Deranged Souls

by Ron Ripley

  “Where did you make it?” Marcus asked.

  “Over by Gwen’s house,” Alex replied with a yawn. “I found a new ghost there.”

  “Did you speak to her?” Marcus asked sharply.

  Alex grinned at him. “No. She didn’t come outside. I would have if she had come out. But, you know, she didn’t.”

  “Then what ghost did you meet?” Marcus said.

  “Um, Miguel,” Alex said after a moment. “Yeah, he’s the new guard Gwen killed the other night after you saw her. He was kind of confused. I helped him.”

  “How?” Marcus asked, coming to a stop.

  “He was attached to a ring,” Alex said. “So, I took it off his body and threw it over the fence. Now, he can cause trouble on the other side.”

  “Will he?” Marcus asked.

  “Sure he will,” Alex said, smiling. “He’s going to be angry soon. You could see it in his face. He’s confused right now. Soon, he’ll be angry, and I think he’s going to beat up just about anyone he finds. I didn’t want him fighting over here, so I helped him get over there. Let him beat up Worthe or someone like that.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Honestly, Alex, you never cease to amaze me. I know I would not have considered such a creative solution to that problem.”

  “Thanks,” Alex said, grinning. “Gwen was watching me, though. Like, the whole time. Just hanging out in a window. It was kind of creepy.”

  “I can only imagine,” Marcus murmured.

  “So, why are we going to the chapel?” Alex asked.

  “I want to see what we have for food and supplies,” Marcus said. “It dawned on me earlier that there might be additional medicine, or at least medical supplies, in the chapel. If so, we could use them on Timmy.”

  “Cool,” Alex said, and he whistled as they walked.

  A split second later, a gunshot tore through the air, and for the second time that day, Marcus heard the sounds of battle.

  ***

  Armand stepped out of the vehicle as weapons continued to fire. Iron and salt rounds peppered the back of the house and rang out loudly as they struck the wrought iron fencing.

  “Cease fire!” Armand ordered.

  The firing stopped almost immediately.

  “Where is she now?” Armand asked, approaching Guillermo. The other man tugged his gloves back on and nodded toward the newest house.

  “She’s back inside,” Guillermo answered.

  Armand glanced around. “Did she injure anyone?”

  “No,” Guillermo said. “I’m not even certain she was going to.”

  “Why do you say that?” Armand asked.

  “She was only out for a moment, and she hadn’t crossed the barrier.” Guillermo shrugged. “What do I know? She could have been waiting for one of us to come closer.”

  “Yes, there is that,” Armand said. Guillermo didn’t sound well, and Armand nearly asked him what the problem was. Ah, but Miguel is dead. That is the problem. “Where are you going to take first watch?”

  “Tower four,” Guillermo answered.

  “Excellent,” Armand said. “I will check on you shortly.”

  Guillermo nodded, accepting the dismissal. As the Spaniard walked away, Armand turned his attention back to the house. In the rear window, he saw a shape. Armand drew his weapon and approached the fence. His breath caught in his throat as the woman eased through the house’s wall and stood in the snow on the opposite side of the fence.

  “Hello,” Armand said.

  “Hey,” the dead woman responded.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Gwen,” she replied without asking for his. “Why are you here, near my house?”

  “I’m checking on the safety of my troops,” Armand answered.

  Gwen frowned. “Where’s my mom?”

  “I don’t know.” Armand shook his head. “You should go back inside now.”

  “No,” Gwen snapped. “I don’t want to. I want to know where my mom is. Why is the house here? Why is there so much snow on the ground? There wasn’t any this morning.”

  “What day is it today?” Armand asked casually.

  “Thanksgiving, dummy,” Gwen said, her voice heavy with anger. She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed the heels of her hands against them, screaming, “Why do I have a headache?”

  Her voice echoed across the snow. After a few moments of silence, she lowered her hands and smiled at him. It was a beautiful expression, one which lit up her face and made her eyes dance with mischievous joy. “You should come a little closer.”

  Armand was only vaguely aware that he took several steps toward the fence.

  “Wouldn’t you like to talk to me?” she asked gently.

  “I would,” he answered.

  “You should open the gate and come in.” Gwen’s voice became low and throaty. “No one’s here. Just me.”

  Armand glanced at the gate, which would let him into her small area of the Village.

  “Aren’t you going to visit me?” Her expression became coy and playful. “Don’t you want to sit with me? You could take your helmet off and relax. I could make you coffee, and we could talk. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “Yes,” Armand murmured. “I most certainly would.”

  He reached up and started to free the strap of his helmet.

  The roar of a shotgun sent him staggering back in surprise as Gwen vanished. Armand looked down and saw Guillermo had him by the upper arm.

  “Come on,” Guillermo said gently. “Before she comes back and starts to talk again.”

  Armand nodded, holstered his pistol, and tried not to think about how utterly stupid he had been.

  Chapter 15: Searching

  Abel crawled around on all fours, ignoring the discomfort it caused his old joints. He heard and felt the pops as his bones creaked and complained.

  I need to find it, he thought, pushing aside his chair and cramming himself beneath his large desk. It has to be here somewhere!

  He felt sweat dampen the back of his neck and form along his brow. With his hand, he wiped the beads of moisture off of his top lip and then sank to the floor, pressing his ear to the cold wood. He tried to listen, and aloud, he said, “Where is she hiding? What did you do with her?”

  “Abel,” Nurse Schomp snapped, and Abel jerked his head up, squealing with pain as he struck the back of his skull against the underside of the desk. Abel swore he heard the woman mutter, “Idiot,” but before he could ask, she was standing behind him. She took hold of both of his arms, her grip surprisingly strong, and dragged him out from beneath the desk.

  “No!” Abel shrieked. “I have to find her! She’s missing!”

  Without hesitation, Nurse Schomp slapped him across the face. The blow sent him stumbling back, where he tumbled into his chair. Stars danced around the edges of his vision, and he felt a drop of blood fall from his nostril.

  “You don’t need to find her,” Nurse Schomp said evenly. “She’s dead. We know where she is. We even know how she got there. So, get a grip before I hit you again.”

  “I’ll have you shot!” Abel howled.

  The woman shook her head. “No, you won’t. No one is going to listen to you when it comes to medicine and me. I’m in charge, and there’s a whole lot of pain and abuse waiting for you if you don’t start following directions, Abel.”

  “You will call me professor,” he snarled.

  “I will call you an idiot, and I will slap the hell out of you,” she said, her face tightening with fury. “It is my job to get you out of here alive, Abel Worthe, and I have every intention of succeeding in my efforts.”

  Nurse Schomp took a step forward, and he shrank back in the chair as he squealed, “Don’t hit me again.”

  She straightened up and said, “Get out of the chair and down to medical. I need to take your vitals.”

  Abel quivered with fear and rage. “You could take them here.”

  Nurse Schomp raised her hand, and he whimpered as he c
lambered out of the chair. He shrank back as he passed her, keeping his eyes down and focused on the floor. With every step he took, Abel tried to see where Meredith’s tooth had vanished to. In a matter of seconds, he was crossing the threshold to his study, his fists clenched at his sides and his chin tucked to his chest.

  ***

  Professor Abel Worth had the demeanor of a beaten dog, and Nurse Schomp was the vicious owner. David shook his head in surprise as the professor passed by him. After a moment’s hesitation, David fell into step beside the small nurse.

  “What the hell is going on?” David asked in a murmur.

  Her eyes flashed as she whispered, “He’s getting worse. I found him crawling around, looking for the Medium’s damned tooth.”

  “He was actually on the floor?” David asked.

  She nodded bitterly. “This can’t go on, David. It really cannot. He needs to be taken care of.”

  David winced. “I know. I know. We need to hold out, though, just a little longer. If he can get the results he wants from this new house, well, maybe he’ll start to get better.”

  “No,” Erica said. “He will not. Perhaps he’ll stabilize for a bit. That’ll be all. Afterward, something will trigger the downward spiral again. Maybe a memory of the Medium, maybe a smell. I don’t know for sure. What I do know, David, is he isn’t going to improve. This needs to end. The sooner, the better.”

  “Where are we going?” David asked frowning.

  “Medical,” Erica responded. “He needs to be evaluated and possibly medicated. More than likely, he’ll need the medication.”

  David flinched. He hated the idea of medication. “No morphine?”

  “No narcotics of any kind,” she affirmed. “He has enough problems without addiction being stacked on top of the others. Anyway, here we are. Are you coming in?”

  “No,” David said, shaking his head. “I need to review some video footage. The Indians are getting too clever. This new ghost, I think she’s going to be far more difficult to handle. Alfor’s troops are the only ones going close to her house, and she’s picking them off. I need to find a way to encourage her to go into the Village.”

  “Good luck with that,” Erica said, and then, suddenly, she smiled tiredly at him. “I’m going to try and figure out how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

  David laughed and nodded. “Good luck.”

  He left her at the door to medical and began walking to Armand’s rooms.

  What if the professor’s insane, like Erica thinks? David wondered. Am I really going to have to take care of him? I hope not.

  He shuddered, focused on the task at hand, and forced himself to walk quickly through the halls of the compound.

  Chapter 16: A New Toy

  “Where did you get this?” Marcus asked, turning the weapon over in his hands.

  Alex beamed with pride. “One of the Hurons, he killed one of the new guards. The guard was, um, well, he was using the woods as a bathroom.”

  Timmy laughed weakly. “Caught with his pants down.”

  Alex snickered, and even Marcus couldn’t repress a smile.

  “Unfortunate for the gentleman in question,” he said. He turned his attention to the weapon. “This looks like a modified M-16 rifle.”

  “It’s an M4 carbine,” Timmy whispered. “Kid, you get ammo, too?”

  Alex held up a bag. He shook it, and the metallic sound of jangling magazines filled the room.

  “Well done,” Marcus said, chuckling. He accepted a magazine from Alex and inspected it.

  “These aren’t iron rounds,” Marcus said, sliding a bullet out and handing it to Timmy.

  “No,” Timmy said softly. “Standard NATO round, steel jacket. These aren’t meant for ghosts.”

  “Someone’s personal weapon?” Marcus asked.

  Timmy shrugged. “Don’t know if they were able to bring it all the way from central Europe where Alfor is located. They may have bought it stateside.”

  Marcus nodded his agreement.

  “Can I try it out?” Alex asked, excitedly. “I haven’t shot one of those yet!”

  “A little later, perhaps,” Marcus said. A crestfallen look appeared on the boy’s face, but Marcus refused to be moved by it. “Listen carefully to me, Alex. When I go out to use this rifle, it may draw fire from the guards. While I do not have any particular desire to be shot again, I refuse to allow you to be shot because I was too indulgent.”

  Alex looked to Timmy, but Timmy shook his head.

  “Nope,” he whispered. “The old man’s right. Besides, being shot sucks.”

  Alex’s shoulders slumped, and he looked mournfully at the weapon. “Okay.”

  “So,” Timmy asked, wincing as he adjusted himself on the couch, “what are you going to shoot at?”

  “Worthe’s guards,” Marcus answered.

  Timmy and Alex stared at him as if they expected him to tell them he was joking.

  “I am quite serious,” Marcus continued. “We never know when they might sweep in and confiscate whatever they like. I would hate to go to the effort of hiding this weapon for later use, only to lose it before we had a chance.”

  “So, your alternative is to shoot at them,” Timmy said.

  “Yes,” Marcus said.

  Timmy shook his head in disbelief, “Hell, I’m not sure that’s a great idea, Pop.”

  “I need to test the weapon,” Marcus responded. “The guards need to fear something other than the dead.”

  “You might get dead,” Timmy observed.

  “True,” Marcus winced at the thought. “It needs doing.”

  “When are you going to do it?” Timmy asked.

  “It’s almost dark,” Marcus said. “I’m going to find a tower well-lit by the setting sun, and I will send a few rounds downrange. I don’t intend to seriously injure anyone. I may not even hit them at all, but perhaps it will put a little fear into them.”

  “I don’t know about fear,” Timmy replied. “I do know that when they figure out where the firing is coming from, they’ll throw more than a few rounds your way.”

  “They might,” Marcus acknowledged.

  “No,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I’ll talk to Philip. He’ll make sure the guards get distracted by the Indians.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus murmured. He loaded the weapon and chambered a round. It felt good to hold a rifle again. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Alex and Timmy said goodbye, and Marcus slipped out of the house. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, and soon he was in a comfortable position in the snow, pressed up against the chapel. One of the towers was fully illuminated by the setting sun, making each of the three guards a prime target.

  Marcus eased his mind, sighted along the rifle’s barrel, and took a long, calming breath. He let it out, inhaled again, and repeated the process. When he felt at peace, he remembered everything he had been taught about shooting, and he carefully pulled the trigger.

  ***

  Guillermo put the binoculars down, turned to speak with the man next to him, and saw the other man stumble back as the crack of a rifle snapped the silence. Dropping to his knees, Guillermo caught the man as he fell, blood seeping out of the hole in the man’s chest. As he struggled to strip the man’s armor and clothing off, the other guard called it in even as the rifle cracked several more times.

  Men yelled out over the comm, trying to pinpoint where the shot had come from, but it was over far too quickly.

  As he pressed a bandage to the injured man’s chest, Guillermo radioed Armand on the private channel.

  “I heard,” Armand said. “What happened exactly?”

  “We were fired on,” Guillermo said. “None of these ghostly muskets or whatever the hell they are. These were real rounds. Subject B must have obtained a weapon somehow. The other man with him couldn’t have done it in the condition he was left in before.”

  “Do you think it’s worth sending a team in?” Armand asked.

  “
No,” Guillermo answered, nodding to the medics as they pushed his hand aside and took over. “There’s the possibility that he is already on the move. If we go in, we’re risking a coordinated attack by the dead, plus the possibility of an ambush by whoever fired the shots. No, stay outside and stay alert.”

  “All right,” Armand grumbled. “Get back here, though. I want a full report.”

  Guillermo wiped the blood off on his pants and felt his father’s ring in his pocket. He smiled bitterly, pulled his gloves on, and made his way down from the tower.

  Chapter 17: Tactical Considerations

  They sat around the old and battered table, a large, topographical map spread out between the four of them. The kitchen smelled of coffee and oatmeal, burnt toast, and too much honey. Joyce glanced at the others and wondered how her life had become so strange.

  I don’t have to think too hard, she thought bitterly. It was that damned hiking trip.

  “You okay?” Ellen asked softly.

  “What? Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Joyce said, reaching down and rubbing her damaged knee. “Just thinking about stuff I shouldn’t.”

  “I get that,” Ellen said. Then, turning her attention to Victor, Ellen asked, “So, what’s what?”

  “This is a map of the area your professor purchased,” Victor said. He leaned forward with a red Sharpie and, glancing at a notepad beside him, he marked off the boundaries of Worthe’s property.

  “What?” Joyce asked softly. Tom whistled, and even Ellen looked surprised.

  “Exactly,” Victor said, leaning back into his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. “Professor Abel Worthe, by using several shell companies, organizations, and trusts, managed to purchase three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-one acres. He started purchasing the land in 1975 and slowly added to it. Five years ago, he closed on the last parcel.”