by Ron Ripley
She glanced to see if the others had an issue with an intense line of questioning. Only Victor seemed to be bothered.
He smiled weakly at them. “I’m going to tidy up the bodies. Let’s hope no one called the police.”
“So,” Joyce said, smiling at the broken-nosed man in front of her, “let’s have a nice chat. A pleasant one. What’s your name?”
The man spat a glob of bloody phlegm onto the floor and glared at her. “Benny.”
“Benny, I’m Joyce,” she said. “The woman who rearranged your nose for you is Ellen. My young friend here, he’s Tom. Victor just left the room.”
“You’re telling me your names?” Benny asked, chuckling. “Stupid. We’ll know exactly who to look for.”
“Now who’s being stupid?” Ellen asked.
Benny glanced at Ellen and laughed. “What are you going to do? Kill us?”
Ellen smiled. “Three of the other idiots you came with are dead. Who do you think killed them?”
Benny’s face blanched under the blood. His eyes darted from Tom to Joyce, and she saw how he read the truth in their faces.
Calm seemed to settle over him, and he smiled.
Oily, Joyce thought. He could sell a refrigerator to an Eskimo.
“I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” he said smoothly. “There’s no reason to do anything hasty.”
“Hasty sounds good to me,” Ellen said. “Especially since we have two of you. I’m pretty sure your buddy here, he’ll be more than happy to talk once he regains consciousness.”
“Will you torture him?” Benny asked.
“No,” Joyce answered. “We’ll torture you. Let him see exactly what we plan on doing to him.”
Benny’s eyes widened slightly.
“There’s no good cop, bad cop here, Benny,” Ellen said. “We’re all bad cops in this scenario.”
“Keep that in mind as I ask you the next few questions,” Joyce said. “Any pain that comes is on you. Understood?”
He nodded. “Perfectly. Ask away.”
“Who are you working for?” Joyce asked.
“Alfor Securities, Incorporated,” he answered readily.
“Who were you here for today?” Joyce asked.
“You,” Benny replied. “You’re the escaped subject. We were tasked with finding you, isolating you, and transporting you back to the compound for examination by Professor Worthe.”
“Tasked by who?” Joyce demanded.
“My commander, Armand Assante,” Benny said. “He, of course, was operating under the direction of a man named David.”
“What about my friends?” Joyce asked, hating the tightness in her chest.
“We were to leave them here, and continue on with you,” Benny said.
Joyce saw the flicker of his eyes. The quick dart, the subtle hint which betrayed the lie. She stomped on his wounded foot, and he screamed again. Both Tom and Ellen jerked back, surprised at her action.
“Don’t lie to me,” Joyce said once his screams subsided. “Tell me the truth, and I won’t hurt you. Lie, and I’ll start to get creative.”
Benny glared at her and hissed through his teeth. A moment later, he swallowed and said, “We were to put the three of them down. No witnesses. Scorched earth policy. Nothing personal.”
“Never is,” Tom said. The teen walked to the refrigerator, got a bottle of Coke, and opened it. He drank deeply, then smiled at Benny. “You think you’re going to walk away from this.”
“Of course, I’m going to walk away from this,” Benny said. “Myself and my colleague. I’ll give you the information you need to approach the compound unseen. In turn, you’ll let us go, and we’ll promise to leave and not make contact with anyone at the compound or with Alfor prior to your attempted assault on the facility.”
“No,” Joyce said. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Benny blinked at her, confused for a moment. Then, smiling, he said, “You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” Joyce said. “We don’t need any information about the compound. We’re all set.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, chugging the last of his drink and setting the bottle on the counter. “We just needed to know who you were working for.”
“Why?” Benny blurted. “Why is that important?”
“Because we don’t want to blame the wrong people,” Joyce explained. She turned to Ellen and asked, “Do you think he was stupid enough to bring a phone?”
“I bet they all were,” Ellen said.
“They were,” Victor said as he walked back into the room. He had a brown paper bag that thumped heavily as he set it on the kitchen counter. “We’ve got rings, necklaces, wallets, weapons, and, of course, cell phones.”
Joyce looked at Benny, who glared at her.
“Why?” she asked him.
“Because,” Ellen answered for the man, “he thought we would be pushovers. Sure, you were a hard case in the woods, but this should have been a cinch. Three civilians and one crazy woman. No worries. Not for five guys with guns. Hell, I bet they were texting in the car ride over.”
Benny’s face reddened.
Tom walked forward and roughly searched the man. The teen tossed a wallet, a pocketknife, and a cellphone onto the table. Joyce picked up the phone and glanced at it. To Ellen, she said, “It’s locked with his thumbprint.”
Ellen nodded, took the phone and said, “You can either relax your thumb and let me do it, or I will dislocate the damned thing, kick you onto the floor, and break both your knees. Then, I’ll unlock it myself.”
Benny glared at Ellen for a heartbeat before he looked down.
Ellen handed it back to Joyce when she was finished unlocking it. She accepted it and snapped several photos of the man in his current predicament. The thrum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen as Joyce hummed softly, searched through Benny’s contacts, and found one for Armand.
She pressed the call option and waited. It rang several times before a man answered. He spoke with a curious accent, his voice pleasant.
“Benny,” Armand said. “You’ve acquired the target.”
“No,” Joyce said. “Not quite.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Armand said, “Who is this?”
“Um, Joyce,” she answered. “You probably know me as ‘the subject.’”
“Why are you calling?” Armand asked.
“To give you a chance,” Joyce said. “One I know you’re not going to accept. But I have to offer it anyway.”
Armand chuckled lightly. “What offer are you going to make?”
“It’s the chance to get away before any more damage is done to Alfor,” Joyce said coldly.
“Tell me, did you kill the entire team I sent?” Armand inquired.
“No,” she answered. “Benny is still alive. And one more. Both are a little the worse for wear.”
“Hm,” Armand said. “So, what do I need to do to get Benny and this other man back?”
“Nothing,” Joyce said. “Alfor needs to pack up shop and head back to whatever part of Eastern Europe you crawled out of.”
“If I don’t, then I suppose you’ll kill Benny and the other man?” Armand asked.
“No, they both die either way,” Joyce said.
“What?” Armand asked. “Joyce, is it? You fail to grasp the basics of negotiating.”
“What makes you think we’re negotiating?” Joyce asked. “I’m telling you. Take this opportunity to leave. Leave now. The team you sent for me—they’re gone. They don’t exist anymore.”
Armand laughed. “You’re a fool. You won’t kill them.”
“Armand,” Joyce said, “in a minute, I’m going to get off the phone with you. When I do, I’m going to drag Benny and the other man outside. I will use one of their pistols, and I will execute them both. Then, when I’m done, I’m going to text you photographs of their bodies. You’ll either understand I mean what I say, or you will think Benny was dead to begin with.”
/> “I know he’s dead,” Armand snapped. “There’s no way he would have been taken alive.”
Joyce held the phone to Benny’s head and said, “Speak.”
He grinned at her and shook his head in refusal.
Ellen stood up, extended the baton, and snapped it down, shattering Benny’s left shin.
The man screamed and jerked himself hard enough to fall onto the kitchen floor. He let out a torrent of profanity as he shook and quivered, still bound to the chair.
“Do you believe me now?” Joyce asked.
“Yes,” the man said coldly.
“Good,” she replied. “Think about what I said.”
***
Armand Assante sat at his desk and stared at his cellphone. The subject, Joyce, had sent him a single photograph via messenger. It was of Benny and a man named Hiro Tanaka. Their bodies were next to one another, the brains of both men blown out onto crisp, white snow.
He knew it would be no use trying to track down the team’s phones. Or anything else for that matter. The woman seemed sharp enough to know to destroy the phones and not keep them, and Benny had always paid cash with everything when preparing to snatch a person.
I know where she is, Armand thought as he turned his phone off and rubbed his face tiredly. But I suspect she is already on the move. She is far more resourceful and dangerous than I thought. Her colleagues as well.
No, Joyce is a lost cause. I will tell David in the morning, and I do not care if he is happy with it or not. Armand shook his head. Five men. I lost five men to a cripple and a few civilians!
He refused to focus on the loss of Benny. The man had been priceless when it came to gathering information and developing contacts quickly. Armand removed a cigarette from his case and lit it. As the smoke slipped out of his nostrils, he sighed.
I have to contact headquarters, he thought. This is beginning to get out of hand. I doubt they will give me more troops, but we may need it if we are to complete this mission.
Armand walked to his window and looked out into the darkness. In the distance, he could see the lights of the towers around the Village.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
Chapter 23: A Little Conversation
Alex sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the chapel. His elbows were on his knees, and his chin was in his hands as he looked at the three ghosts sitting on the pew in front of him. He had used some of the extra salt he had found to make a wide ring around the pew. Then, Alex had placed the haunted items on the pew and waited.
It hadn’t taken them long to appear. Or to try and get out.
According to the chiming of the clock in the Village’s center, the ghosts had been trying for a little over an hour.
They looked at him, sullen and furious. Alex yawned and smiled at the three of them. “So,” he said, “are you guys ready to talk yet?”
“Impertinent little mongrel,” the teacher spat. Christopher looked at Alex with a blank expression. Yet, as Alex watched, the young dead man’s eyes darted toward Kimberly. She sat at the far end of the pew, her arms crossed over her chest, cold fury on her face.
“You’re not going to do anything,” Alex said suddenly to Christopher.
The ghost looked at him, shocked. “Who do you think you are?”
“Be quiet,” Alex said softly. “I don’t want you to talk for a while.”
Christopher sneered at him. “Try again, boy.”
“Shut up!” Alex screamed and the chapel shook.
Christopher opened his mouth, but he couldn’t respond.
Kimberly and the teacher looked at Alex.
“Interesting,” the dead teacher murmured.
Panting, Alex winced at the headache growing behind his eyes. Then, remembering something Marcus had told him about the teacher, Alex said in Latin, “You think you’re a smart man.”
The teacher blinked and shook his head, stunned. “How do you know Latin?” the dead man demanded.
Still in Latin, Alex said, “Because I do. You’re going to behave.”
Switching back to English, Alex looked at Kimberly. “All of you are going to behave and do what I say.”
“What makes you think that?” she snapped.
“Because you have to,” Alex said.
“That’ll be the day,” Kimberly sneered.
“Close your mouth,” Alex whispered.
Kimberly’s mouth closed instantly. Her eyes widened, and she clawed at her lips, but to no avail. Alex could see murder in her eyes. Fixing his gaze on the teacher, Alex said, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I do,” the dead man said, smiling. “You are speaking plainly enough. We do what you say, or we get punished. What happens if you turn your back on us, Master Alex?”
“And you do something to me?” Alex asked.
“A mere hypothetical question,” the dead man said soothingly. “Nothing of the sort would happen, of course.”
“Course not,” Alex said. He smiled despite the pounding in his head and thought about the question. “The three of you will tear each other to pieces.”
The dead man blinked and shook his head. “I’m sorry. What did you say, Alex?”
“You’ll tear each other to pieces,” Alex repeated. “Doesn’t matter who attacks me or tries to attack me. You’ll kill each other. Forever kill each other. Bye-bye, no more jerk ghosts.”
The dead teacher’s face showed dismay. “Well, that’s a rather foolish decision, don’t you think?”
“Nope,” Alex said, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he fought to keep control over the ghosts. “I think it’s pretty good. If anything happens to me, or my friends, then you’re all going to be destroyed. The Natives, they won’t be too pleased about me being dead. They won’t like it at all. Can you imagine how nasty they can get? I can.”
Alex got to his feet and glared at them. “When I leave the chapel, the three of you can talk about the whole situation. Figure it out. I’m going home to rest a bit. See you soon.”
With his head pounding, Alex left the chapel and closed the door. Instantly, he heard Kimberly scream and Christopher howl.
“They seem happy with you,” Guy said playfully as he walked beside Alex toward 114 Broad.
“Yup,” Alex agreed, trying to ignore the almost blinding pain in his head while he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“What now?” Guy asked.
“Now, I need to figure out how to stop everyone who wants to hurt us,” Alex answered.
The dead Frenchman chuckled, and together they walked along the cobblestone road.
Chapter 24: Sick-a-bed
Alex lay bundled in his blankets, sleeping with his mouth slightly open, his curiously white hair long and messy. Marcus smiled at the sight of the child and settled down on the couch. The fresh wood in the fireplace snapped and popped as new flames sought purchase.
Timmy coughed and took in a breath that shook Marcus took his core. His son looked at him and smiled weakly.
“Yeah,” Timmy said, “I know what that rattle means.”
Marcus didn’t argue with him. There was no need. He remembered what Dennis had told him about giving Timmy permission to die. Marcus packed his pipe, lit the tobacco, and considered what he might say.
How do I tell him it’s okay to die? Marcus thought, his sadness and fear welling up within him. How do I tell this man, my son, that he can die?
I can’t, Marcus realized, trembling at his own moral cowardice. Oh, help me, I cannot.
“So,” Timmy said, interrupting his thoughts, “tell me about your life, Pop. I don’t know anything about you. Nothin’ really. Well, aside from how good you are at killing people.”
“Sometimes I am,” Marcus said.
“Well, what else are you good at?” Timmy asked.
“Staying alive,” Marcus answered, diverted. Timmy raised his eyes and waited for him to continue. Marcus chuckled, thought for a moment, and said, “I’ve told you about your pa
ternal grandfather.”
“Yup,” Timmy said. “Real peach. Your mom, too.”
“Indeed, they were,” Marcus said coldly. “The only person worth a damn was my aunt, Sylvia.”
“The one who called you Slim,” Timmy said, closing his eyes.
“Yes,” Marcus said in a soft voice.
“Anybody else you cared about?” Timmy asked. “I mean, it can’t just have been her and your neighbors.”
“There were,” Marcus agreed. “Just not as deeply.”
“Come on, fill me in,” Timmy said, smiling, his eyes still closed. “Got no television here. No radio. Tell me a story.”
“All right,” Marcus said, drawing on his pipe and then exhaling. “I’ll tell you a story.”
***
Marcus walked with his hands clasped behind his back, the stem of his pipe held loosely in his mouth. Few cars passed by him on their way from Norwich into Bozrah. When they did, they would drown out the sounds of the wilderness around him. Within moments, the world would return to normal. Marcus could hear peeper frogs in the marsh along the left side of the road, he could hear the birds calling out to one another.
Heat rose up from the cracked asphalt and, somewhere nearby, Marcus could hear the sound of a radio. Occasionally, voices rose up, arguing about a game of horseshoes.
For a reason he couldn’t pinpoint, Marcus felt lonely. It was an emotion he was unaccustomed to. While Ambrose Bierce had often referred to being alone as being in bad company, Marcus generally disagreed. He preferred his own company to anyone else. Summers were long and pleasant, and while he enjoyed teaching at the school, he was happiest sitting in his small house and reading.
When it is time to retire, Marcus thought with a smile, I will enjoy it tremendously.
He reached the Norwich and Bozrah line, a place where he generally turned around and headed back toward ‘down-city’ Norwich, which, in turn, would bring him home. Yet, as the July sun eased toward the western horizon, Marcus continued until he came to a street on the left.
Noble Hill Road, Marcus read. Let’s see where you go.
