by Ron Ripley
“I want him dead,” Tom said, closing his eyes once more.
“So do a great many people,” Bontoc said. “What is your reason?”
“He is the reason my parents are dead,” the boy said. In short, sharp sentences he explained the haunted book and the murder of his parents.
“And this took place in Connecticut?” Bontoc asked, not bothering to hide his admiration. “And here you are, in Pennsylvania. Seeking him out. You, my new friend, are a son any man would be pleased to claim. You’re far stronger than you look, and I am pleased we have had this time to speak. Yes, I will bring Korzh’s head to wherever you are. I will hold it before you, face up, and you may spit on it. And should Ivan Denisovich Korzh disagree with my decision, I will tell him what you told me.”
Tom nodded but remained silent.
Bontoc stood up and smiled at the boy. “Try and sleep, Tom Daniels. I will see you soon.”
Jingling his keys as he left the boy’s hospital room, Bontoc grinned, eager to speak with Stefan Korzh in his own, personal way.
Chapter 42: Elusive and Evasive
Victor hadn’t been able to sleep after Leanne’s visit, and the hours from her exit to the rising of the dawn had been long and difficult. After several hours of exceptionally bad television and mundane news reports, he had called room service. He hadn’t felt a desire to eat, but he knew he had to. There was no telling what the day would bring, and he had to be prepared.
Victor finished his third cup of coffee, let out a yawn and glanced at his bed.
Can I take a nap? he wondered. Is that even a possibility?
A knock at the door said it wasn’t.
Standing up, Victor walked quietly over to the peep-hole and peered out into the hallway.
Sofie stood there, features slightly distorted by the glass and looking haggard.
He slid the bar lock to one side and opened the door. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said. “Can I come in?”
Victor nodded and stepped aside, conscious suddenly of the fact that he wore nothing more than a pair of boxers and an old black T-shirt. After he shut and locked the door, he pulled on his jeans. Sofie had taken a seat at the small table, and he joined her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Victor said. “I think I have Vermont country blend or something over there.”
“No, thanks,” she said. Her voice was raw and dulled.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She cleared her throat and said, “I got the information about Amy Marin this morning.”
“Wow,” Victor said. “That’s great.”
Sofie shrugged. “I can’t go with you. Not to get the radio. Not to do anything with this. I can’t.”
“Okay,” Victor said. “Can you tell me why?”
She didn’t answer, and after almost a minute of silence, he was sure she wasn’t.
Yet as he was about to speak, she did.
“Two more of our residents were killed last night,” Sofie said in a low voice. “A pair of sisters. Ellie and Patricia.”
“I’m sorry, Sofie,” Victor said.
“Me too,” she whispered. “But he didn’t just kill them. It looks like he tortured them. There were so many marks on their necks. It was … it was too much.”
Bile rose up in the back of Victor’s throat, but he kept it down and said, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “I just, I can’t do it. I can’t go against this thing, I don’t want to die like that.”
“Sofie,” Victor said, reaching out and putting his hand on hers, “you don’t have to. No one expects you to.”
“Why are you?” she asked, looking up at him. “What drives you to face something like, like this?”
“My wife,” Victor said. He tried not to choke on the words, but he failed. Sadness swept over him and caused his voice to break as he spoke. “She was killed by a ghost. Murdered by a ghost sent out by a man named Stefan Korzh, who sent this radio out here as well. I can’t allow him to continue hurting people, and until I find him, all I can do is stop those ghosts he sends out into the world.”
Sofie looked at him, pulled her hand back and patted his own. “Okay.”
Silence fell over them, and Victor used his free hand to wipe away the few tears that had trickled out from the corners of his eyes.
“Amy Marin,” Sofie said softly, “lives on Pine Street. Number 176. Apartment 1F.”
She let go of his hand, and Victor stood up, went to his phone and added the address to a note. He turned back around and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She hesitated, then got to her feet. For a heartbeat, she looked into his eyes, then she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, Victor.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Without another word, Sofie left the room and a heavy weight pressed down upon Victor. He staggered to the bed, collapsed onto it, and sat with his head down. In silence, he waited for the arrival of his food, and knew it was also time to call Shane.
Chapter 43: A Knife in the Dark
Stefan felt the urge to go out and drink. Not out of any desperation for company and human interaction. He despised anyone he couldn’t use for a distinct purpose. Bartenders fell into the category of people who served a purpose that Stefan approved of.
He was terrible at mixing his own drinks, and at that particular moment, he desired a boilermaker. At least a boilermaker to start, then something else.
Anything else.
It was time to celebrate. His escape from the gas station had been fortuitous, and he had learned that Anne was in Pennsylvania. While he was not exceptionally pleased at the idea of the foul creature in the area, Stefan fully understood that forewarned was forearmed.
He pulled up in front of the gate to his compound and went to the lock box. Opening it with one key, he was able to access the lock that would allow him to swing open the gate and enter the lot.
Stefan whistled a marching tune and smiled. He had mailed out his twenty-ninth and thirtieth items a short while before in Unionville. His mother’s collection was dwindling. Slowly but surely, he was destroying her legacy, and the steady erosion of it showed him that success was drawing ever closer.
With the gate open, Stefan went back to his pickup, climbed in and moved it into the compound. He left the engine idling when he got out, went back and secured everything again. Thoughts of his half-sister and father flickered through his mind, but he paid little heed to them. For the moment, both were inconsequential.
Within a few minutes, he was safely in the warehouse, closing and locking the doors behind him. When he turned back toward the truck, he hesitated.
He sniffed the air and glanced around.
Something’s wrong, he thought, his smug pleasure vanishing.
He dropped down to look under the truck and saw nothing. A walk around showed the truck was normal, looking as mundane as it should. There was nothing in the truck’s bed except a few rusting tools and a spare tire. Props and nothing more.
Still, his skin crawled.
He removed his pistol from its holster and cocked the hammer back. Keeping the weapon down by his side, Stefan made his way to the secure chamber of rooms in the warehouse’s center.
Did one of them get out? he wondered, glancing at the shadows and a pulled an iron bar out of his pocket. Could one of them have slipped their bindings?
The last issue he wanted to deal with was a ghost in the building. He hated the effort it took to contain one of the damned things. Despised it with a passion.
And he knew he would be hard-pressed to refrain from destroying the possessed item.
Sending the ghost into the next world would be contrary to his goal of shattering his parents’ legacy.
Frustrated, Stefan reached the secured rooms and let himself in. He locked the doo
r, checked his bindings, and the salt and iron, and saw they were still intact. A cursory inspection of his rooms showed there was nothing out of order, everything was as it should be.
Entering his observation room, Stefan closed and locked the door behind him, his paranoia rising steadily as he dropped into his seat. He looked at all the cameras, staring at anything that might be wrong.
But he saw nothing.
Frowning, he brought up the files for the time he was away on his trip to and from Unionville. It wasn’t until the end of his time out of the secured rooms that he saw something on the footage.
Stefan watched himself get out of the pickup and go to unlock the gate.
From the ground beside the road, a man stood up, shedding a ghillie suit and slipping to the back of the truck. When Stefan moved the truck forward, the man remained in a crouch and crept along behind it. Stefan watched the pickup stop, and he saw himself go to secure the gate. As he did so, the stranger eased around to the passenger side of the truck, keeping out of view. The man moved when Stefan did, and when Stefan drove toward the warehouse, the stranger was clinging to the back of the truck, looking like a great spider, his fingers in the sides of the tailgate, feet on the bumper, tall body pressed against the tailgate as well.
With a growing rage, Stefan watched the man detach himself at the warehouse, and then slip in as the garage door was closing.
Turning the footage off, he sat and fumed. There was a stranger in the warehouse, and Stefan had no doubt that the man was there to harm him.
***
Bontoc was impressed with the security measures Korzh had prepared.
The interior of the warehouse was every bit as secure as the exterior, with cameras mounted in corners and at various points in the copious space. Most of them, he felt certain, were fixed on the piles of boxed, possessed goods confined within barriers of salt and iron.
Other cameras focused on weak points in the structure, and still, others panned back and forth, sweeping the building with electronic eyes.
No matter what he did, Bontoc knew Korzh would see him coming.
Part of him wanted to display a bit of bravado, to entice Korzh out of the undoubtedly locked rooms in the warehouse’s center. The more rational portion of his brain understood that to be foolhardy, a risk completely unnecessary worth taking.
As interesting as it might end up being, Bontoc wanted the task finished. Not only for the funds and the head, but for Tom to exact his small amount of revenge as well.
Lurking within the depths of a shadow along the northern wall, Bontoc considered his interest in Tom Daniels. He had never considered taking a wife, or of fathering children, but Tom Daniels made him reconsider his decisions.
But would I have a son like Tom? Would he have had the drive that the boy has? They were fair questions, and he doubted his own child would have been like Tom. There was a spark within the boy that set him apart from most men, and it was one that was not kindled easily.
The door to Korzh’s secure inner sanctum opened, and Bontoc’s prey stood in the doorway.
“I know you’re out there,” Korzh called, his voice echoing in the wide expanse of the warehouse. “Come out and let’s get this over with.”
Bontoc grinned.
How foolish does he think I am? he wondered.
Korzh took a step out, and Bontoc saw something small and dull fall from behind him.
Evidently, Bontoc thought, frowning, his good mood souring, he thinks I am a complete and utter moron.
He slipped a pair of iron rings onto his fingers and made certain the fine-link iron necklace still hung around his neck. Sitting down, he watched as Korzh shrugged, then returned to the security of his rooms. The door clicked, and the sound of the tumblers falling into place rang out.
Bontoc sat and waited. He breathed slowly, opening up his senses. His heartbeat continued at its steady, uninterrupted pace, and he felt calm.
The first sign of the ghost’s presence was a drop in the temperature around him. As the creature neared him, Bontoc felt the air grow steadily colder.
When the chill became uncomfortable, he whispered, “Hello.”
Silence greeted him.
“It does not matter that I cannot see you,” Bontoc continued in a whisper. “What matters is that you know Ivan Denisovich Korzh sent me. I am to claim the head of his son, and to deliver it to him.”
“And what of us?” a voice hissed. “What becomes of the rest of us?”
“I do not know,” Bontoc told the ghost. “That is a question for Ivan Denisovich, or for his daughter.”
A long pause separated Bontoc’s statement from the creature’s response.
“You say you come in the name of Ivan Denisovich?” the genderless entity asked.
“I say it,” Bontoc replied, clenching his hands into fists, anticipating an attack.
“They treated us well, the Korzhs,” the ghost said. “All except the boy. And he is as merciless now as he was when he was a child. I will tell him you cannot be found. That will not sit well with him. He may come out and hunt you himself.”
“I hope he does,” Bontoc whispered, “it is why I came for him, after all.”
***
“What do you mean?” Stefan asked in a voice that seethed with his anger.
“Exactly what I said,” the ghost replied. “I could find nothing out there. Perhaps this man you claim to have seen knows how to hide himself from the dead.”
Stefan almost asked if that was even possible, but he managed to stop himself. The dead did not need to know how little he knew about them.
“Back to your coin then,” he spat in disgust. “I will call you if I need you.”
The ghost shrugged and vanished, and Stefan returned the Indian Head penny to the small, iron box that served as its prison. Turning the lock, Stefan placed the box back onto its shelf and left the room, going once more to his observation chamber.
He scanned the images, furious that he had not bothered to install low-light capable cameras. His confidence and nonchalance had placed him in a delicate and dangerous position, and if he didn’t watch his step, the man loose in the warehouse would kill him. The thought was both interesting and disturbing.
Stefan was curious as to whether there was anything after death, and frustrated that someone he did not know might be the cause of his death. And he didn’t even know why.
He suspected it had something to do with the injuries he had inflicted on Ariana, and that if he had killed her, he might not have had to face whoever was in the warehouse. If it was directly related to his half-sister, then it also stood to reason that it was directly linked to his father.
And Stefan was furious that Ivan Denisovich continued to meddle in his affairs.
Chapter 44: Disconcerted
With Sofie’s withdrawal from the group, Victor was surprised to find himself concerned. She had kept the group on an even keel, it seemed. Someone who hadn’t dealt with ghosts on such an in-depth level.
That separation from the dead had been refreshing.
Victor sighed and adjusted the way he sat on the sidewalk.
He had gone to the street Sofie had given him for Amy Marin. Victor didn’t have any intention on facing the woman alone, or of performing any heroics. He just wanted a feel for the area, which was difficult to get.
The street pulsed with a curious life, with noise and light seeping out of the old apartment buildings. There was a chill to the late-night air, and Victor repressed a shiver.
He had decided to leave when he heard a soft voice off to his right.
An old woman stood looking at him, her face pale and distraught. Her hair was in disarray, as were her clothes.
Victor scrambled to his feet, worried for her, and then he saw that she didn’t cast a shadow in the light of the street lamp.
The woman was dead.
“You’re looking for him,” the woman whispered, her voice more of a rasp than anything else.
�
��For who?” Victor asked, keeping his voice low.
“Hank,” the dead woman replied. “The one who murdered me.”
She pointed at the thin, black line around her neck.
The mark was disturbing, and Victor fought to keep his face neutral.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I’m looking for him.”
“And will you destroy him?” she asked.
Victor nodded. “I plan on it.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Send him to hell.”
Victor went to tell her that he would, but she had already vanished.
Chapter 45: No Plan Survives
“Well,” Shane said, exhaling smoke towards the ceiling, “that’s unfortunate.”
Victor stared at the man, then shook his head, asking, “That’s all you have to say?”
Shane’s brow furrowed as he said, “What the hell do you want me to do, Victor, cry? Damn. Don’t get me wrong, I like Sofie. She’s a good one. But she doesn’t know anything about ghost hunting. You do. So does Frank. So, in the long run, not only are we better off, but so is she.”
Shane lit a fresh cigarette off the one in his mouth before crushing the remnants in the ashtray.
“What I’m saying,” Shane continued, looking at the cigarette for a moment, “is that I don’t want to see more dead friends. I’ve seen enough in combat. I’ve seen enough of this crap. So, if you’re all done with your little pity party, let’s figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”
“You’re an absolute delight,” Frank said.
“Thanks,” Shane said. He stood up. “I’m getting more whiskey. Why? Because I’m an alcoholic. Just to make sure that’s clear before we go into a tizzy about that. Do either of you want anything?”
Victor shook his head, as Frank politely declined.
Once Shane had left the study, the former monk said, “Don’t get too upset about Shane. He’s rough. I’d like to lay the blame on his upbringing and his suffering, but that only goes so far.”
“Yes,” Victor sighed, collapsing against the back of the chair. “I get it. But has he always been like this?”
