by Ron Ripley
“My house. My property,” Shane said. “I came outside because I heard gunfire. Why was he in my yard, firing a gun, and trying to set my home on fire?”
“How do you know that?” the detective demanded.
Shane shook his head as another man approached them. He was a little younger and a little slimmer than the detective, and he had on a uniform with the rank of a lieutenant.
“Dwayne,” the lieutenant said, “may I interrupt?”
The detective looked over and nodded, saying, “Sure, Lieutenant.”
“Hi,” the lieutenant said, offering his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Martin Klein.”
Shane shook the man’s hand warily. “Shane.”
“And a last name?” the lieutenant asked.
“He wrote it down,” Shane said, nodding towards the detective.
A brief look of irritation flashed across the lieutenant’s face, but it was replaced with an easy smile.
“Shane,” the lieutenant said, “I was informed, just a few minutes ago, that you were a friend of Officer Kurt Warner?”
At this, the detective glared at Shane.
Shane nodded.
“Did you happen to speak to him before his death?” the lieutenant asked.
Shane shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” the detective snapped. “Cat got your tongue?”
Anger boiled up and Shane said, “Take a good look at me.”
He turned his head to the left to show the police the scar along the side of his head and down his neck. Then Shane turned it to the right to show them the remains of his left ear. When he looked at them again he lifted his left hand to allow them to count the three fingers which remained.
“Does it look like I care about a whole lot?” Shane demanded. “I’m a retired Marine Gunnery Sergeant. I have been through the wringer, and more than once. Tonight’s really no different than any other time. It just happened to occur on my street. I was asleep. Gunfire woke me up. I found a guy burning to death in the side yard. A house blew up and the concussion knocked me stupid. Now you want to know about Kurt?”
“Shane,” the lieutenant began.
“Shut up,” Shane snapped, stabbing a finger at the man. “Let me tell you about myself. I’ve buried a lot of friends. I’ve killed my share of men and women and children. And I don’t care. There are only two things I want to do with the rest of my life, and that’s smoke and drink. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to smoke my cigarettes. I’m going to drink my whiskey.”
Shane looked at the female paramedic who eyed him with a wary mixture of concern and distrust.
“Am I good?” Shane asked.
She nodded.
“Thank you,” he said, getting up. His entire body ached. “Am I being arrested?”
“No,” the detective said.
“Do you need to bring me in for questioning?” Shane asked.
“Maybe,” the lieutenant replied, his voice raw with anger.
“Fine,” Shane said. “I’m going back into my house. I may have a cup of coffee. I may have a shot or three of whiskey. Come knock on the door when you’ve decided what you’re doing.”
Shane pushed his way between the two surprised policemen and stalked back to the front door. Behind him, he heard the lieutenant swear, and then a crashing sound as part of 126 Berkley collapsed on itself.
Chapter 27: A Curious Conversation
Frank was alone in the house. If the dead could sleep, he felt certain the ghosts were.
Shane had been taken down to the police station for questioning. Frank had not. Unlike Shane, Frank had kept a civil tongue in his head, and he had answered all of the questions put to him in a calm and polite way.
Shane, Frank suspected, was spoiling for a fight.
A tremor rippled through Frank’s body as the adrenaline from the explosion burned out of his system. He had a tall glass of water, his third, and he sat in a comfortable chair in the front parlor. The shades were open, the lights in the room off. Frank had plenty of illumination from the fire across the street as well as the emergency beacons of the fire trucks.
The distorted voices and radios of the rescue personnel filtered in through the walls and Frank found the entire situation oddly relaxing.
“How are you doing?” Eloise asked.
Her sudden appearance in the room caught him off guard, and Frank jerked upright, spilling the water on himself. He smiled and shook his head.
“I’m okay,” he answered, trying to ignore his wet pajamas.
“The police took Shane away,” she said, walking to the window and looking out at the activity across the street.
“They did,” Frank agreed.
“He needs to learn how to control his temper,” she said. Eloise watched for a moment longer, then she turned away and walked to stand in front of him.
“Do you disagree?” she asked him.
Frank shook his head. “Not at all. I’m a little tired, Eloise.”
She smiled. “I’m never tired.”
Frank didn’t have a reply, so he didn’t speak. The dead girl sat down and smiled at him.
“How long will you stay?” she asked.
The question caught Frank off guard and he answered, “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. Shane was kind enough to take me in.”
Eloise nodded. “Would you stay forever?”
The thought chilled him and Frank hesitated. “Well, I like to think that when I die, I’ll go to heaven.”
She offered a patronizing smile. “I don’t believe in that anymore.”
“No?” Frank asked.
Eloise shook her head. “I’ve been here a long time, Frank. If there was a God, He would have called me to Him by now, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” Frank replied. “We can’t know the will of God.”
The statement brought a flare of anger into her eyes, but she remained calm as she answered, “Believe what you will, and I will do the same.”
“Fair enough,” Frank said, shifting in his chair. This was a side of Eloise he had never seen before. And one he wasn’t quite sure he enjoyed.
She looked down at her dress, smoothed it out as a small grin played across her face.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she whispered, her voice so low that Frank had to lean forward to hear each word. “But I liked killing that man.”
The words chilled Frank’s blood.
“Why?” he asked, keeping the question light.
“He was going to hurt you and Shane,” she answered. “I hurt him first. I wanted him to suffer, though. The way he was going to make you suffer.”
Frank examined her face, looked at the intensity in her eyes, the firm set of her jaw which had replaced the grin. He wondered if her enjoyment of the violence was a sign of madness. Will she go down Courtney’s road? Frank thought, suddenly fearful for the dead girl. What will she do if she goes mad? Will she have to be bound?
“Frank,” Eloise said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yes?” he said, forcing a smile.
“Would you like to have a tea party with me?”
Frank let out a relieved laugh and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
The little dead girl vanished. Frank knew she was going to the upper parlor where her tea set was placed. He stood up, his gaze lingering on the fire still raging across the street. Frank thought of the family that had lived there, butchered, and he wondered how many more bodies would pile up before the Watchers were through.
Chapter 28: A Difficult Decision
The phone rang and Harlan answered it.
“Speak,” Harlan stated.
“Shane Ryan,” a male said. “Forty-three years of age. Permanent address on Berkley Street in Nashua, New Hampshire.”
“Continue,” Harlan prompted.
“Currently in custody at the Nashua Police Station, Panther Drive, Nashua, New Hampshire,” the man said.
“For how long?” Harl
an asked.
“As long as you need,” the man replied.
“Excellent,” Harlan said. “I’ll have a man down there to question him, soon.”
He ended the call, replacing the receiver back in the holder. Harlan kept his hand on the black plastic, a long, thin finger tapping on the phone. Minutes ticked by on the wall clock and he removed his hand. From the top drawer of the desk he withdrew an old rolodex. His fingers, in spite of their arthritis, nimbly sorted through the worn cards.
When he found the proper card, Harlan withdrew it, placed it face up on the blotter and looked at it.
He had not spoken to the man in several years, and their acquaintance was thin at best. But the man owed the Watchers in general, and Harlan in particular.
A smile crept onto Harlan’s face and he picked up the phone. He dialed the New Hampshire number and waited as it rang.
A sleepy male voice answered. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Elmer,” Harlan said.
“Who is this?” Elmer asked.
“An old associate,” Harlan explained. “We had business together, shortly before you ended up in the hospital with a curious injury.”
When Elmer spoke again, all vestiges of sleep were gone from his voice. “Who is this?”
“As I said, an old associate,” Harlan stated. “We did attempt to retrieve the weapon that wounded you, but unfortunately it was too well protected. However, we were able to obtain several interesting items. One of which was a broach imbued with the spirit of a rather, shall we say, angry young woman?”
“Harlan,” Elmer said, and then Harlan heard a door close. “I remember you now. What can I do for you?”
“I have a favor to ask,” Harlan stated. “And in return for the favor, I have several items which you may be interested in.”
“Really?” Elmer asked. “What sort of items?”
“A candelabra, with blood in the crevices of some excellent filigree. There is also a tea cup that was used to administer fatal doses of arsenic by a disturbed Irish maid. And, the coup de grace, a battered New Testament carried by a violent soldier in Mogadishu,” Harlan said.
Elmer’s breath was loud and excited in the earpiece of the phone.
“What do you need me to do?” the collector asked.
“I need you to take something to the Nashua Police Station for me. You will deliver it to a young Lieutenant,” Harlan said. “He will meet you in the parking lot.”
“What is it?” Elmer asked, his voice cautious, worried.
“Do you remember the piano wire you acquired from us?” Harlan inquired.
“Yes,” Elmer answered, his voice sinking.
“Bring it to the Lieutenant,” Harlan said, and then, in a reassuring tone he added, “the officer will make sure it gets back to you.”
“Alright,” Elmer agreed. “When do you want it brought to him, and when do I get the objects?”
“Bring it to him now,” Harlan ordered. “He’s waiting for you. As for the objects, they’ll be delivered via our service by this afternoon.”
“Excellent!” Elmer declared. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Very good,” Harlan said, and he hung up the phone.
It was a dangerous game, he knew, to bring in another party, but Shane Ryan was forcing his hand.
Harlan needed Shane dead, and the idea of it brought a smile to his face.
There would be nothing painless in Shane’s death, Harlan knew, and that was exactly as it should be.
Chapter 29: At the Station
Shane sat at the table in the interview room and yawned. He had spent plenty of time in a variety of jails and holding cells during his active duty as a Marine. There was nothing for him to fear, and nothing new.
The table was a standard, heavy piece of metal, as was the chair he occupied. Across the table was an identical chair, recently vacated by the Lieutenant who had brought him in for questioning hours earlier. A two-way mirror was set within the left wall, and a small camera was positioned in the upper right corner above the door.
Shane suspected he could get up and walk out of the room, but that might lead to some trouble with the police officers on the other side of it.
And he knew the Lieutenant was attempting to think of some way he could arrest Shane.
Shane grinned at the thought and wondered if it would be worth some jail time to punch the officer. There was something wrong about the man, an itch at the base of Shane’s neck that told him the man wasn’t what he seemed.
Regardless, Shane told himself, I should have kept my cool.
I wouldn’t be jonesing for a cigarette or a shot of whiskey if I hadn’t run my mouth.
The door opened and the Lieutenant walked in with a cup of coffee and a donut wrapped in a napkin. He flashed a false smile and sat down across from Shane.
Shane watched as the man got comfortable, took a drink, then a bite of the donut, and smiled again.
The Lieutenant swallowed and asked, “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” Shane said.
“Good, good,” the Lieutenant said. He took another bite, then a second sip. When he finished, he looked at Shane in surprise and said, “Oh, I forgot to ask, are you hungry?”
“No,” Shane answered. His stomach was twisting itself into knots with hunger, but he didn’t want anything from the Lieutenant.
“No, no,” the Lieutenant said, putting the remnants of the donut down on the napkin. “You must be starving. Let me get you something.”
The officer put the coffee down beside the donut and stood up, going back to the door and opening it.
“Bob,” the Lieutenant called. “Bob!”
When no one answered him, the officer turned back to Shane and said, “Hold on one sec.”
The Lieutenant left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Shane shook his head and twisted the iron rings on his fingers. The metal was warm to the touch and he smiled.
After a minute, he stifled a yawn and felt cold. Shane rubbed at his arms, wondering if the officer had gone to turn the heat down. His exhalation came out as a white cloud and Shane stiffened.
Shane looked around the room, searching, and in the mirror, he found what he sought. A tall, thin woman stood behind him. Her clothes placed her in the Edwardian era, her gray hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore a lace-trimmed apron over her dress and glasses were perched on her long, angular nose. Her lips were mere hints and her hands had all of the elegance and frightfulness of a spider’s legs.
She was stooped, peering at Shane’s neck.
He watched as she reached out a hand, the fingers coming to a stop a hair’s breadth from his own flesh.
Then she lowered her arm, dipped her hand into a pocket of the apron and removed a long, shimmering coil. A smile, oddly beautiful on such a harsh face, appeared, and she stepped forward.
Shane kept his eye on her in the mirror and twisted in his seat, lashing out with his left hand. It passed through the ghost, her smile dissolving into a grimace. A shudder raced through the room and Shane got up, stepping away from the chair.
The woman appeared a heartbeat later, standing between him and the door. He could see that in her hands was a length of piano wire.
She had every intention, Shane saw, of garroting him with it.
“You’ve misbehaved,” the woman said in a deep timbre. “You need to be punished.”
Shane didn’t respond. She raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t disagree?” she asked.
“Why would I?” Shane answered.
The woman hesitated, then stepped towards him. She moved through the table.
“It would have been easier to catch you from behind,” she said, her hands spreading out and pulling the wire taut.
Shane struck her and the ghost vanished only to reappear by the door. Her lips curled in a snarl.
“It’s ever so quick,” she said. “A loop around your neck, a quick jerk. The wire cut
s through flesh and tendon, slips between the vertebrae. You’ll hardly feel a thing. Or so I’ve been told.”
She pounced, trying to snare him. Shane pulled away and lashed out with his left hand.
When she showed up at the door again, her face was a livid mask.
“How are you doing that?” she demanded. “Tell me!”
Shane held up his hands, spreading his fingers wide.
“Iron,” he said. “It will beat you back each time.”
A smile spread across her face. “Will it? Shall we put your theory to the test?”
“Why not?” Shane spat. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Her attack was fast, far faster than he suspected it of being.
Her speed could do nothing against the innate power of the iron, and she shrieked as she vanished again.
When she reappeared, her chest rose and fell, as if even dead she could still breathe and seethe. The woman watched him, waiting.
“Why are you here?” Shane asked, breaking the silence.
The question seemed to surprise her.
“What?” she asked.
“Here,” Shane said. “Why are you here, in the police station? Did you die on these grounds?”
“I died in my own house, in Boston,” the woman barked.
“Really?” Shane asked. “Because you’re pretty far from Boston. You’re in New Hampshire.”
“Someone took me out of my house,” she said. Then, in a voice that rose in anger she demanded, “Why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how you got in here,” Shane said, keeping a wary eye on her.
She threw herself at him again, and this time Shane was too slow. The force of her impact slammed him back into the wall and knocked him to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, throwing a punch that she slipped away from. A blow landed against his kidney and he doubled over, gasping with pain. From the corner of his eye, he saw her slash in towards him and Shane threw himself to one side, crashing into the table. The coffee cup was knocked over, the hot liquid splashing against the floor and Shane’s pants.
A shimmer caught his eye and Shane spotted a coil of thin wire in the middle of the spilled coffee.
