by Ron Ripley
The backpack he wore was heavy with thin, malleable lead, as well an iron ring large enough to fit over the barrel’s lid, and a hammer. He would seal the barrel with the lead, and once Anne was trapped, he would hammer the ring around the lid to make certain she wouldn’t be able to get out.
His empty socket throbbed, and he promised himself he would take a painkiller when he got home, and the chore was done.
With a grumble, Stefan began to roll the barrel again, muttering and cursing to himself as he went. By the time he reached the entrance to the canyon, his back ached, his shoulders pulsed with agony, and he desperately wanted a drink.
Almost done, he told himself, straightening up and twisting from left to right, wincing at the way his lower vertebrae popped. When he finished, Stefan looked into the canyon, trying to see the best way to approach Anne Le Morte. He tilted his head and listened, wary of the dead woman’s insidious singing.
He heard nothing and nodded with approval. Stefan knew she wouldn't be caught by surprise, but he might be able to get close enough to seize her and throw her into the drum. From his back pockets, he pulled out a pair of thick, cotton gloves, each one damp with perspiration that had seeped through his pants.
Tugging the gloves on, Stefan eyed the distance between himself and the body of the caretaker and then froze.
A second body was near the caretaker’s.
Cold anger washed over him as he stalked forward, all fears about Anne Le Morte vanishing with his growing rage.
Within a minute, he stood beside the rotting corpse of the caretaker, and a recently slain young man. The new body was clad in expensive and well-cared for hiking gear. Rappelling equipment was secured to his waist, and a glance at the far wall of the box canyon revealed that a rope hung down from the top.
The scene was entirely readable, and nothing that Stefan wanted to acknowledge.
But whether he wanted to or not was a moot point.
At least two people had descended into the canyon. One of them had either heard Anne Le Morte or spotted the body. Anne had evidently spoken to one of the climbers, thus the reason for the second body.
And Anne Le Morte was gone.
She was free in the world again, and no doubt she would find another way to try and come after him.
For several minutes, Stefan stared down at the two bodies.
Then his empty orbital socket reminded him of its presence with a sharp, stinging pain, and he turned around. He left the corpses where they lay, and the barrel as well.
Anne Le Morte was at large, and Stefan was unprotected.
His mouth turned down in a sour expression, and he started to jog.
Stefan Korzh had no desire to die in the woods.
Or anywhere else for that matter.
Chapter 50: A Chat, and Nothing More
“Do you mind if I stay and watch?” Guy asked, coming in from the kitchen. He had sampled his reward, and was dabbing at the corners of his mouth with what looked like a silken pocket-square.
Leanne shook her head. “Make yourself at home. I am quite appreciative of your efforts.”
The man offered her a low bow and sat down in the chair he had occupied only a few days before. He watched her for a moment, then he asked, “What will you do, should this creature confirm what I have reported? Will you still hunt down Victor Daniels?”
Leanne glanced at the floor between them, where the container of salt he had brought back from Pennsylvania stood.
“Victor Daniels,” Leanne said, choosing her words with care, “bears some responsibility for what happened to Jean Luc. The punishment I mete out to him for the crime is entirely dependent upon his role. But there will be a reckoning, Guy. Make no mistake about that.”
Leanne double-checked the width of the salt circle around the bucket, made certain the line was not broken, and then reached into the container. Her hand quickly found the mug Guy had spoken of and drew it out.
By the time she set it down and backed away from the circle, the ghost appeared.
Leanne did not recognize it as the dead man she had cast away when she had visited Tom, but then, the ghost no longer had a true shape.
He was a formless, a dark cloud, pulsing and rolling around the rough circle like a jellyfish pushing against the sides of a glass tank. Finally, the cloud curled back in upon itself and hovered above the container, a black ball of malice.
“I know you,” the ghost spat.
“No,” she corrected, “you know what I did. Of myself, you know nothing. Tell me your name.”
“Nicholas,” the dead man sneered. “What is yours?”
“A word of power, if you knew it,” Leanne said, sitting down in her chair. She eyed Nicholas and said, “You spoke with my colleague about the death of Jean Luc.”
“What of the beast’s death?” the dead man demanded. “He was a foul creature. I was pleased when he finally attempted to end Rhinehart’s life. It could only have been better if he had killed him, then I would have had both problems solved at once. But, Jeremy ended up dying sooner rather than later anyway.”
“So,” Leanne said, keeping a tight rein upon her emotions, “you partook in the slaying of Jean Luc?”
“Partook?” Nicholas asked with a vicious chuckle. “Nay, dear lady, I orchestrated it. I destroyed him as completely as Rome destroyed Carthage. It was a process, one which I began when Rhinehart arrived with that foul little creature. I spent a good deal of time in the darkest hours of the night, planting the seeds of doubt and fear. And then, when I learned that they had found a way to kill the beast, I warned Jean Luc. I whispered to him, told him with the finest of false sincerity, of how Rhinehart planned to kill him, and Jean Luc struck!”
Nicholas paused, laughing at the memory. “It was a pity that I had to intervene before Jean Luc murdered Rhinehart. But there was a consolation prize. I was the one who was allowed to boil him. It was a beautiful act of manipulation, and one which I am most proud.”
Guy let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“What is it?” Nicholas asked. “What do you find so funny, you miniscule man?”
“May I?” Guy asked.
Leanne’s anger kept her silent, so all she could do was nod.
“My verbose friend,” Guy said, tapping his fingers on his thighs in a pleasant rhythm, “do you know with whom you speak?”
“No,” Nicholas sneered, “tell me, who are you?”
“Not me,” Guy laughed, his voice filled with delight. “My dear friend, sitting across from me. Do you know who she is?”
“You heard her,” the dead man grumbled, “she keeps her name.”
“And well she should,” Guy said, the humor leaving his voice. “She is far more powerful than you. Far more than myself as well. Probably the pair of us combined. But, that being said, perhaps the most important role she has is being the true and staunch friend of Jean Luc.”
“So? So?” Nicholas demanded. “What does that have to do with me? He is dead, and it was a just death. And I am dead. Imprison me, I care not. I will survive. I always do.”
“That may be,” Leanne said, finding her voice again. “But I will not imprison you.”
“Because you can’t,” Nicholas said triumphantly.
“No,” Leanne corrected. “Because I want to see how long I can torture you before your spirit ceases to exist.”
Silence filled the room, broken at last by the dead man.
“You cannot,” he stated, “no one can.”
“Perhaps no human,” Leanne said, “but I, Nicholas, am no human. My kind is older than man, and our waking dreams, the stuff of nightmares. I have been alive longer than you, and when I start in on your shapeless soul, I will feast on your suffering.”
“What are you?” Nicholas hissed, and for the first time, Leanne heard fear in his voice.
She smiled.
“That,” Leanne said, “is nothing you will ever know.”
***
Daryl was still sick to his stomach, and he w
ondered if it was all the beer he had drank. It was close to dinner time, but he didn’t feel like eating. His ribs hurt and he had a huge bruise on his side, and he couldn’t remember how he had gotten it.
He felt like he should, but every time he concentrated on it, his head hurt.
From the first floor, he heard his father’s voice, then his mother’s. They were joined a minute later by another man’s, someone Daryl didn’t recognize. His mother’s voice got louder, and so too did his father’s a heartbeat later.
Yells and screams followed, then there was the sound of footsteps on stairs.
Daryl didn’t recognize them, and he lay petrified with fear in his bed.
A second later the door to his room opened, and a large, uniformed police officer stood in the doorway. The man’s blond hair was cut close to his head, and his eyes fixed on Daryl.
“Are you Daryl?” the officer asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Daryl nodded, unable to speak.
“I need to you to stand up,” the officer said. “You’re going to come downstairs with me, and then you and me and your parents, we’re all going to go to the police station.”
“Why?” Daryl whispered as he got out of bed.
“We’ll talk about that when we get there,” the officer said, stepping aside to let Daryl pass by. “When your parents and their lawyer are present as well.”
“Lawyer?” Daryl asked, horrified. “Why a lawyer?”
“Well,” the officer said, putting a large, firm hand on Daryl’s shoulder, “let’s just say it’s never good to play with matches.”
Daryl couldn’t answer, for when he reached the bottom of the stairs, his father began to yell, and his mother wanted to know why he had done it.
“What?” Daryl asked, terrified. “What did I do?”
“Why did you kill them?” she screamed, her eyes red and her face a mask of pain.
And his own scream of horror joined hers as he remembered everything about Molly and the fires.
***
Stefan stood up, his head pounding. He walked out of the observation room, leaving his laptop off while he went into the kitchen. Frustrated, Stefan got out his painkillers, shook two from the bottle and washed them down with vodka.
He closed his remaining eye and waited for the alcohol to settle in his stomach.
The past two hours had been spent searching for better quality cameras and sensors to purchase for the perimeter of the property and overnighting them. He had even begun to look at acquiring a pair of dogs to patrol the empty parking lot, but that was a purchase he would have to do in person. And he knew that the additional protection might draw the attention of casual thieves.
Nothing says ‘rob me’ like security cameras and dogs, he thought bitterly.
Yet even as the thought crossed his mind, Stefan knew there was little more he could do other than sit in his observation room and wait for the worst.
Well, might as well do some real work while I wait, he told himself, opening his eye and leaving the kitchen.
Stefan returned to the observation room, sat down, and made certain all of the cameras were functioning properly. When he was convinced that all of the feeds were up and running, and that the rifle at his side was loaded, he began to type up the description of the next item for sale.
Stunning gold and onyx class ring. Norwich University, class of 1965. Said to be possessed by the spirit of its original owner. Extremely active, buyer beware!
Chapter 51: Under Doctor’s Orders
Victor had dozed off, and he awoke to the sound of soft footsteps in the hospital room.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Iris come to a stop beside Tom’s bedside. The boy’s shortened arm was absent of the destroyed prosthetic, and his back and the remainder of the arm had been treated for surprisingly mild burns. Doctor Delk had stated that Tom was more exhausted than anything else, and she strongly suggested the two of them get some rest.
“Why does he do it?” she asked in a soft voice when she saw Victor was awake.
Victor sat up in bed and replied, “He has to. I know he’s told you about his parents.”
She nodded.
“A lot happened,” Victor continued. “And not just with his parents. He spoke of Jeremy?”
“Yes,” Iris said, reaching out a hand and caressing the stubble growing on Tom’s head. “He did. He told me about him, and Shane. All about the night at the gas station, the stuff I can’t forget.”
“It’s hard for him,” Victor said after a moment. “He blames himself for his parents’ death. I don’t believe he’ll have any peace until he has brought Korzh down.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” Iris said in a bitter voice. “He wants to kill him, Victor. Every once in a while he talks about it. But he knows it bothers me, so he tries not to. I’ve been with him when he falls asleep. I know he has nightmares.”
Victor looked at the pale boy and nodded.
“I hope the nightmares stop,” she whispered. “I just want him to be happy.”
“He is with you,” Victor said, and Iris gave him a small, soft smile.
“Thank you. I’m going to go down to the coffee shop, do you want anything?” she asked.
Victor shook his head. “Thank you anyway, though.”
Iris nodded and left the room.
When she closed the door behind her, Victor lay back down and closed his eyes again.
“She’s a sweet girl.”
Victor’s eyes snapped open.
Ariana sat in the chair beside his bed. The door was still closed, and a glance at the clock on the wall showed it had been less than five minutes since Iris had left the room.
“How did you get in here?” Victor asked, surprised.
“Super secret powers,” Ariana said with a wink. “I opened the door and came in.”
Victor shook his head and said, “The doctor told me that Tom and I were found beside the car.”
“That’s interesting,” Ariana said, feigning ignorance.
“Was it you?” he asked.
She gave him a small nod.
“Thank you,” Victor said. “We would have died.”
“I don’t know about died,” Ariana said. “Well-done and a little crispy, but not necessarily dead. I have to say, I am impressed.”
“Why’s that?” Victor asked.
“You burned down a man’s house,” Ariana said.
“He was dead,” Victor replied.
Ariana raised an eyebrow. “The ghost said he was dead. What if he wasn’t?”
Victor had thought about the question, and he hadn’t liked the answer he kept coming back to.
“I think I would have done the same thing,” he said softly. “The man in the house evidently knew what she was, and what she was doing. And he let her continue.”
“Fair enough,” Ariana said. “You still have my number?”
Victor nodded.
“Good,” she started to walk toward the door.
“Ariana,” he called after her.
She paused and looked back at him.
“Really,” Victor said, “why did you pull us away from the fire?”
“It’s simple, Victor,” she said, a sad smile on her face. “Stefan Korzh is still alive, and we still need you to help flush him out for us. My father is quite insistent about it.”
Victor watched the woman leave the room, and he lay back on the bed.
Korzh still needed killing, and whether Ivan Denisovich wanted him to or not, Victor and Tom were going to put the man down.
* * *
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Pre-Teen No More
Molly’s birthday hadn’t been anything like she had expected. Neither her mother nor her father had remembered what she wanted. Or they had ignored her specific request.
And at that moment, she hated them both.
Thirteen, as far as Molly was concerned, was a big birthday. She wasn’t a little kid anymore. Thirteen meant she was a teenager
. It meant she was only a few months away from high school.
But her parents hadn’t paid any attention to that.
They had bought her a board game, two puzzles, and another doll.
Another doll! Molly thought angrily. She stomped along the narrow alley that ran between the fences of her development. The smells of various dinners and the sounds of conversations drifted to her as she walked away from home.
She considered running away, but it would be more effort than it was worth. There was no place for her to go, and none of her friends were sympathetic to her plight. Mary Ellen Kowalski had even had the audacity to tell her to be thankful for gifts.
Molly had known Mary Ellen since Sunday school at the First Congregationalist Church, and the other girl was always talking about how everyone should be thankful for what they have.
A glance down at her feet showed Molly that her right sneaker was untied. Grumbling, she stopped, bent down, and tied the offending lace.
As she went to straighten back up, she stopped.
A pack of cigarettes lay on the ground beside the left fence. The top of the pack was open, and among the few remaining cigarettes was a book of matches.
Molly loved fire.
At the age of seven, when she had been visiting her grandparents in New York, the house across the street had caught fire. Molly could remember the excitement, the pure thrill that raced along her skin as she watched the flames break through the old slate roof of the house. At eight, she had found a book of matches near the playground, and while there had only been a single match remaining, she had been able to set a dried, fallen leaf on fire.
The memory of the way the edges of the leaf had curled, the sweet smell of the smoke, all of it thrilled her.
The best part of her birthday had been seeing the thirteen burning candles stuck in the chocolate frosting of her cake.
Her parents kept the matches locked away. Especially after they had caught her a few years before, when she had set an old shirt on fire. They had interrupted her, shattering the thrill she felt while watching the fabric blaze.
