Deranged Souls

by Ron Ripley

  “Sure did,” Timmy answered.

  David pressed the barrel of his own pistol against Timmy’s chest. His weapon roared in his hands, the sound followed by a fourth and final shot from Timmy’s hidden pistol.

  Falling forward, David’s head came to rest on Timmy’s chest, warm blood spreading beneath his forehead.

  He killed me, David thought. He killed me.

  The snap and pop of the wood in the hearth filled the silence of the house and cool wind coursed in from the open backdoor.

  Chapter 41: The Chapel

  Alex felt someone tug on his arm. He muttered for them to go away, but the pulling only increased. Something heavy pressed on his legs, and Alex squeezed his eyes shut. I’m tired. I want to sleep.

  He felt his left arm, then his right stretched over his head. Cold hands grasped his wrists and dragged him along the floor. Fresh air struck him in the face and caused his eyes to open. The sun was hidden behind clouds, and he thought he could smell snow in the air.

  “Hey, kid, get up,” Timmy said. “You look like crap.”

  Alex rolled onto his side and sat up. His entire body ached, and he glanced at the chapel. Most of the roof was missing, the windows he could see were cracked, and the stonework around the door was shattered and lay scattered about the ground.

  Alex shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked at Timmy.

  The man was thin and sickly-looking, but it was the blood on Timmy’s chest that caught and held his attention. In the midst of the blood was a small, neat hole.

  “Yeah,” Timmy sighed, sinking into a crouch. “David stopped by to see me off. Or maybe to hurry me on my way. I don’t know. Point is, the little sissy came to shoot me while I was dying.”

  “Looks like he did,” Alex said sadly.

  Timmy grinned at him. “Don’t be all sad, kid. Looks like I hung around, huh?”

  Alex wiped tears from his eyes and nodded.

  “Listen,” Timmy said, his face becoming serious. “There was no way I was gonna get better after those injuries. Not without some serious assistance, and we all know that wasn’t coming. Not from Worthe. Anyway, we all die, remember?”

  “I know,” Alex nodded, sniffling. “I just didn’t want you to die yet. That’s all.”

  “I appreciate that,” Timmy smiled. “I truly do. But, for right now, we’ve got to be a little more concerned with someone else.”

  Alex stiffened. “Did David hurt Marcus?”

  “No,” Timmy assured him, shaking his head. “It sure as hell looks like she did, though, and she might be getting ready to do more.”

  Timmy pointed behind Alex, and when the boy twisted around, he saw Marcus in the distance, crawling toward the Hamilton house. Gwen was close to him, and suddenly Alex became aware of the woman’s screaming.

  “Yeah,” Timmy said, “we may want to see what’s going on. Don’t know how much help I’ll be. Kind of getting my sea legs here.”

  “It’s okay,” Alex said. “I know what to do.”

  His head throbbed as he got to his feet and he wavered for a moment, the world spinning around him.

  “You good?” Timmy asked.

  “Yup,” Alex replied grimly. “Let’s go talk to Gwen.”

  With the dead man beside him, Alex pushed past his weariness and jogged toward Marcus and the dead woman.

  ***

  Marcus reached the house and, somehow, pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He heard a howl and tried to turn around, but Gwen slammed into him. Marcus crashed into the wall and crumpled back into the snow. He fought as the world spun and unconsciousness tried to claim him.

  No! he ordered himself. I have to stay awake. She’ll kill me if I don’t. Gwen needs me!

  Hands grasped the front of his coat, lifted him off the ground and threw him. For a moment, he was weightless, then he smashed through a window, the glass raining down around him as he hit the floor and rolled. Blinking away the bright spots that danced in his vision, he looked up at the ceiling.

  Then Gwen was beside him, her eyes wide. She reached for him, shuddered, and stumbled back.

  “Kitchen!” she screamed.

  Without asking why, Marcus scrambled forward as best he could, dragging himself along the wall at times. He reached the kitchen, tried to crawl further, and fell across the threshold into the room. A howl of agony ripped from his throat, and he gasped as he pulled himself across the floor.

  Chemicals under the sink, he thought. Maybe there’s something I can use.

  He took hold of the cabinet door and tore it open. The hinges broke, and the door flew into a corner. His eyes scanned the odds and ends beneath the sink, and he saw bottles of household chemicals.

  I don’t know what to use, he realized with horror. I have no idea what to use!

  Gwen’s hands wrapped around his ankles and jerked him back. His chin bounced off the floor, and she flipped him over onto his back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “Destroying your house,” Marcus whispered. “You want me to.”

  Gwen began to sneer, but then the expression was replaced by one of confusion. She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t want that. No.”

  She screamed and shouted, “I do! I do want it! He needs to!”

  Gwen let go of his ankles and backed away from him. “Marcus!”

  He reached up, tried to pull himself to his feet, and only succeeded in ripping a drawer out. The contents of it spilled over the floor, and in the dim light, he saw a box of kitchen matches.

  Without thinking, he reached out for it, picked up the heavy-weight cardboard box, and pushed the sleeve back to reveal the blue and red-tipped matches. He nearly wept with joy as he fished one out and struck it on the side of the box.

  The flame burst into life, the air filled with the smell of sulfur, and Gwen struck the side of his head.

  ***

  Alex reached the house and heard Gwen let out a thrilled laugh. It was a sound both hateful and frightening to hear.

  “Doesn’t sound good, kid,” Timmy said.

  “No,” Alex agreed. “It doesn’t.”

  He stepped into the house and walked toward the sound of someone whistling. Alex stopped in the kitchen, clenching his hands into fists at the sight before him.

  Marcus lay on the floor, his eyes open a fraction to reveal the whites. A few inches from the man’s hand rested an open box of matches. Several of them had spilled out, the blue and red of the tips standing out against the beige linoleum floor. Gwen Hamilton stood beside Marcus, looking down at him with an expression that flickered from hate, to love, to confusion at almost maddening speed.

  “Get away from him,” Alex ordered, trying to hold back tears of anger and fear.

  “Or what?” Gwen asked, turning to face him. She eyed Timmy and smiled. “You new in town, sailor?”

  “Did you just use a pickup line on me?” Timmy asked with a laugh. “Damn, that’s funny. I didn’t know dead people could hit on other dead people. Kind of weird. Not sure how to feel about it, honestly.”

  Gwen glared at them. “I’m not dead.”

  “Sure you are,” Timmy said with a snicker. “I’m dead, too. Kind of split down the middle in here, you know? You’re dead. I’m dead. Alex is alive. Marcus is alive.”

  “Not for much longer,” Gwen snapped and bent toward Marcus.

  “Stop!” Alex screamed.

  Gwen jerked back, her eyes wide with anger.

  “Leave Marcus alone,” Alex snarled.

  “I can’t,” Gwen whimpered. “You don’t understand. That’s not Marcus. It can’t be Marcus. If it is, then I’m dead. And I can’t be dead. No. No. No!”

  She finished the last word with a scream powerful enough to shatter the windows in the kitchen. Broken glass rained down, shards bouncing off Marcus and skittering across the floor.

  “Everyone dies,” Alex said gently. “Nobody gets away from it, Gwen. You’re dead, and Marcus is still sad about i
t.”

  She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know how I died.”

  “Gunshot,” Timmy explained, his voice surprisingly mellow. “Marcus told me how and, well, you’ve got a bullet hole through you. That scar on his head, yeah, that’s from the bullet that killed you. Round clipped him and put him down.”

  “Where’s my mom?” Gwen asked. “I want my mom.”

  Alex licked his lips, nodded, and said, “I think we can get you to your mom. What was Marcus getting ready to do?”

  With her entire body shaking, she answered, “He was going to destroy my house.”

  Alex looked at her for a moment, wondering if he could destroy her as he had destroyed the others.

  But what if that doesn’t send her to her mom? he thought, fearful for Gwen. Suddenly, his worries shifted, and his fear traveled down a different avenue of thought. What if I can’t do it again? I’ve already used up so much of my energy with the other ghosts.

  “Okay,” Alex nodded. “We’ll destroy your house.”

  He looked at Marcus, the matches, and then the chemicals under the sink. Finally, Alex turned to Timmy, pointed to the chemicals, and asked, “Can you make a bomb with the stuff there?”

  Timmy glanced at it. “Sure. I mean, I could. Want me to tell you how?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Alex looked at Gwen, frowned and commanded, “Sit down.”

  Gwen hesitated, then she sat down next to Marcus, ghostly tears falling from her eyes. She reached out for him but stopped a few inches from his body. “I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered.

  “Then just sit with him,” Alex said. “He’d like that. He was really proud of you.”

  As Gwen sat beside Marcus, weeping, Alex walked to the sink.

  “Okay, Timmy, what do I need first?”

  “A haircut,” Timmy said with a serious expression. Then, the dead man grinned and said, “All right, kid, listen. It’s time to blow things up. And that, that is always fun.”

  Chapter 42: Abel Worthe’s Abode

  They raced their snowmobiles up the final stretch of the driveway, each of them coming to a hard stop a short distance from the front doors.

  “It’s deserted,” Ellen said after they had all removed their helmets.

  “It sure as hell looks that way,” Tom agreed.

  Victor glanced around, looking uncomfortable. “I would prefer if we confirmed that before we go waltzing in. The last thing I want is to come across some zealous rearguard.”

  “Ellen,” Joyce said. “Where should we go first?”

  “Let me check the front door,” Ellen answered.

  She climbed off the snowmobile, stretched and then nonchalantly strode up to the doors. Ellen tried them both, unsuccessfully, shrugged, and walked back down. “There’s the loading bay. If they were in a hurry, there’s a good chance it's open. They get kind of careless that way.”

  Here’s hoping they were careless, Joyce thought.

  They started the snowmobiles and guided them around the back of the massive house. In a moment, they reached the garage bays and found Ellen had been right. The large garage doors were open. Snow, blown in by the wind, had gathered in small, triangular piles at the corners.

  The flapping of an object caught Joyce’s attention. She started toward the sound, the others following her. Joyce muttered and swore as she climbed the stairs, gripping the banister angrily, pausing for breath at the top. Too many hours on that damned snowmobile.

  Ellen took the lead and reached the source of the noise a moment before everyone else. She pulled it down, and her eyes widened as she read who it was from.

  “What’s wrong?” Joyce demanded. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s from Nurse Schomp,” Ellen said, swearing. She held it out to Tom. “Here, I can’t make heads or tails of anything past the first sentence.

  Tom accepted the letter and read it quickly, shaking his head as he did so. A grin spread across his face and he asked Ellen, “Did she like to joke?”

  “Huh, not that I know of. I mean, she always seemed pretty sour to me.”

  “Then I think we can probably take all this as truth.” Tom shrugged.

  “All of what, Tom?” Victor asked patiently. “You’re keeping us in suspense, and it’s a little much, especially after such a long ride.”

  “Okay.” Tom gave an exaggerated sigh. He winked at Ellen. “Well, Nurse Schomp, let’s see what you said.”

  Clearing his throat, Tom began to read aloud.

  Dear Alex and the living,

  I am writing this letter as an apology. An apology for what has been done to you, and to those with you. You have suffered extensively at the hands of my employer, Professor Abel Worthe. He was an intelligent and charismatic man. This is not an excuse for what has been done to you, but I hope it will help explain why people like myself looked the other way and found reasons other than money to help him.

  Money, however, was the root of it all, in the beginning, and so I think it should be the end of it as well. That whole circle of life stuff everybody loves to quote. At the bottom of this letter, you’re going to find all the information regarding the money which kept this place up and running.

  As you’ve probably figured out, the professor isn’t here anymore. I have him and I’m taking him to a place he needs to be. He’s sick and as his nurse, there’s one more prescription I have to provide.

  Well, it was nice to meet you when I did, Alex. Have a good life, if you can.

  Erica Schomp

  “She did it, too,” Tom murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s left a list of passwords and bank account information. Seems like she printed up an entire list of supplies as well. Damn, this woman was efficient! There’s even a detailed report of each bank account, the rate of interest, materials in safety deposit boxes, a list of keys for each building, vehicle, and access to the file.”

  Tom shook his head and passed the paper off to Victor. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re right,” Victor said, smiling at Joyce. “It also says that your three companions are still alive, though Timmy is in dire need of medical assistance.”

  Joyce stood perfectly still, trying to accept what she had just been told.

  “They’re alive?” she asked, her voice filled with joy and a hint of disbelief.

  Victor nodded.

  “We have to go get them,” Joyce said. “Now.”

  Ellen stopped her firmly. “We need to check out the compound first.”

  “What?” Joyce asked, shocked before understanding swept over her. Abel Worthe was a master manipulator. What if he left and set a trap for us here? He must have known about the deaths of the guys sent to grab us. Who’s to say anyone is left alive in the Village? What if it’s a lie?

  “I want to take the note at face value, too,” Victor said gently. “But we have to be sure. I’ve rushed headlong into things before, and it rarely turns out for the best.”

  “Yeah,” Joyce agreed, nodding miserably. “I get it. I do. Let’s search this place and see when we can rescue my friends.”

  “Do we want to split up?” Tom asked.

  Ellen shook her head. “No. Definitely not. We don’t have any way to communicate, and it would be too easy for them to pick us off individually if we searched separately.”

  “Fair enough,” Victor said. “Together, it is.”

  Joyce limped along the loading dock, took out her pistol and chambered a round.

  “Okay,” she said to the others, nodding, “let’s do this.”

  ***

  Marcus opened his eyes and realized he was seeing double.

  I was hit that hard? he wondered, then winced. Even thinking hurt. He heard indistinct voices, and when he managed to finally focus, Marcus saw he was in the Hamiltons’ kitchen. A gasp escaped from him as he rolled onto his back. He tasted blood in his mouth.

  “Marcus!” Alex shouted, racing to him
and wrapping his arms tightly around him.

  The pain was immense, but Marcus refrained from saying anything which would harm the boy’s feelings.

  “Alex,” Marcus whispered. “You’re here.”

  Alex nodded, brushing tears out of his eyes. “We have to get out of here. Right now, okay?”

  “Why?” Marcus looked around and saw Gwen on her knees, her head down, chin resting on her chest. Beside her, looking for all the world like an executioner, stood Timmy. Looking at his son, Marcus asked, “How can you be up and about with your injuries?”

  “You know, Pop,” Timmy said with a lopsided grin. “It is amazing how death is a cure-all for everything. I’m not even tired anymore!”

  Understanding struck Marcus harshly, knocking the breath out of him. He looked closely at Timmy. “You have a bullet hole in you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Timmy winked. “Forgot about that little detail. Seems like David was really, really angry with me. When I was alone, he came back to have a little chat.”

  “Did you get to say anything?” Marcus asked.

  “Funny enough, I did,” Timmy chuckled. “But, that’s a conversation for later. Let’s focus on how to get you away from the house before the improvised explosive device goes off and causes the death of a young gentleman and one seriously old Vietnam Vet.”

  “I don’t know how quickly I can go,” Marcus replied. “I’m so tired, Timmy.”

  “I know,” Timmy answered. “But we’ll help, won’t we, Gwen.”

  Gwen nodded without looking at him. Then, she stood up. While she and Timmy took hold of his jacket, Alex held the door open. Marcus gasped as they moved him, and he tried to shift his weight away from his injured knee. When he did so, he saw the explosive. It was a container of liquid which seemed to be rising as he watched it. In a matter of moments, it would spill over the walls of its container and reach several piles of burning paper.

  Marcus had no doubt the liquid would explode on contact.

  He didn’t ask Timmy how he had made the explosive, or what the radius of the blast might be, but he did try to move faster out of the house.