by Ron Ripley
In front of it was what he had come for. Rousseau knew that.
The boy had called him, somehow, and that, Rousseau felt, was wonderful.
The boy sat on a rock and smiled. When he saw Rousseau, he waved and Rousseau, with excitement surging through him, returned the gesture.
Across from the boy was a woman. Or what had been a woman. She was emaciated, her clothes filthy and ragged on her thin frame. When she turned to face Rousseau, it looked as though someone had stretched plastic wrap over a skull. Her lips were cracked and her eyes sunken in their sockets. It seemed as though her head was the only part of her which moved.
“Hello,” the little boy said.
“Hello,” Rousseau said, smiling at the child.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
“Rousseau.”
“How nice,” the boy said with a grin. “This is my friend, Madison. Have you come to talk with me, too?”
“Yes,” Rousseau whispered. “Oh yes, I have.”
The boy smiled. “Come then, Rousseau, sit with us.”
And Rousseau stumbled forward, a sense of joy burning within him as he sought the company of the boy.
Chapter 12: A Vengeance of His Own
Shane had never pretended to be a nice man. Or a kind man. He had flat out refused to consider himself as a hero.
Heroes didn’t do the sort of acts Shane did.
Or those he planned to do.
Every day that he could, Shane kept to the habits and rituals that had helped him survive years of nightmares and memories. The destruction of Vivienne, his childhood tormentor, had eased those pains, but had not erased them. Walking helped him to think, and so he walked.
When he could.
For the past week he had been able to get out before the sun set. He smoked a few cigarettes, walked out to Concord Street and then up to Greeley Park. The Park, a hundred acres set aside in the center of the city for public use, had several paths he found perfect for contemplation.
Two days prior, he had discovered he wasn’t alone on his walk.
A man and a woman followed him.
They were young and trendy, wearing the latest fashion trends and pushing a stroller.
Shane might not have paid them any sort of attention if he hadn’t had to tie his boot. They passed by, he nodded, and noticed how they hurried past him.
It was odd, and at first, he assumed it was only because of his fearful appearance.
But as they moved away and he straightened up, he noticed their clothes were brand new. The fabric still creased from where it had been folded on store shelves.
He also noticed the stroller was empty.
There was no child in it.
The next morning they had followed him again. And as he turned into Greely Park, lighting a cigarette, he caught sight of them once more.
Shane kept his pace steady though his heartbeat quickened. With the empty stroller and the new clothes, he suspected they were Watchers. Though apparently new to the task of trailing someone.
Which didn’t make them less dangerous.
In fact, Shane felt it made them more so. They would be more inclined to take risks, to try to complete their objective, whatever it might be.
When he reached the trail he wanted, Shane quickened his pace.
“Stop!” the man behind him barked.
Shane broke into a sprint.
A loud cough sounded and something slammed into the tree to his right.
Suppressed weapon, Shane thought, and he leaped off the path and into the woods.
Neither the trees nor the underbrush were sufficient to hide him, so he looked for a place to defend himself. Several shots hit the trees around him, and one cut close by his ear. Shane didn’t stop running.
It seemed that they meant to take him alive, which would mean torture and eventual execution.
Shane had no intentions on letting that occur.
Ahead he caught sight of a large boulder, and he knew it was there that he could make his stand. He sprinted for it, feet flying over gnarled roots and down trees. When he reached the tall boulder, he scrambled up it to stand and look down as the man and the woman raced to him.
They had semi-automatic pistols with suppressors and their faces were flushed with the exertion of the run. Yet their hands were steady as they pointed the weapons at him. Their faces wore expressions of determination.
“Shane Ryan,” the woman said. “Come down.”
Shane’s hand trembled as he removed his cigarettes and lit one. Exhaling he replied, “No. I don’t think so.”
“You need to come down,” the man stated. “I have no issue with blowing your knee caps out.”
Shane nodded. “I appreciate your honesty.”
The woman frowned. “Where’s Frank Benedict?”
“Busy,” Shane replied, catching his breath.
She glanced at her colleague. “We can’t wait any longer. We need to take him now.”
“Agreed,” the man said, bringing his pistol up.
“Hold on,” Shane said, holding up a hand. “I have a statement to make, for the next time you use the stroller on someone. Make sure you have a kid in it.”
“What are you talking about?” the man asked.
“Kids,” Shane said with a sigh. “You should have brought one. I brought my own.”
Shane gave them a grim look, reached into his pocket, and clasped the small finger bone he had placed there before his walk. He took a deep breath and hoped his plan would work as he whispered, “Eloise.”
The dead girl appeared in front them and smiled as she said, “Hello.”
Shane watched as both the woman and her companion fumbling in their pockets.
Before Shane could warn Eloise about iron, the dead girl was in motion, a blur that struck both man and woman down.
Sitting on the boulder, Shane shook his head, lit a fresh cigarette, and watched the little dead girl murder his attackers.
Chapter 13: At Marie’s
“How are you feeling?” David asked, helping Marie into her chair.
The detective shrugged. “Same. Be better when I can get back to work. If I can get back to work.”
“You will,” David reassured her. He lifted the cozy from the teakettle and filled Marie’s cup. When he returned to his own seat, he found her eyes on him.
“What?” he asked, grinning.
“You,” she replied. “I’m still surprised at how graceful you are.”
David shrugged, saying, “I keep telling you, I used to be a dancer. Before the Watchers.”
Marie chuckled, winced and let out a sigh. “They keep telling me the pain will go away eventually.”
“I don’t know,” David said. “I’ve never had to come back from an injury like yours.”
She grunted. “Neither did they. The doctors have it randomly categorized as a traumatic brain injury.”
“I think they’re spot on,” David admitted. “It was traumatic, and it occurred to your brain.”
His phone chimed and interrupted his next comment. Frowning, David picked the cellphone up from the table and saw it was a text about the alpha file. Surprise must have shown on his face as Marie asked, “What is it?”
David had kept her up to date as to the informant within the Watchers’ organization, so when he told her what the text concerned excitement filled her eyes.
“Will she bring it here?” Marie asked.
“It would be for the best,” David said. “Boston is too dangerous. As is Shane’s for her. She is too prominent in the organization. I’m afraid she would be recognized instantly.”
“Then have her come here,” Marie said. “Where is she right now?”
David sent a text asking the same. The reply came in less than thirty seconds later.
“A town called Hudson,” he said.
“It’s the next town over,” Marie said. “Give her my address. Tell her to come on up.”
David smiled as he typed
the message in.
After he had sent it Marie asked, “Why are you grinning?”
“You continue to impress me, Marie,” he said.
“All my years as a cop,” she said, grinning.
A pleasant silence fell over the two of them and they drank their tea. It was good, David realized, to be in the company of someone he had fought beside. And he recognized that Marie reminded him of Blanche, murdered in Borgin.
By the time David finished his tea, there was a knock on the door of Marie’s apartment. He glanced at her and she gave a nod. David stood up, unlocked the door and opened it.
His informant stood in the hallway, her face pale and her hair in disarray. David stepped aside and let her in, securing the deadbolt behind her.
“Marie,” David said, “this is my God-daughter, Shirley Coleman.”
Chapter 14: The Truth
Shane sat in the small, circular room within the house’s walls. The mirror was in front of him and Lisbeth was in the mirror. She watched him as she moved with nervous energy within the glass boundary of her prison.
“What do you want?” she demanded, and there was a shrill, fearful note in her words.
Shane said nothing.
Lisbeth sneered at him. Then the sneer faded, replaced briefly by a nervous grin. “Are you here to visit?”
“Not quite,” Shane said. “I need information.”
“I need to not be a prisoner,” she retorted. A genuine look of desperation appeared on her face.
“Let me go,” she begged.
Shane felt no mercy towards her.
“I need information,” he repeated. “When I have everything I need from you, then I will let you go.”
A whimper escaped her lips and she gave a small nod.
“I have a map,” Shane said, “which shows the location of all the Watchers’ properties. What I want to know is, if they were to lose a property, which one would hurt the Watchers the most?”
Lisbeth hesitated and her face contorted before she made a decision to speak. “There’s a house, one that belonged to a school teacher. They’ve made sure to keep him well supplied.”
“Are there others?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Tell me,” Shane demanded.
Lisbeth winced at his tone and nodded. She spoke to him about various properties, some nearby, others in the far corners of New England.
“You have to understand,” she finished, the words coming out slowly, “that these ghosts, some of them have been fed and cared for by the Watchers for over a hundred years. The organization helped them to perfect killing, and taught them how to properly siphon the energy of the dead.”
“Did that help them?” Shane asked. “Did the dead benefit from it?”
“You faced Emmanuel?” Lisbeth asked.
Shane nodded.
“Then tell me, Shane,” she said, saying his name as if it were a curse, “did it work for him?”
Shane nodded.
“He was the strongest,” Lisbeth finished. “But by no means the only one.”
After a moment of silence, Shane asked, “And that’s it?”
She looked up, surprised. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’ Isn’t that enough? The more bodies mean the stronger the ghost.”
Shane shrugged as he stood up. “How strong they are doesn’t really matter to me.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “You actually think you could face them?”
Shane looked at her and said, “I grew up with worse.”
Lisbeth blinked. “Impossible.”
“Next time Eloise feels like talking,” Shane said, “ask her about the pond.”
Lisbeth threw herself at the mirror, the glass humming in the frame as she bounced off it.
“What will happen to me if you die going after the Watchers?!” she screamed at him.
“Then you’ll stay here,” Shane said, “until someone lets you out.”
Silence followed him out of the room.
Chapter 15: A Corner Lot
The house was small and set at the back of a corner lot in Pepperell, Massachusetts. Starlight supplemented the weak glow of the streetlights and the other houses in the neighborhood were dark, the residents fast asleep.
The house Shane and Frank were interested in was as dark as the others, but for a different reason. Its wood siding was painted a bright blue, the shutters a horrific shade of green. There was a ‘For Sale’ sign on the front yard and the windows were absent of any light.
Shane sat in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette while Frank double-checked the loads on the shotguns.
They had received word from David earlier about the arrival of the alpha file. The man also said he would be by as soon as possible to share the information.
Frank had told the older man it was fine, and it was.
While the stolen file would help them find the location of the One, neither Shane nor Frank needed it to wreak havoc on the Watchers.
The map David had brought over would help with that.
They had zoomed in on the image, found a nearby house, and discovered that there was a ghost in the structure. Exactly as Lisbeth said there would be.
The spirit had accounted for seven deaths in the past twenty-three years. Not much when compared to the other ghosts Shane and Frank had faced. Or even when held up to those Shane had squared off against as a child. Yet Lisbeth said that this one was strong, and well fed by the Watchers.
And that the organization would be hurt by its removal. Which was perhaps the most important reason for Shane.
“So, what information do we have on this house?” Frank asked, handing a shotgun to Shane.
“From what I could find,” Shane said, putting the weapon on his lap, “is that there was a school teacher, Cody Gray, who used to live here. By all accounts, he was a great guy. Teacher of the year, donated time and money to underprivileged kids. Then, when he died, they found a hidden room with home movies and photos that showed him committing horrific acts. Hell, they even found the tools he used to torture people still hanging on the walls”
“When was this?” Frank asked. “When did he die?”
“Nineteen sixty-two,” Shane answered. “House went unoccupied for a few years. Then someone from out of town bought it, and two years into their ownership, the husband strangled the wife and then killed himself. He left a note, apologizing for what he had done, but Mr. Gray had been telling him to do worse. Much worse, so he ended it before Mr. Gray could make him.”
“Damn,” Frank murmured.
Shane nodded. “It went on. Seven deaths in all, plus eight people in psychiatric facilities.”
“Why don’t they just raze the building?” Frank asked.
“When it goes up for sale,” Shane explained, “I think the Watchers buy it. They sit on it for a couple of years, and then they put it on the market. There’s no state law saying that the seller has to disclose if a crime was ever committed in the house, so a lot of people pick it up at a cheap price and move right in.”
Frank let out a long breath and said, “Any idea of where his body’s buried, if there are no bones here?”
“He was cremated, but there’s got to be a bone here somewhere. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Shane replied. “There was an article from the local paper about his body being mutilated prior to cremation. A toe was missing. Some of the people interviewed thought it was his wife that did it. She was crazy about him. I think if we find that hidden room, we’ll find a piece of him tucked away in there.”
Frank nodded. “Alright, let’s go see who’s in there.”
Shane got out of the car, took his bag out of the back seat, and slung it over his shoulder. He looked at the cape and wondered how such a small building could have housed someone so terrible.
“Ready?” Frank asked.
Shane took one last drag off his cigarette, stubbed it out, and nodded as he let the smoke curl out of his nose.
In silence the two men left the car and headed up the driveway, shotguns in hand and hatred in their hearts.
Chapter 16: Necessary Information
David was surprised to notice a tremble in his hand after Shirley turned off the laptop.
He was still in shock over the tremendous number of properties the Watchers owned. Through a fog, he realized that the organization was larger than he had thought, that its pockets were deeper than imagined. He understood his insignificance in comparison to them, and how Harlan’s attempt at removing him was nothing more than the mistake of an old and foolish man.
“Does this ‘One’ truly exist?” Marie asked, looking from Shirley to David.
“The Watchers think it does,” Shirley said.
“And that’s all that matters, unfortunately,” David said. “They will move heaven and earth to see if the One’s powers to extend life are true or not. There is a mythos around it. Everyone, from the lowest soldier to the highest district member has been spoken to about the reward of serving the One. Some never lose faith. I didn’t, not until Borgin Keep.”
“What would you gain?” Marie asked. “A few years of extra life? And how?”
“The Watchers were founded a hundred and fifty years ago,” Shirley explained. “Some of the original members noticed how some ghosts fed off the energy of other spirits. A few of the members started to sacrifice people they considered undesirable, trying to see how strong the dead could become. As the years progressed more, well, research was put into the study of the dead.”
Shirley cleared her throat, and then continued. “Then they discovered the ley lines, and that the strongest of the dead were on there. Someone then theorized that a ghost at the junction of the northeastern lines would be the strongest, and that it would be possible for a spirit to become powerful enough to extend the life of those still living.”
“So there’s no proof,” Marie said.
“None,” Shirley agreed. “It’s literally a matter of faith. A cult has been built up around this theory, and we’ve all been part of it.”
