Hank's Radio (Haunted Collection Series Book 4)

by Ron Ripley

  The ghost let out an abbreviated howl of rage as Victor snatched up the sledgehammer. He turned his attention to the radio as he switched the heavy tool from his right hand to his left, eyes constantly searching for the dead man.

  From the direction of the front door, Victor heard the sounds of a struggle, and it seemed as though Amy Marin was putting up more of a fight than they had thought she would. A stream of invectives and curses poured out of her mouth while Frank fought on in grim silence.

  Victor raised the hammer above the radio and then let out a shout of rage as something smashed into the left side of his head. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, and his left ear rang. Broken crockery shot by him and he had the dull realization that someone, most likely the ghost, had shattered a coffee mug against his skull.

  A drawer full of flatware was ripped out of the cabinet and thrown at him, forks and spoons and knives crashing into him, sending pain rippling through his chest.

  Furious, Victor slammed the hammer down, but the tool only gave the radio a glancing blow.

  It was enough to cause the building to shake.

  A scream of outrage rose up from Amy Marin’s voice, and Victor couldn’t help himself.

  He looked back.

  The woman was on her hands and knees with Frank on top of her. He had his left arm wrapped around her throat, and her face was bright red, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she dragged herself forward. There was a mixed expression of anger and concern on Frank’s face, and the man seemed to use all of his strength to try and halt her forward progress.

  “Finish it!” Frank snarled at him.

  Victor nodded, fixed his attention on the radio and howled in pain as black pepper was blown into his eyes. His vision was instantly drowned in tears, and he had to reach out with his right hand to locate the radio.

  “No!” Hank howled, and Victor let go of the radio, swinging wildly and connecting with some cold force.

  “Now!’ Frank yelled. “Now!”

  Victor let out a scream, raised the hammer above his head and grasped it with both hands before he drove the head of it down into the radio.

  The explosion threw him backward, and the world went dark and still and quiet.

  ***

  His ears rang, and his head throbbed, and Victor tasted a mixture of plaster dust, vomit, and blood in his mouth.

  The world was black and silent as he felt himself moving.

  Someone was dragging him, and sharp, unidentifiable objects bit through his clothes and into his flesh. His stomach contracted, he felt rather than heard himself scream, and jerked to the left, vomiting.

  Strong arms wrapped themselves around his chest and hauled him backward. A buzzing sound filled his head, and as it fluctuated, he heard voices and sirens. He couldn’t make out any of the words, but he felt hands hold either side of his face and a cold fluid was poured over him. Gasping and sputtering, Victor tried to fight free, but he was held tightly.

  “Easy,” a woman said. “Easy.”

  The voice was familiar, and he felt as though he should know it.

  “Erin?” he asked, desperate, his voice cracked and broken. Fear and panic and wonder and hope sprang up and fought for control.

  “No,” the woman said in a gentle voice. “It’s Sofie, Victor. Only Sofie.”

  He sagged backward, then he struggled to get up.

  “Stay down,” a man said. And Victor recognized the voice of Shane Ryan.

  “Where’s Frank?” Victor demanded.

  “He’s safe,” Shane replied, chuckling. “He was taken out a while ago. Not life-threatening injuries. We weren’t sure about you. Sofie was in there helping them look for survivors.”

  A cold sensation settled over him, and Victor asked, “Survivors?”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Sofie said. “The paramedics are here, Victor. They’re going to transport you to the hospital. We’ll meet you there.”

  Victor could only nod his agreement as he felt an oxygen mask slip over his face and a cool, damp compress placed against his eyes.

  The sounds of the world slowly came into better focus, and he wondered, with growing horror, how many people he had killed, and if Amy Marin had been one of them.

  Chapter 51: Sick and in Agony

  Tom hated himself for it, but the day after he had left the hospital he was forced to call Doctor Delk. He left a message on her voicemail, telling her what was wrong, and where he was.

  And that the door to the house was unlocked.

  Nicholas was still missing, and there was a subtle itch at the back of his mind that made Tom feel that he should know why the dead man was absent.

  Lying on the couch in the main room, Tom felt sick to his stomach, his brain pulsing within the confines of his skull. He knew he had a fever, and his body alternated between punishing shakes and chills and sweltering temperatures.

  “Tom?” Doctor Delk called from the doorway.

  “In here,” Tom answered, his voice weak.

  She entered the room, a frown manifesting itself across her brow. Hurrying towards him, she shook her head and said, “I told you to stay in the hospital.”

  “I know,” he replied and promptly passed out.

  ***

  Tom awoke in his bed, propped up and with an IV in the back of his left hand. He turned his head and glanced around the room, his eyes aching as he did so. When his gaze fell upon the chair by the door he stopped, surprise flooding him.

  The teen from the gas station’s convenience store sat in the old, uncomfortable wooden chair, reading a large paperback. She had an old pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, and there were small Band-Aids on her face and neck, reminders of what had happened at the gas station.

  Tom moved slightly, and the bed sheets rustled, the noise faint but enough to attract the girl’s attention.

  She smiled, marked her place in the book and set it down beside her. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Tom said, his face reddening.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked. Her voice had a curious, lilting rhythm to it, and Tom found it enjoyable.

  “Terrible,” he said, answering her honestly. “You’re from the store.”

  She nodded. “My name’s Iris. Um, that other guy who was there too, he said you saved me.”

  “He carried you out,” Tom said gently.

  “I know,” Iris said, “but he told me that you started to drag me out from behind the counter. So, as far as the two of us are concerned, you saved me.”

  Tom smiled and didn’t argue the point again.

  After a minute of surprisingly comfortable silence, Tom asked, “Um, why are you here and not Doctor Delk?”

  “I was looking for you,” Iris said, blushing slightly. “I was asking around, and she knew you saved me. We talked for a little bit, and she asked me if I wanted to help out.”

  “Oh,” Tom said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” Iris answered. “Do you need anything?”

  “Just some water,” he said after a moment. “My throat’s raw.”

  Iris smiled, stood up and went to the bed-side table, where there was a bottle of water that he hadn’t noticed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Tom said, embarrassed. “I didn’t even see it there.”

  “That’s okay,” Iris answered. “That’s why I’m here right now. To help.”

  She opened the bottle and held it out to him, and when he reached for it, Tom found he barely had the strength to lift his arm. Iris saw his trouble, slipped a long, delicate fingered hand behind his head and placed the bottle to his lips.

  The water was pleasantly warm, and the touch of her skin against the stubble of hair on the back of his head thrilled him.

  When he was done, Iris returned the bottle to the table and then sat down on the end of the bed.

  “So,” she said, smiling, “your name’s Tom, and mine’s Iris. You saved me. I want to know more about you.”

  Shock
ed, Tom hesitated, then he asked, “How much do you remember about the gas station?”

  “I remember a doll coming to life,” she whispered, “even though they tell me it’s a result of the concussion from the blast.”

  “No,” Tom said, shaking his head. “You did see the doll, and she’s the reason the whole place blew up.”

  Looking down at her hands, Iris added, “She’s the reason you lost part of your arm.”

  “Yes,” Tom said, glancing down at the bandaged stump. “That’s right. But she’s vanished.”

  “Are there more like her?” Iris asked.

  “Lots,” Tom answered.

  “What the hell was that, any of it? And, oh my God, how is any of this even possible?” Iris asked, looking at Tom. “What I mean is, why did they come into that store? Were they looking for someone? Why was she there?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom answered. “I really don’t. Maybe they were, but we won’t be able to find out. The doll and the guy are gone. All I can do is wait for my, my foster father to get home, and then I’ll ask him.”

  “When is he supposed to be back?” she asked. “And do you have a foster mom too?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said. “Should be soon. And no, I don’t have a foster mom.”

  Silence filled the room again and then Tom broke it by asking, “What are you reading?”

  “The Fellowship of the Ring,” Iris said, grinning. “I’m a huge fangirl for Tolkien.”

  “Who isn’t?” Tom asked with a wink.

  Iris laughed, a small, delicate sound that left Tom with the sensation of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

  “I noticed you don’t have a television in your room,” she said. “Lots of books though. Do you, um, do you want me to read to you?”

  “Yes,” Tom said, blushing. “I’d like that. A lot.”

  “Me too,” Iris said, her cheeks reddening as well.

  Tom watched the slight young woman pick up her book again.

  It’s almost worth my arm to have her here with me, he thought and smiled at her. Tom closed his eyes and listened as she began to read.

  Chapter 52: Information and Statistics

  Victor lay propped up in the hospital bed. He was in a double suite, and his roommate was an older Hispanic woman who had been in Amy Marin’s building. The woman had fallen asleep with the Spanish language television station Univision on, and the dramatic rush of dialogue told him that some soap opera was on.

  He remembered when he and Erin would occasionally pause on the station, trying to figure out the gist of the story even though neither of them could do more than ask for a beer or the bathroom in Spanish.

  His vision was still blurry from the pepper Hank had thrown into his eyes, and while he could make out the form of someone entering the hospital room, he did not know who it was, or even if they were there to visit him.

  Those questions were answered a moment later when Sofie appeared at his bedside, setting a cup of coffee down on the hospital swing tray and holding one for herself.

  “You look like you went through a windshield,” she said, opening his coffee for him and handing it over.

  “Thank you,” Victor said, and he held the coffee under his nose for a moment. The steam of the hot liquid and the potent scent of the brew eased his shoulders and helped him to relax. “I feel more like someone who’s had an entire building dropped on him.”

  “Well, that makes more sense,” she said, sipping her drink and smiling. “Frank has been sent home, by the way. He checked on you before he left, but you were still out from the anesthesia.”

  “And Shane?” Victor asked. “Is he still around?”

  Sofie shook her head. “Seems like he knew the investigating detective. I got the feeling they had some sort of history. Anyway, they went off together and had a little chat. Police and the gas company are chalking up the destruction of Amy Marin’s apartment to a faultily installed gas line.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Victor said in a low, shaking voice.

  “No,” Sofie concurred, “but they were inspecting the furnaces and the hot water heaters in the basement of the building. All of them were gas operated, and it turns out the landlord actually did install them himself. And no, he’s not trained or licensed to do so. It was only a matter of time before someone died in the building because of it.”

  Victor was silent for a moment, then he forced himself to ask the question that had haunted him since he had been loaded into the back of the ambulance.

  “How many died?” he whispered.

  “What?” Sofie asked, confused.

  “In the building,” Victor continued in the same low voice. “How many people died?”

  “A few,” Sofie said, her face hardening. “There was damage to the apartments closest to hers, and the one above it.”

  “How many people?” Victor asked again.

  “Amy Marin,” Sofie answered. “And a couple of people in the apartment next to hers.”

  Victor’s chin sank to his chest, and he sighed. In a soft voice he asked, “Who were they?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sofie said.

  “Sofie,” he began.

  She shook her head. “Don’t ask me, Victor. I don’t feel like delivering any bad news.”

  “I just want to know,” Victor said, jerking his head up and wincing at the pain in his skull and neck.

  “Yeah, slow down there,” Sofie said softly. “No fast movements. And, to answer your next question before you ask it, there were a few people injured. Some significantly. But everyone’s in stable condition, no amputations, no permanent damage so far.”

  Victor cleared his throat and asked, “So, am I going to be arrested?”

  Her brow furrowed, and she asked, “Why on earth would you?”

  “For being in Amy Marin’s apartment,” Victor answered.

  Sofie smiled. “No one knows you were. And no one will try to see if anyone was.”

  “What about the sledgehammer?” Victor asked.

  “What about it?” Sofie replied. “Shane found the damned thing. He was even holding it when chatting with the detective. Amy Marin died from blunt force trauma when the clawfoot tub in the apartment above her came through the ceiling and crushed her.”

  “Oh,” Victor said. “And did the deaths stop?”

  “Yes,” Sofie said, her face going pale at the memory. “Yes, they stopped. I’m sure the guards will be kept around for a bit. And the police will keep up with the patrols, but it’s all done. Thank you.”

  “Frank and Shane did the lion’s share of work,” Victor said.

  Sofie shook her head. “No, they didn’t. They helped, but it was you who took Hank out of the picture. Are you heading back to Pennsylvania when you get out?”

  “Yes,” Victor said, nodding. “I have a son, of sorts, waiting for me.”

  Sofie smiled. “Shane filled me in on those details. It’s terrible, what you and Tom have been through, but I’m glad the two of you have each other. Listen, get some rest, but make sure you stop by the home before you leave. Say goodbye to me.”

  “I will,” Victor promised.

  Sofie stood up, and she looked at him and asked, “If I’m ever out your way, in Pennsylvania, would you mind if I stopped by?”

  “I would be offended if you didn’t,” Victor said.

  “Good,” Sofie said, and she waved goodbye as she left the room.

  Victor returned the wave and took a drink of coffee, and he wondered how soon he would be released.

  Chapter 53: Home

  A battered, champagne colored Nissan Sentra was parked in the driveway when Victor got out of the cab at the rented house. He paid his fare, thanked the driver, and approached the building warily.

  Walking around to the back, Victor felt his heart rate increase, and he fought down a building sense of dread.

  The backdoor was unlocked, and Victor let himself in, gripping the strap of his overnight bag in his lef
t hand and ready to strike out at any intruders.

  Instead of burglars, he saw Tom sitting at the table with a girl who looked to be about his own age. She looked surprised at Victor, and Tom grinned, pushing himself up from the table with his free hand.

  “What the hell happened to your hand?!” Victor demanded, realizing that the boy’s left arm was missing all the way up to the elbow, the stump of it wrapped in a bandage.

  “A lot,” Tom responded. “A real lot. But first, Victor, this is my friend Iris. And Iris, this is my foster father, Victor Daniels.”

  Victor shook the young woman’s offered hand, sat down at the table and said, “Okay, tell me what happened.”

  Tom and Iris sat down at the table, and the boy began to tell him about the gas station.

  ***

  Ariana ached from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

  She had been pushing herself too hard at physical therapy, and she had to take a break. If she continued at the pace she had set, she would soon find all her gains nullified.

  And she had too much to do.

  The last few text messages and calls from Bontoc had been less than encouraging, and sooner rather than later she would have to broach the subject with her father. Before she did that, Ariana wanted to be in far better physical condition. If she were well enough to assist Bontoc in some small way, then justice could still be served. While she wanted to be the one to deliver the head of her half-brother to Ivan Denisovich, she was also practical enough to understand that it might not be a feasible option.

  Ariana took a long drink of water, popped several ibuprofen tablets, and swallowed them with some more water.

  She would need to be able to fire a weapon, without missing, if she was going to have any part in the halting of Stefan Korzh.

  Closing her eyes, Ariana reclined on the couch and tried to relax.

  ***

  In the woods outside of the compound, Bontoc lay in a small trench. On the opposite side of the property, he knew, Anne Le Morte and her curious caretaker remained hidden. Bontoc was wrapped against the chill of the night and well stocked with food and water. A small pistol lay close by, more for his personal protection against animals rather than fear of Korzh discovering his observation post.