by Ron Ripley
He collapsed on the carpet and stared at his apartment.
From the other side, he heard the deadbolt click, locking into place. A moment later, he heard Anne as she began to sing again. The song faded as she walked away from the door, his home no longer his, but hers.
Chapter 27: Not Sure of the Situation
“Hey, is that blood on you?” the dealer asked.
“So what?” Sue snapped. “You selling or not?”
The young man shrugged, held out his hand and Sue slapped cash into it.
“Damn, girl,” he said, holding up a damp twenty dollar bill, “this one does have blood on it.”
“Do you think it’s not going to work?” she demanded.
The dealer chuckled. “No, girl, it’ll work just fine. You’re hardcore. I like that. Name’s Danny, you come back if you need some work too.”
He handed a small bag of heroin over, and she pocketed it before she responded.
“I don’t work on my back,” she said.
“No, not you,” Danny grinned, flashing a grill of stainless steel on his teeth. “You’re too hard. No, you need some real work, some dirty work, you come see me. I’ll pay you good. Not just dope either.”
“I’ll need work,” Sue said. “I’ll find you.”
Danny nodded, and that was the end of their conversation.
She didn’t look back as she left Roby Park in Nashua, New Hampshire. Her legs carried her down a thin, narrow street that slipped into the woods and marked the boundary between New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Pepperell was on the other side, and the house she was staying in was there as well.
Sue moved the hand with the heroin in it into the front pocket of her hoodie. She glanced down at the sweatshirt, not sure where the blood on it had originated from.
I’ll ask Rolf when I get back, Sue thought. She had been blacking out during her nods, not remembering anything for a long time after she shot up.
Rolf always knew what she had done.
She smiled, nodding to herself. The bear always made sure she was okay. He took care of her.
Sue relaxed a little, but she quickened her pace. She was eager to be back, safe and tucked away.
Less than half an hour later, she stepped out of the woods and into the back yard of the house. It was a white colonial, left empty by a family off on some vacation. She and Rolf had been lucky to find it. The place had been packed full of new electronics, too, and she had moved it all. It was easier to fence stolen goods when no one reported them gone.
Grinning, Sue jogged up the back steps, nudged open the door and hurried inside.
Rolf was on the island of the kitchen, exactly where she had left him.
“Hey,” she said, dropping down onto a stool.
“Hello,” the bear said, chuckling, “did you get your medicine?”
“I did,” Sue answered, taking the heroin out and dropping it onto the island. Her kit, the needle, spoon, and lighter plus the rubber tubing she used to get high were there. An itch blossomed in the crook of her arm as she looked at it.
“There is no need to stand on ceremony,” Rolf purred. “You should take your medicine.”
She nodded and took off her sweatshirt, then remembered the blood.
“Hey, do you know why there’s blood all over this?” she asked, tying the tubing around her upper arm.
“A bloody nose, I am afraid,” Rolf said sadly, “it did not stop for a long time.”
“I bet,” Sue said. It was a drawback of being a junkie. One of many. Without any further questions, she began to fix her medicine.
***
Rolf found it interesting to be in control of the young woman’s body. It responded sluggishly at first, as always, and he knew part of it was the amount of heroin she injected. Her doses, he had noticed, were always increased.
But she was malleable, and it entertained him to watch her destroy herself. In addition to that, she also provided a body for his own use.
With Sue well within the grasp of heroin, Rolf stood up and moved forward several spaces, her legs moving slowly. A moment later and he reached the counter top. He eyed the butcher’s block appreciatively for a moment, then chose a skinning knife. With the cutlery in hand, Rolf walked out of the kitchen and descended the basement stairs.
Mr. Gregory Burke was naked and bound to a chair. Over the past four days, Mr. Burke had watched Rolf butcher his wife and three children, as well as the family dog and cat. Mr. Burke had not wanted to watch, of course, but Rolf had removed the man’s eyelids and kept the eyes themselves well lubricated.
When Mr. Burke saw Rolf in the form of Sue, he let out a moan. He couldn’t scream because Rolf had removed the man’s tongue the day before, and then devoured it raw in front of him. Rolf had savored every bite, the girl’s taste buds a pure delight after having been deprived of his own for so long.
The terror in Mr. Burke’s eyes was pure as Rolf sat down in front of him. Rolf smiled and held up the skinning knife. Mr. Burke winced as much as his bonds would allow him.
“Tell me, Mr. Burke,” Rolf said, “do you think I will be able to skin you all in one go, or perhaps have to do it in sections?”
Mr. Burke moaned again, shaking his head violently.
“You’re right, talking about it won’t give us an answer,” Rolf said, standing up. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
The answer was sections.
Chapter 28: Commack, Long Island, New York
Stefan stood in the middle of the house and listened.
He heard nothing, and he nodded with satisfaction.
The dead were still, which was what he needed them to be. He had made them a promise, that there would soon be someone there to prey upon. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. It kept them quiet.
Stefan knew that the Louisiana buyer would show up in person to return Anne, as well as the teapot. It was the only way for the buyer to be certain that she wouldn’t hunt him down again afterwards. There was always the chance that Anne would have finished the man off before that, but Stefan doubted he would be so lucky. The next best-case scenario would be the man traveling to Commack without the doll. In that situation, the dead in the house would finish him off, and Anne would be set loose on some unsuspecting person in Louisiana.
Stefan smiled at the thought and went about the house, double-checking the traps he had laid. There were two in each room, a guarantee that the buyer would trigger at least one of them. And they were innocuous, subtle, not a single one of them spoke of the dangers that lay within.
The walking stick propped in the corner by the front door, the Jaeger pipe on the table beside the stick. A cup and matching saucer from the coronation of Elizabeth the Second. On a table in the den was a remote control. Beside that lay a copy of National Geographic from 1962. The cherub lamp in the den and the tin soldiers in the kitchen.
Minor ghosts. Individually, they were nothing.
Combined, they were deadly.
As soon as the man was in the house one of them was sure to be triggered. And it wouldn’t take much, nothing more than a careless pants’ leg brushing the stick. A hand bumping against the pipe.
Stefan removed one last item from his bag. An old and well-used coffee mug, a large letter ‘E’ stenciled on it. This had been the last item his father had ordered, and it had arrived shortly after his death. Stefan’s mother had kept it with her, never having the heart to place it in the room with Ivan Denisovich’s other ghosts.
Stefan set the mug down in the kitchen, nodded to himself and retreated to the front door.
“Be patient,” Stefan told the dead and left the house. He closed the front door and pinned a note to it. Stefan left the porch, walked halfway down the front walk and turned around. He examined the building, searching for flaws, anything that might make the buyer hesitate.
The house looked as any house in a middle-class neighborhood should. While the home was older, having been built in the first part of the twentieth cen
tury, it was well-kept. The grass was cut, the siding recently painted a soft blue. White shutters hung on either side of the windows, and there was a welcome sign on the front lawn beside a statue of a frog lounging in the sun.
Every aspect the property screamed middle America, and it brought a smile to Stefan’s face. He turned away and went to the car. It was a rental, borrowed under a false name and paid with cash, as well as a large bribe. The previous vehicle, the one stolen for the sole purpose of eliminating Collier, had been abandoned on the Massachusetts and New York border.
Stefan’s thoughts went back to the rental and he doubted he could trust the woman who had rented him the car to remain quiet – should he be investigated at some point – so he would murder her when he returned home.
The idea of strangling her made him smile, and he whistled as he climbed into the car.
For the first time in several days, he was feeling happy again.
Chapter 29: Darkness in the Street
At midnight, Victor left the house.
He despised being inside the structure, and he found it difficult to be there even when he had Jeremy for company. Erin was still everywhere he looked, in every smell, in the touch of the sheets against his skin.
Victor put his hands in his pockets and walked down the street. A few lights were on in his neighbor’s houses, but he was the only one out. Several cats trotted past him, moving in and out of the shadows and pointedly ignoring him. It took him a moment to comprehend that they all had their tails down, ears pressed flat to their heads.
And they ran from the right side of the street to the left.
They’re afraid, Victor paused, slowing down and taking his hands out of his pockets. He glanced over at the opposite side of the street, trying to see what was frightening the animals.
At first, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Then a dog barked, a harsh sound full of anger and fear. A chain rattled and the canine’s complaints rose to a frenzied pitch.
Within seconds, a person walked out of the shadows of the closest house, glancing back the way they had come.
It was a young woman.
The same individual Victor had seen several days before. A young woman, Jeremy believed, who was playing host to the spirit of Rolf.
As she stepped into the light, the young woman turned around and looked at Victor. She stopped, smiled and said in a low voice, “Why hello, Victor. Such a pleasure to see you. I thought I was going to have to break into your house to have a conversation with you.”
Victor eyed the woman, who was thin and sickly, but her eyes burned brightly with a fierce energy that made him uncomfortable. He wanted to run, but the expression on her face made him doubt he would make it back safely to his house.
“You should be kind to me,” Rolf said, chuckling. “I can make your death either fast or slow, or some unhappy medium. You could let me know. I am quite open to requests.”
Victor never took his eyes off the young woman, who continued to approach him. Her steps were short, her attention always fixed on him.
“Do you like this vessel?” Rolf asked lasciviously. “Is she not equal, no, does she not surpass your dead wife?”
Victor bit back a reply, refusing to be baited into a conversation with the ghost.
“Why do you not speak with me?” Rolf asked, a playful tone in his voice. “Are you afraid of me? Afraid of this thin woman? You should be. I’m going to kill you soon.”
The cold surety with which the statement was made threatened Victor’s composure, but he managed to retain it. Anger flared up as he remembered this was the being who had slain his wife and who, if Jeremy’s information had been correct, had been a butcher when alive as well.
“You think so?” Victor snarled, clenching his hands into fists. “You think you’re going to kill me? I don’t care how strong your little junkie is, but if you come near me, I will beat you to death.”
Rolf’s eyes widened in surprise, a smirk of appreciation appearing on the girl’s face.
“I appreciate such sentiments,” Rolf said, “I believe those were the same uttered before I was assassinated. Though there was a squad of soldiers who came for me.”
Rolf looked to the left and then to the right with exaggerated turns of the girl’s head.
“Ah,” Rolf said in mock sadness, “it looks like you’re alone, without even the shade of your wife to keep you company.”
Victor stepped forward, and Rolf laughed, a look of eager anticipation spreading. Then the expression faltered, and in the light of the street lamp, the girl’s eyes changed. The irises flickered, and what had once been a stunning green, shifted into a pale blue then back to green.
“No!” Rolf hissed, his head jerking from side to side. “She can’t come out of it! Not yet!”
The girl tried to stumble away, fell to a knee, got back up, twisted around and let out an angry howl. “No!”
Her eyes changed again to the pale blue, and stayed that way.
The girl straightened up and in a frightened voice asked, “What’s going on? Where am I?”
“You’re in Pepperell,” Victor said, not sure what he should do. “Do you know what day it is?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not sure what day it is, or what I’m doing here. How did I get here? Who the hell are you?”
The girl took a step back, glancing around her. “I just want to go back. Okay? I just want Rolf. He’s taking care of me.”
“The bear is?” Victor asked softly.
“Yes,” she said, head bobbing up and down. Then she looked at him, shocked. “Wait. How did you know he was a bear?”
Victor hesitated, unsure if he should tell her all of it, or only part, or if it would even matter. Any of it.
“I know,” Victor said, struggling to get the words out, “because he killed my wife.”
The girl shook her head, glanced down at her blood-stained sweat-shirt and looked up at Victor with an expression of pure horror on her face. “This isn’t my blood, is it?”
“I don’t know,” Victor said. “What’s your name?”
“What?” she snapped, her voice rising in panic.
“Your name,” Victor said in a soft, soothing tone. “Tell me your name.”
“Sue,” she whispered, looking around.
“Sue, I’m Victor,” he said, “why don’t we go to my house, okay?”
“Why?” There was no sign of trust in her eyes.
“You look like you need to eat,” Victor said, “and I think a friend of mine can help you.”
She seemed to shrink within herself, shuddering. “I need a fix. That’s what I need.”
“Do you have any on you?” Victor asked.
Sue straightened up, caught off guard by the question. She patted her front pocket, and her shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, but I don’t have my kit.”
“My wife,” Victor said, speaking slowly, “she was a diabetic. I haven’t gotten rid of any of her stuff.”
“You’d let me shoot up?” Sue asked, confused. “Why?”
“I need to know about Rolf,” Victor answered, “and I need you to talk to my friend about it. If that means you go into the upstairs bathroom and shoot up, then that’s what happens.”
Sue scratched at her arm, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure, let’s do it.”
“This way,” Victor said, and he led her towards his house.
Chapter 30: The Teapot Arrives
Grant went to the post office and had his mail forwarded to his office. He was unsure what to do about Anne since she had taken over his home, and he needed the teapot to find the seller.
Grant moved his hand the wrong way and bit back a scream. His right hand was bandaged, but the pain was significant. He resisted the urge to get out the Ativan they had prescribed. It clouded his thoughts and made it difficult for him to work. He couldn’t afford to be dim-witted when the teapot arrived.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and forced him to call out
, “Come in.”
The UPS delivery man entered the office nodding hello and placing a package down on the desk top.
Once the door closed, Grant dragged the package closer, afraid that it was nothing more than antique hardware or some other such necessity for a project. But it wasn’t, it was the teapot.
And it had a return address for Commack, Long Island in New York.
After several awkward attempts, he managed to open the box, and he removed the teapot. It was exactly as it had been described, and he had a sudden revulsion for the item.
He wasn’t sure what to do with it, if he should bring it to the address and leave it in front of the door. Grant wasn’t sure what would happen, or what the ghost that resided within it might do.
What if it only makes the ghost mad? Grant thought, horrified.
Then an idea came to him, and he sighed with relief.
He replaced the teapot in its package, then gathered it up and left the office. When he reached the main lobby of his building, Grant asked the doorman to call for a cab. The box grew colder in his arms as he held it, and fear began to build in him. There was a sensation that the ghost in the teacup had realized it was somewhere new, that it wanted to be out.
Grant didn’t want that, not in the least. He needed it to remain silent and docile until he could get assistance.
He paced the length of the lobby until the cab arrived, and when it did, he hurried out to the vehicle, clambering into the back as best as his injury would allow. When the cabbie asked Grant for the destination, he gave the man Leanne Le Monde’s address.
She was the only one he knew who could help him with the teapot before the situation became dire.
The ride to her house in the French Quarter took far longer than it had the first time when he had driven himself. Or that’s what his mind told him as the cab cruised along the narrow streets, stopping and starting again for the pedestrians which crowded the pavement.
