by Ron Ripley
“About you?”
“No,” Eloise said. “About you. She said they would lock you up some place bad.”
“Really?” Shane asked, looking at the mirror. “Did the place have a name?”
“Yes,” Eloise said, nodding. “She called it the Keep.”
“Hm,” Shane murmured. “Alright. Thank you, Eloise. I’m sorry if it was hard for you.”
The dead girl gave him a wide grin.
“It wasn’t hard, silly,” she said. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper and added, “I kind of liked it.”
Shane could only nod. There were times he had enjoyed it as well.
Eloise shrugged and stood up. “Will you be out soon?”
“Yes,” Shane said.
Eloise smiled, waved, and left the room.
Shane looked at the mirror and addressed Lisbeth. “Come where I can see you.”
She didn’t respond.
“I’ll call her back,” he said.
Lisbeth appeared in the glass. She looked cowed, fear behind her eyes.
“Are the Watchers based in Boston?” he asked.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Were they really watching this place since before my family bought it?” he asked.
Lisbeth nodded again.
“Is there a way to stop them?”
A sneer crept onto her face and disappeared a moment later. She shook her head.
Shane didn’t believe her, but he didn’t want to argue about that point.
“What’s the Keep?” Shane asked.
Lisbeth looked surprised for a second, but she didn’t answer.
“What’s the Keep?” Shane asked again.
“I don’t know,” she replied, and while Shane hadn’t doubted Eloise, he could hear the lie in the dead woman’s words.
“Okay,” Shane said. “I’ll have Eloise come back in.”
“No!” Lisbeth yelled.
He looked at her.
“No,” she whispered.
“What’s the Keep?” Shane asked.
“It’s called Borgin Keep, and it’s a place to get rid of people,” Lisbeth said. “A warehouse to store those the organization no longer wants.”
“Is it important?” he demanded.
She nodded.
“Good,” Shane said.
“What are you going to do, Shane?” she asked, a mocking, sing-song quality in her question.
“Why do you care?” he asked in return. “What do you owe the Watchers?”
“I owe them nothing,” Lisbeth said. “They were a paycheck and nothing more.”
“So I’ll ask again, why do you care?” he said.
“Because it bothers you,” she sneered. “And I have taken a sudden liking to things that upset you.”
“That can’t be all of it,” Shane said. “Not with you. You’re too smart.”
Lisbeth didn’t respond, but her eyes flicked away from him for a moment, and then Shane knew.
“They promised you something, didn’t they,” he said in a soft voice. “Was it power? Life eternal alongside of whatever it is they’re really doing with all of those ghosts?”
“You don’t know anything!” she hissed. “Nothing! When everything is set on its proper path, the faithful will be rewarded!”
“And what about the ones who are already dead?” Shane asked.
“Our bones will bring us back,” she said, lifting her chin up.
“That’s going to be a little difficult for you then,” Shane said. “How so?” she asked with a sneer.
Shane turned and began to walk away.
“How so?!” she screamed.
He called his answer back to her as he left. “Because no one will find your bones here.”
Her curses followed him into the darkness between the walls.
Chapter 15: Another Abandoned Car
Sergeant Jill Murray pulled in behind a Wrangler jeep, the lights of her cruiser illuminating the metallic blue paint of the vehicle. She turned on her work lights, called the jeep in, and waited for the confirmation call-back. After she received it, Jill got out, put on her hat, and took her flashlight out. She flipped it on with a flick of her thumb and advanced on the jeep. The beam reflected off the windows, and as she stepped closer, Jill saw the vehicle was empty.
She shook her head and glanced up at Borgin Keep.
Jill was certain that whomever the owner of the jeep was, had gone up to the Keep.
Another thrill seeker, she thought, frowning.
The Keep squatted on the hilltop. Over the years, she had found her share of cars on the side of the road. Most of the owners were never found. A few people popped up, later on, discovered on side roads and no longer sane.
The abandoned vehicle would mean a search for the missing person’s system. It also meant a physical search of the Keep, something Jill despised.
The place never felt right. There was always something off. Either a smell or a feeling.
And nothing was ever found.
Not a trace of anyone. No clothes, no belongings. Nothing.
Jill reported the jeep in as abandoned, gave the vehicle identification number, the plate number, and then walked back towards her cruiser. When she reached the door, she looked over the roof at the Keep.
For the first time in her career, Jill saw lights on in the building.
In a pair of windows on the third floor, a dull, yellow light glowed.
A figure passed before them, and then darkness returned.
Jill felt her heart thumping, the familiar sensation of adrenaline coursing through her. Her basic instincts were screaming for her to either fight or run.
Something deeper told her to run, and Jill listened.
She hurried into her cruiser, slammed the vehicle into drive, and tore away from the jeep. A fantail of dirt sprayed up from behind her tires, and Jill didn’t care.
She needed to get away from Borgin Keep, and whatever lived in it.
Chapter 16: A Different Tact
“Borgin Keep.”
The name caused Frank to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. He had drifted off at some point, and Shane’s statement had woken him up.
The scarred, angry man dropped heavily into the chair across from Frank and lit a cigarette. Shane’s face was haggard as if he hadn’t slept well in weeks. The vivid scar on the side of his neck, as well as the battered remnants of his left ear, didn’t make him look any healthier.
Frank watched as Shane poured a glass of whiskey, the man’s hand shaking and slopping the liquor onto the table. Shane muttered under his breath, grabbed a napkin, and wiped it up before he lifted the glass to his lips. With one movement, Shane drained the glass as if it had held nothing stronger than water.
Shane lit a cigarette and repeated to himself. “Borgin Keep.”
“What’s Borgin Keep?” Frank asked. He was still upset with Shane over Lisbeth’s continued imprisonment.
“Some place important to the Watchers,” Shane answered.
“How’d you find that out?” Frank said, and Shane told him. When he had finished, Frank shook his head. “And what do you want to do about it?”
“Exactly what I told her,” Shane said. “I want to burn the place to the ground. I want them to understand exactly what they did when they killed Mason.”
The memory of Mason’s head caused Frank to wince. “Shane, what about Mason’s wife?”
“What about her?” Shane asked.
“Aren’t we doing this for both of them?” Frank asked.
“Yes,” Shane answered. He looked down and sighed. “For both of them, and for everyone else the Watchers have killed and allowed to be killed. It’s easier for me to focus on Mason. He is the face of all the dead.”
Frank nodded. “Well, what’s your plan?”
“Simple. Get loaded up, bring a hell of a lot of accelerant, and light it up,” Shane said.
“And if there are any dead there?” Frank asked.
> “All the better,” Shane said. “I’m going to reach out to a friend of mine. He specializes in securing haunted items. If there are any dead up there I can take, I want them.”
Frank leaned back, surprised. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to turn them loose on Harlan,” Shane said through his teeth. “I’m going to hurt him before I rip their little group to the ground.”
“And what about Lisbeth?” Frank asked. “When will you let her go?”
“When I have all of the information I need,” Shane replied.
Frank shook his head. “You should let her go now. She’s waiting on God’s judgment.”
“God has a lot of time,” Shane quipped. “I don’t. She’s got plenty of time too. When I’ve had my vengeance, then I’ll let her go. Not before that, though.”
Frank wanted to argue a little more, but Carl entered the room. The ghost looked flustered and upset.
“What is it?” Shane asked, surprise in his voice.
“There is a man and a woman,” Carl said. “They are in the house across the street, but they do not belong there. And, my young friend, they are watching our house.”
Frank was out of his chair before Shane, and he hurried to the window. He opened the shade enough to see out of, but nothing more. Frank’s eyes scanned the street, then the houses.
A silver Mercedes, with New York license plates, was parked in the driveway of the deep blue Victorian that was home to the Mitchells.
But it wasn’t the car the family usually had. Frank watched as a man passed by the front window, and he caught sight of a woman on the second floor. Both were doing an exceptional job at looking like they weren’t watching.
Frank had been a professional, though. He knew how to look for someone who wasn’t right. What to see when there shouldn’t have been anything to see.
And the couple across the street weren’t right.
Frank turned to Shane. “Carl’s right. We’re under surveillance.”
Shane nodded. “Good. It means Harlan is still unsure as to which way I’ll go.”
“Hold on,” Frank said, looking to Carl. “How did you find out they were watching us?”
“The building across the street,” Carl explained, “was once the guest house. Some of the dead can still move from one home to the other.”
“What do you want to do about this?” Shane asked, his voice hard.
“About them?” Frank asked.
Shane nodded.
Frank sighed. When he had been a Benedictine monk, Frank had cultivated peace, and he had sought to find a sense of calm within himself. Since he had left the order, Frank had found himself embracing the violence within his heart with disturbing ease.
And while part of him wanted to let the people watch and report, there was a harder part that knew he couldn’t.
“We’ll need to take them,” Frank said in a small voice. “Both of them.”
Shane nodded.
“And no torture,” Frank stated.
Shane grinned, the smile frightening.
“No,” Shane agreed. “No torture.”
Chapter 17: Outside of Borgin Keep
When they entered the strongest places, they always worked in pairs.
David and Blanche had been a team for twenty-seven years; sixteen of them had been concentrated on Borgin Keep. They knew the exterior of the structure as well as their own homes.
The interior contained only two consistent features. The rear entrance through the kitchen, and the main hallway. All other aspects of the multi-storied building, including the stairs, shifted in form and function, depending upon the will of the dead.
This was due to the fact that the home had been built upon the convergence of two ley lines. Somehow, Emmanuel Borgin had created a structure that shifted in the physical plain with the same ease that was said to exist in the ethereal.
David shook the thoughts away.
It was dangerous to enter the Keep with any sort of distractions. The dead had a rapacious appetite, and it would not matter how long either David or Blanche had worked with them. Within the walls of the Keep, all were fair game.
The organization’s contact in the Vermont State Police had informed them when the Wrangler jeep had been discovered. It meant that David and Blanche had a limited window of opportunity to get into the building, clean up any remains, and get out.
They got out of the pick-up they had taken from the Bennington safe house and went around to the back to gather up their supplies. As they did so, the work phone sounded, alerting them to a text message. Blanche read the text, swore under her breath, and handed the phone to David.
He adjusted his glasses and read the message.
He looked it over twice more before he looked at her and said, “A light in the windows.”
Blanche’s tanned skin had a pale look to it as she nodded, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.
“There’s never been light on here,” David said, looking up at the dark building. “Not once.”
“I know,” she replied. “What do you want to do?”
“Call it in,” David said. “If someone in there is getting more active, we’re going to need another team up here. This place is dangerous enough as it is.”
“You’re right,” Blanche said, holding her hand out for the phone. David returned it to her, and she dialed the emergency number of the main office in Boston. In the stillness of the night air, David could hear the call ring on the other end. When it was answered, Blanche said, “This is Borgin.”
The response was muffled, but in a clear voice Blanche replied, “We have an intruder as well as reports of a light on one of the upper floors.”
Blanche stiffened as the person on the other end spoke, and she gave a curt nod before she ended the call.
“What happened?” David asked.
In a strained voice, she said, “I was told we were to continue on with the mission. It was imperative that we do so, and there are no other teams available to assist at this time.”
Without a word to her, David went up to the front of the truck, opened the door and reached into glove compartment. He took out a thirty-eight caliber revolver. Silently David swung open the cylinder, made sure all six chambers were loaded and closed it before he tucked it into the pocket of his suit coat.
“Why did you bring that?” Blanche asked.
“Neither one of us is going to end up like any of those we’ve cleaned up,” David stated. “We’ve given a lot of time to the Watchers. Our souls aren’t staying on overtime to work a little longer.”
She nodded her agreement, hefted the bag of supplies onto her shoulder, and led the way up the hill to the Keep.
The pistol was a comfortable weight in David’s pocket, and he was glad to have it.
Chapter 18: Making His Decision
Courtney was singing in a corner, her voice soothing and gentle in the darkness. The sound made Shane smile, and his burden all the lighter.
He sat in his chair, behind his desk, and with his eyes closed.
Shane found he thought better and clearer when he sat alone with Courtney. She became a little better each day, and it pleased him.
Her song stopped, and Courtney asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I have to do something bad,” he said. “And it isn’t going to end well for at least two people.”
“Are you one of them?” she demanded.
“No,” he said in a soft voice. “Not at all.”
She didn’t respond, and when she did, it was with another question.
“Will they suffer?” she asked.
“They might,” Shane admitted.
“Why do you have to deal with them?” Courtney asked, her voice coming closer in the darkness.
“They’re part of the group who killed Mason,” Shane explained. “I may kill them to send a message. I may not. I haven’t decided.”
“Do they deserve to die?” she asked in a whisper.
“You should be,” Courtney said. “You’re alive, Shane. And you still have friends.”
“Friend, singular,” Shane corrected. “At least living.”
“Am I only a friend?” she asked, and Shane could hear a hint of madness in her question.
He didn’t rush his response, though. “You are more than a friend, Courtney. You were, and you always will be.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
When she spoke again, she was across the room.
“What will you do to them?” Courtney asked. “Will you torture them as you did Lisbeth?”
“Hm? Oh, no. I already told Frank I wouldn’t,” Shane said. “I’d like to, but in this case, it wouldn’t do any good. In fact, I think it might make Frank withdraw from the whole venture.”
“Frank stands by you,” she said.
“He does,” Shane agreed. “And I respect him too much.”
A pleasant silence filled the cold room as Shane contemplated the fate of the two watchers across the street. After a short time, Shane came to a decision, and he stood up.
“What are you going to do?” she asked as he walked towards the door.
“Kill them both,” Shane replied.
“How will that help?” The question was a serious one, Courtney’s voice lacking any sort of judgment.
He paused at the door, hand on the cold knob.
“It will show a man, named Harlan,” Shane said, “that killing my friend was a poor decision.”
“Oh,” she said, and a moment later lifted her voice up in song.
Shane smiled, opened the door, and left his cold sanctuary.
Chapter 19: Conducting Business
The Keep was colder than David remembered it.
Blanche looked at him.
“This isn’t good,” she said.
“No,” David agreed. “It isn’t. I hope it’s only one trespasser.”
“Me too,” Blanche said. “We still need to clean up after the last one we dropped off.”
David groaned. “Damn. I’d forgotten about her. Well, here’s hoping we have enough bags. I really don’t want to go out to the truck again. It’ll take us half the night to find the remains.”
