by Ron Ripley
His vision was doubled for a few seconds as he glanced around, and after several moments the interior of Jeremy’s house came into focus. Tom was in the middle of helping Jeremy into a chair, his shoulder bandaged and his face pale. Shane stood beside them, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples.
And a few feet away lay Walter’s rifle. A battered, war-scarred relic that was the author of so much misery.
At that moment, Victor remembered his hand and the dull, throbbing pain that had been in the background of his thoughts exploded to the forefront. He gagged, leaned over and dry-heaved onto the floor.
“Oh Christ,” Shane muttered, hurrying over. “You’re shot too.”
Then, in a commanding tone, he called out, “Tom, first-aid kit.”
Victor, cradling his throbbing, bleeding hand, didn’t hear or care about the response. A painful minute passed until Shane was beside him, an impressive looking first-aid kit in hand.
“Hey, Victor,” Shane said, giving him a lopsided grin.
“Hey,” Victor replied through clenched teeth.
“This is going to hurt like hell,” Shane said, “you’re going to need to deal with it.”
Victor could only nod.
He watched as Shane removed a bottle of alcohol, opened it and said, “Here we go.”
Victor’s only response was a howl as the liquid splashed into his wound. The world became one long, explosion of pain as lights and stars flickered around the edges of his vision. He felt himself teetering and then a pair of hands were holding him upright.
Victor was unaware as to how long the binding of his wound had taken, but when he felt coherent enough to understand what was going on, his hand was wrapped. It was expertly done and he murmured his thanks.
“You’re welcome,” Shane said, sitting back on his heels and lighting a cigarette. He looked over to Jeremy and said, “We’re going to need to get him to a hospital, and soon.”
“We will,” Jeremy replied with a forced smile. “First, however, we must make contact with the ghost in the rifle.”
Victor felt certain that his own look of horror mimicked Tom’s own expression.
“Do you think that’s smart?” Victor asked. “I want nothing more than to find out where the Korzhs’ son is, but, Jeremy, we just barely made it out of that fight and you need medical attention.”
Shane spoke before Jeremy could reply.
“He’s strong,” Shane said, nodding, “and he’s tough. A killer who enjoys death, from what I could gather while we struggled. Doesn’t mean we can’t control him. Especially now that I know what to expect.”
Twisting around to face Jeremy, Shane asked, “Do you have cotton gloves handy?”
Jeremy replied with a nod, took a pair of balled up gloves out of a pocket and tossed them to Shane, who caught them easily. As he tugged the gloves on, he looked at Victor and said, “You handled yourself pretty well. And thanks for taking the bullet. He took me by surprise, and I let myself get caught off guard. Think you want to help me interview him?”
Victor’s concerns about his own safety were smothered by a sudden surge of hate. He grunted his assent and Shane grinned.
“Good,” the man said. “I’m going to move the rifle back into the case. We’ll leave the case propped open and I’ll slap it shut if I see anything funny going on. I am hoping that it sprang open accidentally, and not because there’s something wrong with one of the Goddamned locks.”
With that, Shane stood up, took several strides to the rifle and picked it up without any hesitation. He carried it easily in one hand, went to the open gun case and deposited the weapon. As he did so, he paused and Victor saw a smile appear on Shane’s face.
The man took a step back, straightened up and said in a strong, deep voice, “Marine! Get on the ready line!”
Before Victor could ask what was going on, he had his answer.
The ghost from Walter’s rifle appeared before them, a tattered remnant of a man in the bloodied and shredded remains of a combat uniform.
Glaring at Shane, the ghost snarled and asked a single question.
“Who the hell are you?”
Chapter 57: Outrage
The entire house shook with Ivan Denisovitch’s rage.
Stefan sat in his bedroom on the second floor and listened to his father scream in the room next to his. The man ranted and raved in English and Russian, Cambodian and Vietnamese, and other languages Stefan couldn’t identify.
Stefan didn’t care.
His father couldn’t enter the house, and at some point he would have to create a way to keep him in that room permanently.
Once that was done, Stefan could return to the family home and retrieve all of his mother’s items. And, if he were diligent in studying the occult and the dead, he would remove his father’s items from the house as well.
Then I’ll burn it down, Stefan thought with a small smile. Right down to the ground. Perhaps I’ll even donate it to the local fire department so they can do a practice burn. Oh, wouldn’t that upset Ivan. Members of the proletariat setting fire to his beloved house.
Stefan chuckled, but the sound faded away as he realized his father had gone quiet.
“Hello Stefan,” Ivan said, his muffled voice close to the wall.
He waited for his father to continue, and the man did so a moment later.
“You’ve blocked off your house from me,” his father said in a soft, dangerous voice. “Not a wise decision, boy.”
Stefan snorted and couldn’t resist, asking the man, “Oh yeah? Why is that?”
“Because I’m angry now,” Ivan Denisovitch hissed. “I wasn’t before. Now you need to be punished.”
“Really?” Stefan laughed. “Tell me, how are you going to get me in here when you can’t even leave that room?”
“Not in here,” his father whispered. “Somewhere out there. Somewhere dark and dangerous, when your father’s shadow will reach out and claim your wretched life. Remember that, Stefan. Perhaps a bathroom in an airport. In the grocery store, or climbing into your car.”
“That’s a lie,” Stefan snapped, unable to keep a tremble of fear out of his voice.
“No, boy,” Ivan said in a low voice, “it’s a promise.”
Chapter 58: A Marine and His Rifle
“I’m Gunnery Sergeant Ryan,” Shane said, stripping off the gloves and lighting a fresh cigarette. “Who are you?”
“Brown,” the ghost grumbled. “Just a Marine and his rifle.”
“Well, Brown,” Shane said, “that gentleman there, his name is Victor, and he has a few questions for you.”
Victor blinked in surprise, shocked at being thrust into the center of the conversation.
The ghost snorted. “Like I’ll answer anything he asks.”
“Don’t be like that,” Shane said, a tone of sincere comradery slipping into his voice. “It’s information he wants. You can share a little, can’t you?”
Brown snorted in disgust. “What’s in it for me? I ain’t doin’ nothin’ for free, Gunny.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said, grinning. “What do you want?”
“Not to be locked up anymore,” Brown said eagerly.
“I’m afraid that’s not a possibility,” Jeremy said from his chair, a pained expression on his face.
“Jeremy,” Shane said in a sharp tone, “let’s not rule anything out.”
The older man tried to respond but Victor interrupted him. “Shane’s right. We can’t rule anything out.”
Brown let out a smug chuckle. “That’s an attitude I like. That gung-ho, can-do spirit. Now we can open up the conversation, Gunny. Oh, excuse me, Victor.”
Victor bit back his anger and said in a forcibly calm tone, “I want to know who sold you to Walter.”
“Oh,” Brown whispered, “you want to know about him.”
Victor nodded.
“Can’t say I blame you,” the ghost said, and Victor wasn’t sure if the dead man was mocking him
or not. “I was a bad man. Still am most of the time. But there’s something wrong with him.”
“Yeah,” Victor agreed, his voice hoarse.
Brown turned his attention to Shane for a moment. “You swear to me you won’t lock me up?”
“Shane,” Jeremy started.
Shane cut him off, saying, “I swear it, Brown. As one Marine to another. I won’t let you be locked up.”
“Alright,” Brown nodded and shifted his attention back to Victor. “You got something against him?”
“He killed my wife,” Victor managed to whisper.
“That’d do it,” Brown said. “My pop killed my mom. Didn’t feel right about it until I strangled him one night. Man you’re looking for, his name’s Stefan. Stefan Korzh.”
“Where is he?” Victor asked, the words rushing out. “Do you know where?”
“I remember him complaining about Pennsylvania,” Brown said. “Not much else. I went back into the case after we had a little chat about what he wanted me to do.”
“Pennsylvania,” Victor whispered.
Brown nodded and said to Shane, “You gonna keep your promise, Gunny?”
“Always do,” Shane replied. “I’ll have to close your case and secure it for the ride home. I can’t be fighting you on the road.”
“I’d give you my word I wouldn’t,” Brown said, laughing, “but, then again, I might get bored and try.”
“Yeah,” Shane said in a dry voice, “I kind of figured that.”
***
They stood outside, breathing in the fresh air as the red taillights of Shane’s car shrank in the distance.
“I think he made a poor decision,” Jeremy said bitterly.
“It was his to make,” Victor replied, “and I’m happy he did. We needed the information, and he seems like he can handle himself.”
“Shane certainly can,” Jeremy said, turning to go back inside. “My concern is that a murderous ghost is not here, secured.”
Victor followed him into the house, closing the door behind him. They walked side by side up the narrow center aisle to the cot and the bed. Tom had fallen asleep, the teen pale and exhausted.
“He’ll have to be brought to the police tomorrow,” Jeremy said sadly. “We’ll have to convince him.”
“What will happen to him?” Victor asked.
“They will take care of him,” Jeremy said. “As for what will occur once he is well, that I do not know. I hope it will be soon. And, considering what he has been through, I might even ask him to come and stay here.”
Victor looked at the sleeping boy for a moment and then asked, “When do we start looking for Korzh?”
“First, the two of us need treatment,” Jeremy said, gesturing towards Victor’s injured limb.
“And we’ll look for Korzh when we get back?” Victor asked.
“Of course,” Jeremy assured him, grimacing against the pain. “But as I said, we need the hospital. I will awaken Tom if you will start the car for me.”
“Okay,” Victor whispered, nodding. “Okay.”
Clutching the keys to the older man’s car in his good hand, Victor prayed that the local emergency room wasn’t busy.
He needed to find Korzh.
Victor’s hatred kept his mind sharp and clear as he climbed into the car, eager to be on the hunt.
Chapter 59: Conversations and Decisions
They sat with Tom in a small office in the Norwich police station, the boy anxious, his eyes darting back and forth, taking in everything to be seen. His body was tense and Victor knew the boy was ready to bolt.
Victor leaned over and said, “It’s alright, Tom. Relax.”
The boy looked at him, his eyes wide, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and nodded.
It had taken Jeremy several hours to convince Tom of the present course of action. The boy had been adamant at first about remaining with them, about hunting down Stefan and killing him. In the end, Jeremy had told Tom it would take weeks, if not months to find the man, and by then Tom would be out of the hospital and able to assist them.
Victor hoped that the older man had lied to the teen, but he had a suspicion that Jeremy meant every word of it.
A moment later, the door and a uniformed police officer walked in accompanied by a young woman in nurse’s scrubs and a middle-aged doctor. Tom visibly relaxed as he saw the pair of them.
“Hello, Tom,” the doctor said, “I hear you’ve been on quite the run.”
“Yes, Dr. Greene,” Tom whispered.
The nurse stepped forward, crouched down in front of Tom and asked, “Why did you run?”
Victor kept his face neutral and he hoped Jeremy did as well. The three of them had discussed the issue of Tom’s flight at length, and they had come up with a plausible, if odd explanation.
“I thought I had killed the guy,” Tom whispered, looking at the floor between his feet and wringing his hands. “He had beaten me up in the room, and I wanted him dead, so I thought I had killed him. Then, when I ran, I stole his shoes. So, you know, I’m a murderer and a thief.”
“No, Tom,” Dr. Greene said kindly, “you’re not either one of those. No one knows what happened to the orderly, but we do know you weren’t responsible. The hallways are equipped with cameras, Tom. We know he left the building well before you did. And as for the shoes, well, you have them on right now. I’m sure you were just borrowing them. You’re many things, Tom, but a thief and a murderer aren’t on that list.”
The nurse nodded her agreement and asked in a low voice, “Are you ready to come back now, Tom? There’s lots of work we need to do.”
Tom bowed his head, then his back and shoulders heaved as he began to sob. The woman rose up and embraced him, holding him tightly and offering soothing words Victor couldn’t quite make out.
Feeling out of place, Victor stood up to leave the room and Jeremy did the same. The doctor caught their attention and asked, “Gentlemen, could I speak with you outside?”
“Of course,” Jeremy replied with a smile, leaning heavily on his cane. They exited the room, the officer remaining, just inside of the door.
“I wanted to thank you for helping him,” Dr. Greene said, smiling. “It’s not often that we have someone returned to us better than when he left.”
“Better?” Victor asked, surprised.
“Oh yes,” Dr. Greene said, nodding. “You can see it in his face, the way he holds himself, even his tone. I think it might even be helpful if you both were to stop in now and again to say hello. He experienced quite the trauma with his parents’ death, and I don’t think he’ll be able to leave our facility for some time.”
“We’d be happy to visit,” Victor said as Jeremy gave a short nod of agreement.
“Excellent,” Dr. Greene said. “Well, if you would give me your contact information I can send you all the necessary details as to where our facility is and how to get there.”
Jeremy took out a business card, one that listed him as an independent researcher and consultant, and Victor jotted his email address and cell number onto the back of it. Dr. Greene, in turn, gave them each a business card.
“Very good, gentlemen,” Dr. Greene said, “I will contact you within the next few days. Thank you again. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to Tom.”
They said their goodbyes, then Victor and Jeremy left the police station. Victor modified his step to walk beside Jeremy, and the two of them crossed the parking lot in silence. When they reached the car, Jeremy turned and asked, “Are you ready to start today?”
“Of course,” Victor answered, getting into the driver’s seat. A moment later, Jeremy was in the car as well.
“Now,” Jeremy said, “you are sort of a researcher as well, right?”
“Yes,” Victor nodded as he buckled his seat belt and started the car. “And there’s no sort of. Research is what I do.”
“And you’re stubborn and focused?” Jeremy asked.
Victor snorted. “Yes. Yes, I am
.”
“Excellent,” Jeremy said. “So am I. I think it’s going to take a great deal of pig-headedness from the pair of us to find Stefan in the wilds of Pennsylvania. I foresee a great many hours spent in front of computers, and possibly even more rummaging through land titles in and out of the way towns and Pennsylvania Dutch villages.”
“I’m fine with that,” Victor muttered, glancing at the old and battered Victorian houses lining the street. He sighed and said, “Let’s get to your house. The sooner we get started, the better I’ll feel.”
“I understand,” Jeremy said, and after a pause he added, “and it’s your home now, too, Victor.”
Surprised, Victor said, “Thank you.”
The older man nodded, and Victor turned his attention back to the city. Thank you, Victor thought, sighing, but Stefan Korzh destroyed my home and my life.
I’m going to do the same to him.
* * *
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: A Definite Improvement
Stefan Korzh waited until the last shovel full of dirt was placed in his father’s grave before he turned and left. He felt the eyes of the cemetery’s caretakers on him, but he didn’t look back.
If he had, they would have seen the smile on his face.
Up until a few minutes before, Stefan had feared that his father would somehow climb up out of the concrete sarcophagus, leaking embalming fluid, and demanding that Stefan seek vengeance.
A vengeance Stefan had no interest in.
He had been shocked by the news of his father’s death, then doubly surprised when he had learned the man had been murdered. Ivan Denisovich Korzh had been a titan to Stefan, a Russian god seemingly immune to the natural laws of the world.
His death had been tremendously satisfying.
It meant, in the long term, that Stefan would not be bound up in a life focused on the care and upkeep of haunted items. He knew, of course, that his mother would press the issue, but Stefan could handle Nicole Korzh. And in a few years, he would be able to leave the house and forget everything about his childhood.
