by Ron Ripley
Christopher looked down at Alex and grinned.
“You look like a girl,” the dead man whispered. “Yes, you do. Girls have something special inside. Did you know?”
Alex’s head continued to buzz as he said, “You have to go away now.”
“I don’t want to go away now,” Christopher whispered.
Alex forced the buzzing to the back of his mind and focused on the dead man. Gathering up all his will, he clenched his teeth and hissed, “Let go of the bayonet.”
The dead man’s eyes widened for a moment, then they narrowed, a smirk appearing on Christopher’s face.
“Oh,” the dead man whispered. “Very good. I felt that, you know. The little push you did. You’re strong. So much stronger than anyone I’ve met. My sister was strong. In the end, I killed her, too.”
“I said,” Alex’s voice wavered, “to let go of the bayonet!”
Christopher’s head tilted back as he let out a thrilled, maniacal laugh. “No! I don’t, and I will not! Oh, child, I’m going to cut into your chest and break your ribs. They snap, just like a chicken wing. Yours will go so much quicker. You’re as slight as a bird, boy.”
A horrific feeling settled over Alex, and he knew with a hideous, rising fear, there was no controlling Christopher.
Finally, in one last futile bid for control, Alex pushed with everything inside of him and whispered, “You have to go away. You’re sick.”
“No, little boy,” the dead man murmured. “I’m not sick. Just curious about what might be inside of you all.”
Alex saw the dead man’s arm begin to move and without thinking, Alex reached up and grabbed hold of the weapon’s hilt. “You can’t.”
Christopher’s eyes widened as he hissed, “Let go.”
Alex shook his head. Around him, the dead Huron warriors gathered. Elaine came nearer, a coldly furious expression on her face. The dead man’s eyes darted around.
“Tell them to go away,” he spat. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“You will if I do,” Alex replied.
“Kid’s sharp,” Timmy said weakly, his voice riddled with pain. “Don’t think he isn’t.”
Marcus came up behind the dead man.
“Christopher,” Marcus said. “Let go of the blade. Don’t you want to rest?”
“I can’t rest!” the dead man howled. “I have to see everything! Don’t you understand that?”
“I do,” Marcus said, and he placed his iron-studded hand in the ghost.
Christopher vanished.
“Pull it out,” Timmy said, sagging to his knees. “Take it out.”
“The edge,” Marcus began.
“Dad,” Timmy whispered. “It’s so cold.”
Alex ripped the bayonet out.
Chapter 45: Slowly
It took them a long time to get to the chapel.
Christopher would appear and be struck down, over and over again.
Several times, Marcus fell and dropped the blade. During those moments, Alex lifted the weapon and with the help of the dead, defended him until Marcus could take the weapon back. When they finally entered the sanctuary, Marcus could see the exhaustion on Alex’s face. Nodding to the boy, he said, “Put it down beside Nathaniel. I’ll cover it.”
“Okay,” Alex whispered. He set the weapon down, and before Christopher could emerge once more, Marcus emptied a container of salt over the weapon.
For a moment, they stood in complete silence.
“Come,” Marcus said, gathering Alex up with his good arm and lifting the slight child off the floor. “It’s time to help Timmy.”
Alex didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned his head against Marcus’ shoulder and remained there as they set out to help their injured friend.
***
Abel Worthe sat on the floor of his private library. He leaned against a corner, wrapped in a blanket delivered to him earlier in the morning. The blanket was heavy and thick, light blue and soft to the touch. It smelled distinctly of Meredith, as it should.
Abel had paid a large amount of money for a private detective to break into the dead woman’s apartment and bring back all the blankets and bedding he could find. All of it was accomplished through a variety of intermediaries, ensuring Abel’s anonymity. He smiled at the thought of the blanket and sank deeper into its warm, protective folds.
The other pieces of bedding were waiting for him on his own mattress, and when the day finished, he would go to bed surrounded by her scent.
He shifted her tooth from one side of his mouth to the other, then scratched absently at his growing beard. For a moment, he tried to think of something other than his dead love. He succeeded in focusing on the ambush at the Village.
Abel felt a small spike of irritation at the loss of Christopher, but nothing more. He was fixated on two new homes. One in Nashua, New Hampshire. The other in Connecticut. He refused to think of the female subject’s escape. Or the destruction of the helicopter and two teams of loyal men.
Alfor will find her, Abel thought with some small satisfaction. Then they’ll go back into the Village. I’ll have them take the boy. With him in custody, Subject B will be compliant. I’ll torture the child if I have to. I need to give the order to kill Timmy as well. He’s proven himself too much of a hindrance, and with Meredith no longer alive…
His focus slipped, and he picked up his wine. Bits of Meredith’s cremains floated in the liquid, bringing a sigh and a smile to his lips.
“To you, my love,” he whispered, and drank the wine slowly, relishing every drop.
***
Joyce stood on the edge of a narrow road, a dull, double-solid yellow line running down the center. As she considered what to do next, the sun bright on her face, a car came toward her. It was a black Ford Taurus, and when the driver saw her, the car slowed down and came to a stop.
The passenger window rolled down, and a young Asian woman asked, “Hey, do you need a ride?”
“Yes,” Joyce said. “Yes, I would love a ride.”
She limped to the car, opened the door and got in.
“Are you hurt?” the woman asked as Joyce buckled her seatbelt.
“Old injury,” Joyce said. “Thank you. I’ve been out in the woods a long time.”
“No problem,” the woman said. “Where are you headed?”
“South,” Joyce replied. “First town we come to.”
The woman nodded, chuckling. “Funny. I’m doing the same thing.”
Joyce smiled at her and offered her hand. “I’m Joyce.”
“Nice to meet you,” the other woman said, shifting into drive. “I’m Ellen.”
Joyce settled into the seat, her mind racing, trying to think of how to best save Marcus and Alex.
And even Timmy, she thought, and smiled, enjoying the safety and the comfort of being in a car again.
Beside her, Ellen glanced over, grinned, and turned on the radio.
Chapter 46: Christopher’s Summary
She’s dead.
I don’t think there’s anything else I need to say. Perhaps, but is it worth saying? I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish she wasn’t dead.
Someone killed her. Shot her in the head and blew her brains out all over Timmy.
She died in his arms.
She could have at least died in mine. That would have been better. Much better. Don’t you think? Of course you do. You’re me. I’m me.
I shouldn’t talk into this. It’s recording everything. Far too much.
I feel as though I’m going mad. Or becoming sane. I can’t tell the difference. Perhaps that’s an issue.
Perhaps it isn’t.
Is there really any difference between the two? No. Yes.
Christopher. I should be discussing Christopher and Subject B. Not Timmy. He’s worthless. Oh, I should talk about the boy, and the woman who escaped. I don’t think I will, though.
No.
We’ll focus on Christopher and Subject B.
Christopher wa
s magnificent. Tragically flawed. A creature worthy of Shakespeare. He came so close to killing them. Do you know how wonderful it would have been to see him kill any of them? I do.
I have to talk about the woman who escaped.
She’s cost me too many people. I’m bringing in another company to hunt her down. David’s loyal. The others are not. No, Nurse Schomp is. She’s always loyal. Just like my old nurse.
Stop it!
Christopher is imprisoned with Nathaniel. Subject B has taken control of the Village. Meredith, the love of my life, is dead. Timmy still lives. The boy still lives. The missing subject continues to elude my troops. Soon enough, Alfor’s troops will be here. David will have them scour the countryside looking for her. They will also take over the duties of guarding the Village. I will task them with taking it back.
I have remembered a part of my past which was once a part of Subject B’s. David will find the house for me and bring it here. He and Nurse Schomp are the firmest of supporters, the most loyal of all. I love them dearly.
Perhaps I should have let David kill Subject B in the beginning. Then none of this would have happened.
But I don’t believe this. Something would have happened. It will still happen.
If it doesn’t, I’ll kill them all myself.
Even the boy.
* * *
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