the floorboards were still stained with her own blood. At times, it was a painful room for her to be in. It reminded her of how weak she had allowed herself to become. How complacent and ill-prepared to fend for herself.


  That had begun to change, and she had once more become active in the community she had left decades before.

  Guy Auclair, who sat across from her, was part of that secret underworld in New Orleans, the one that could be found beneath all of the music and the festivities. A dark place, one where it was best to refrain from entering.

  Guy was a short and wiry man, he was dwarfed by the chair he sat in. His features were pinched, age lines around his brown eyes and the corners of his mouth. He was clean-shaven, and his silver hair was fashionably trimmed. His hat was on the table beside him, a gray fedora with a single, pink feather tucked into the band. He wore a pinstripe suit of light blue, with a bright orange shirt. His shoes were patent leather, and the left foot tapped out a rhythm on the floor. In many ways, the man reminded her of Jean Luc.

  And it was for her old friend that she had called upon Guy.

  The diminutive man set his teacup down, smiled politely, and said in French, “Well, my dear, we have observed the necessary pleasantries, and you have been obtuse with regards to why you have requested my presence. We did not, if memory serves me correctly, depart on pleasant terms after our last meeting.”

  “You remember correctly,” Leanne said, answering in French. “However, I do believe we might be of assistance to one another.”

  Guy’s smile widened, and he waited for her to continue.

  Leanne put her own teacup down and said, “I know you seek certain items for your spells.”

  “I do indeed,” he confirmed, fingers drumming playfully on his thighs.

  “And I am in need of a man of your skills,” she stated.

  Both of his eyebrows rose in surprise and then dropped back into place as he chuckled. “You have me at a loss for words, my dear lady.”

  “I doubt that,” she replied dryly.

  His chuckle deepened, and he said, “True, very true. My mother, God rest her soul, swore I was speaking when they used the irons to pluck me from her womb.”

  “That, I do believe,” Leanne said. “Are you willing to enter into an accord with me?”

  “I am, and I will,” he said, “yet I do wish to know what it is. Specifically, what you require of me before I agree to anything.”

  “Your mother did not raise a fool,” Leanne said.

  “Nor did she tolerate them,” he added. “Many of them ended up in the stew pot.”

  “I’m certain they did. My request, I hope, is simple. I want you to find out exactly what happened to Jean Luc,” she said.

  Guy straightened up in the chair, glancing around with an expression of concern. “Is he loose? Here, in the house? I would have hoped you would have kept him confined for my visit.”

  “He’s neither loose nor in the house,” Leanne snapped. “He is dead.”

  Guy relaxed a relieved expression appearing. “I am sorry to hear of your loss. You have my sympathies.”

  It was Leanne’s turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

  Guy shook his head. “I may not have liked the little beast, but he was yours. I can be sympathetic. More than you know.”

  She looked at him doubtfully but continued on without comment. “Jean Luc was killed. Murdered. I need to know all of the details.”

  “How much do you know about his death?” Guy’s voice took on a business-like tone.

  “I will tell you he died in Fox Cat Hollow, Pennsylvania,” Leanne said. “I want you to go there and look upon the scene without any further information. I would not want it to taint you.”

  Guy nodded and asked, “Is there a specific location this took place?”

  “It is a small town,” she said. “Go and sniff it out, it is what your kind does best, is it not?”

  He gave her a lupine grin and said, “It is indeed. And now, unfortunately, we come to the bitter subject of remuneration.”

  “Of course,” she said. “In the kitchen, there is a large freezer. Go and look within it. Tell me if the payment will suffice.”

  Guy stood up and left the room.

  Leanne heard the familiar squeak of the freezer’s hinges, which was followed by an appreciative murmur from Guy.

  The freezer was closed a moment later, and he returned to the room, his eyes gleaming covetously.

  He sat down in the chair, straightened his trousers and said, “Those are real.”

  “Of course they’re real,” she said with a snort. “Do you think I would peddle anything that was not?”

  Guy raised his hands up defensively. “I did not doubt that they were, Leanne. I am merely surprised. I don’t think I’ve seen quite so many in one place before.”

  Leanne straightened up and said, “I should think not. A fetus is exceptionally difficult to acquire.”

  Chapter 34: Sick Again

  Daryl lay on his side in his bed, his mother sitting next to him, taking his temperature.

  “Okay,” she said, taking the beeping thermometer out of his mouth, “Let’s see. Hm, 99.8, not too high, but high enough. You’re definitely staying home again, kiddo.”

  Daryl didn’t feel like celebrating another day stuck in bed. The last one had been a blur, and he couldn’t remember much more than sneaking down into the kitchen for one of his father’s beers. Only the alcohol had seemed to quench the fever. He hadn’t told his mother, and he knew his father didn’t suspect his pilfering.

  The man simply drank too much.

  “Think you’ll be okay alone again?” his mother asked, looking at him with concern.

  Daryl nodded and said, “Sure. No problem, mom.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a pained voice. “I’ll try to get home sooner today. Do you want me to have someone stop by and check on you during the day?”

  He knew she meant Mrs. Hogan, the old lady who lived across the street and who had seven cats. She always smelled like cat pee, and she would end up sitting in his room talking about her first two husbands. It had happened before, and Daryl didn’t want it to happen again.

  “No thanks, mom,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “I’ll sleep. Maybe watch a movie.”

  “Okay,” she said, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “Okay. I’ll be home as soon as I can, and you can call me, or your father’s cell phone. He knows you’re sick, and even in Texas he’ll answer his phone.”

  “Sure,” Daryl said. “I just want to sleep right now.”

  She kissed him on the head, smiled, and left the room, turning the light out as she went.

  Daryl closed his eyes and tried to rest.

  ***

  A painful thirst woke Daryl up, and he saw with dismay that only an hour had passed since his mother had left for work. His head throbbed as he cast off his blanket, his body slick with sweat. Wincing with every step he took, Daryl gingerly picked his way out of his room and down to the kitchen, flinching away from the daylight that streamed through the windows.

  He reached the kitchen and relaxed slightly as his bare feet touched the cool floor. When he opened the fridge he looked at the orange juice, then his eyes drifted down to the stacked beer cans on the bottom shelf. He bent over, took one out, and hurriedly closed the fridge door.

  The room grew cooler as he held it in his hands, and Daryl smiled. Merely holding the beer made him feel better, and he knew that drinking it could only improve his condition. Remembering the day was no longer important.

  Slacking his thirst and cooling his temperature were all that mattered.

  He popped the tab, closed his eyes, and began to drink.

  ***

  Molly waited by the back door, watching as the boy drank the beer. He did it so easily, and in a matter of minutes, he finished it. She observed the way he weaved toward the recycling bin, and she approved of the way he hid the can beneath older items.

  Without any warning to the boy, she reached out for his body and felt herself slip into it. The sensation was both curious and welcome. She enjoyed having arms and legs, hands and feet, lips and eyes. All of it. She even ap
preciated the hunger pangs and the discomfort of the weather.

  But what she loved was the ability to smell and feel fire again. To burn.

  To burn everything.

  Whistling, Molly went upstairs to peer out the windows and into the neighborhood, wondering where she might find someone new to play with.

  Chapter 35: Contemplation and Consideration

  “That’s a nice ring,” Iris said, after listening to Tom’s explanation of it.

  “It is,” he agreed. “Sounds like there’s something else you want to say.”

  She nodded. “There is. As cool as it is, should you keep it? I mean, isn’t it dangerous to have it around?”

  Tom was about to say ‘no,’ but he realized she was right. It was dangerous to keep it. But he didn’t want to let it go.

  “You’re right,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “but I want to keep it. I think I need to.”

  Iris frowned and asked, “Did you tell Victor about it?”

  Tom shook his head.

  “Why not?” Her voice was filled with concern. “Don’t you think you should?”

  “No,” Tom said softly. “I mean, probably, but I can’t. I don’t want him to worry any more than he does. And Bontoc, he isn’t going to hurt me. If anything, he’s going to try and finish the job on Stefan Korzh.”

  Iris paled and asked, “Tom, how do you know that? Have you talked with him again?”

  Tom nodded. “Before you came over. For a minute. I told him how I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find Korzh, or finish him off.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “That he had unfinished business with Korzh,” Tom said, “and we could take care of Korzh together.”

  Iris looked as though she might say something else, but she merely frowned, then shrugged. “Okay. You know more about this stuff than I do, but aren’t there a lot of ghosts in the house now?”

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked.

  “You’ve got Nicholas in the basement, Ezekiel in his picture in your room, and now this Bontoc guy in the ring,” she said, ticking each one off on a finger. “That’s three. Granted, Nicholas is trapped, and Ezekiel seems like a nice kid and all, but you said this Bontoc guy was killed trying to kill the man who murdered your parents. And Victor’s wife.”