Borgin Keep

by Ron Ripley

  “A candelabra, with blood in the crevices of some excellent filigree. There is also a tea cup that was used to administer fatal doses of arsenic by a disturbed Irish maid. And, the coup de grace, a battered New Testament carried by a violent soldier in Mogadishu,” Harlan said.

  Elmer’s breath was loud and excited in the earpiece of the phone.

  “What do you need me to do?” the collector asked.

  “I need you to take something to the Nashua Police Station for me. You will deliver it to a young Lieutenant,” Harlan said. “He will meet you in the parking lot.”

  “What is it?” Elmer asked, his voice cautious, worried.

  “Do you remember the piano wire you acquired from us?” Harlan inquired.

  “Yes,” Elmer answered, his voice sinking.

  “Bring it to the Lieutenant,” Harlan said, and then, in a reassuring tone he added, “the officer will make sure it gets back to you.”

  “Alright,” Elmer agreed. “When do you want it brought to him, and when do I get the objects?”

  “Bring it to him now,” Harlan ordered. “He’s waiting for you. As for the objects, they’ll be delivered via our service by this afternoon.”

  “Excellent!” Elmer declared. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

  “Very good,” Harlan said, and he hung up the phone.

  It was a dangerous game, he knew, to bring in another party, but Shane Ryan was forcing his hand.

  Harlan needed Shane dead, and the idea of it brought a smile to his face.

  There would be nothing painless in Shane’s death, Harlan knew, and that was exactly as it should be.

  Chapter 29: At the Station

  Shane sat at the table in the interview room and yawned. He had spent plenty of time in a variety of jails and holding cells during his active duty as a Marine. There was nothing for him to fear, and nothing new.

  The table was a standard, heavy piece of metal, as was the chair he occupied. Across the table was an identical chair, recently vacated by the Lieutenant who had brought him in for questioning hours earlier. A two-way mirror was set within the left wall, and a small camera was positioned in the upper right corner above the door.

  Shane suspected he could get up and walk out of the room, but that might lead to some trouble with the police officers on the other side of it.

  And he knew the Lieutenant was attempting to think of some way he could arrest Shane.

  Shane grinned at the thought and wondered if it would be worth some jail time to punch the officer. There was something wrong about the man, an itch at the base of Shane’s neck that told him the man wasn’t what he seemed.

  Regardless, Shane told himself, I should have kept my cool.

  I wouldn’t be jonesing for a cigarette or a shot of whiskey if I hadn’t run my mouth.

  The door opened and the Lieutenant walked in with a cup of coffee and a donut wrapped in a napkin. He flashed a false smile and sat down across from Shane.

  Shane watched as the man got comfortable, took a drink, then a bite of the donut, and smiled again.

  The Lieutenant swallowed and asked, “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Shane said.

  “Good, good,” the Lieutenant said. He took another bite, then a second sip. When he finished, he looked at Shane in surprise and said, “Oh, I forgot to ask, are you hungry?”

  “No,” Shane answered. His stomach was twisting itself into knots with hunger, but he didn’t want anything from the Lieutenant.

  “No, no,” the Lieutenant said, putting the remnants of the donut down on the napkin. “You must be starving. Let me get you something.”

  The officer put the coffee down beside the donut and stood up, going back to the door and opening it.

  “Bob,” the Lieutenant called. “Bob!”

  When no one answered him, the officer turned back to Shane and said, “Hold on one sec.”

  The Lieutenant left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Shane shook his head and twisted the iron rings on his fingers. The metal was warm to the touch and he smiled.

  After a minute, he stifled a yawn and felt cold. Shane rubbed at his arms, wondering if the officer had gone to turn the heat down. His exhalation came out as a white cloud and Shane stiffened.

  Shane looked around the room, searching, and in the mirror, he found what he sought. A tall, thin woman stood behind him. Her clothes placed her in the Edwardian era, her gray hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore a lace-trimmed apron over her dress and glasses were perched on her long, angular nose. Her lips were mere hints and her hands had all of the elegance and frightfulness of a spider’s legs.

  She was stooped, peering at Shane’s neck.

  He watched as she reached out a hand, the fingers coming to a stop of a hair’s breadth from his own flesh.

  Then she lowered her arm, dipped her hand into a pocket of the apron and removed a long, shimmering coil. A smile, oddly beautiful on such a harsh face, appeared, and she stepped forward.

  Shane kept his eye on her in the mirror and twisted in his seat, lashing out with his left hand. It passed through the ghost, her smile dissolving into a grimace. A shudder raced through the room and Shane got up, stepping away from the chair.

  The woman appeared a heartbeat later, standing between him and the door. He could see that in her hands was a length of piano wire.

  She had every intention, Shane saw, of garroting him with it.

  “You’ve misbehaved,” the woman said in a deep timbre. “You need to be punished.”

  Shane didn’t respond. She raised an eyebrow.

  “You don’t disagree?” she asked.

  “Why would I?” Shane answered.

  The woman hesitated, then stepped towards him. She moved through the table.

  “It would have been easier to catch you from behind,” she said, her hands spreading out and pulling the wire taut.

  Shane struck her and the ghost vanished only to reappear by the door. Her lips curled in a snarl.

  “It’s ever so quick,” she said. “A loop around your neck, a quick jerk. The wire cuts through flesh and tendon, slips between the vertebrae. You’ll hardly feel a thing. Or so I’ve been told.”

  She pounced, trying to snare him. Shane pulled away and lashed out with his left hand.

  When she showed up at the door again, her face was a livid mask.

  “How are you doing that?” she demanded. “Tell me!”

  Shane held up his hands, spreading his fingers wide.

  “Iron,” he said. “It will beat you back each time.”

  A smile spread across her face. “Will it? Shall we put your theory to the test?”

  “Why not?” Shane spat. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Her attack was fast, far faster than he suspected it of being.

  Her speed could do nothing against the innate power of the iron, and she shrieked as she vanished again.

  When she reappeared, her chest rose and fell, as if even dead she could still breathe and seethe. The woman watched him, waiting.

  “Why are you here?” Shane asked, breaking the silence.

  The question seemed to surprise her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Here,” Shane said. “Why are you here, in the police station? Did you die on these grounds?”

  “I died in my own house, in Boston,” the woman barked.

  “Really?” Shane asked. “Because you’re pretty far from Boston. You’re in New Hampshire.”

  “Someone took me out of my house,” she said. Then, in a voice that rose in anger she demanded, “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know how you got in here,” Shane said, keeping a wary eye on her.

  She threw herself at him again, and this time Shane was too slow. The force of her impact slammed him back into the wall and knocked him to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, throwing a punch that she slipped away from. A blow landed against his kidney and he do
ubled over, gasping with pain. From the corner of his eye, he saw her slash in towards him and Shane threw himself to one side, crashing into the table. The coffee cup was knocked over, the hot liquid splashing against the floor and Shane’s pants.

  A shimmer caught his eye and Shane spotted a coil of thin wire in the middle of the spilled coffee.

  In a flash, Shane knew what it was and dove for it. The air rushed out of his lungs as he hit the floor, but his hand closed around the painfully cold wire.

  Struggling for breath, Shane pushed himself upright and looked at the woman. Her eyes were locked on his.

  For several seconds they stared at one another, then the woman said, “Did you bring the coffee into this room?”

  Shane shook his head, the pain and lack of oxygen stopping him from responding with words.

  “Someone,” she said in a low, angry voice, “put my wire into a cup full of coffee. Coffee. Who?”

  “A police officer,” Shane responded after he caught his breath.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why would someone put me in a cup of coffee?!”

  “Hold on,” Shane said. “What’s your name?”

  “Mrs. Henderson,” she answered. “And yours?”

  “Shane,” he replied. “I think I know why they put you in the coffee.”

  She raised an eyebrow and waited for his explanation.

  “You’re here to kill me.”

  Mrs. Henderson gave a slight nod. “More than likely. I have killed a fair few since my death.”

  “That means someone is using you,” Shane continued.

  She frowned. “The thought had occurred to me.”

  “Do you want to be used?” he asked.

  “No,” she growled. “I’d rather kill the one who brought me here.”

  “Fair enough,” Shane said, “because I’d be okay with you doing that as well.”

  A smile played on her face. “Would you now?”

  He nodded. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll make sure you go to a quiet place, where you won’t be used, if you won’t kill me.”

  She considered the offer for a moment. “A fair deal. I only require one addition to it.”

  “And that is?” Shane asked.

  “I also kill the one who placed me in coffee,” she hissed, her voice filled with disgust.

  Shane eased himself back into his chair, smiled at the dead woman, and said, “I would sincerely like to see that happen.”

  Mrs. Henderson bowed her head and stepped towards the mirror.

  Shane folded his arms over his chest and stared at the door, trying to will the Lieutenant to walk in.

  He couldn’t wait for the man to die.

  Chapter 30: Losing his Cool

  Martin was an up and coming cop. A man who had moved quickly through the ranks, bypassing tried and true officers and making waves among the older detectives before earning his lieutenant’s position. He had also been brought along by Lisbeth Walker, who had vanished shortly after the murder of her ex-husband.

  Occasionally, Martin thought she might have done the deed. There was something wrong with her, a disconnect in her brain that didn’t allow her to make lasting bonds with people. She had told him as much when she had been his training officer. Lisbeth had said more after introducing him to a group called the Watchers, who paid him to do just that.

  The delivery of a piece of piano wire to the interrogation room had been something new.

  As had the taking in of Shane Ryan.

  Martin didn’t feel comfortable with what he had been asked to do.

  No, he told himself. Don’t kid yourself. I wasn’t asked to do anything. I was told.

  And the voice on the other end had told him what to do, and who to call. Martin couldn’t risk the exposure of him taking money for information, regardless as to how innocuous it seemed at the time. People generally disliked cops who relayed information to third parties.

  No threat had been made. None had even been implied.

  But it was there, an unspoken reality between himself and the Watchers.

  He didn’t even have Lisbeth to talk to about it.

  And what the hell was that wire supposed to do? Martin wondered. His instructions had been specific, but without any reasons given.

  Take Shane Ryan in for questioning should his house not burn down.

  Shane’s house hadn’t burnt down, and so Martin had brought the man in. That had been easy enough. Shane stunk of whiskey and he had an attitude. Not a single cop at the scene had batted an eye.

  A coil of piano wire will be brought to you. Leave it in the room with Shane and walk away. Do not let him see it.

  Martin had done that too.

  Afterward, he had left the room, turned off the cameras, and waited.

  A glance at his watch showed it had been twenty minutes.

  He considered making a phone call to his contact in the Watchers, but then decided against it. Martin would check on Shane and see what was going on.

  Martin put his false, Hey, I’m your buddy, smile on and walked back to the interrogation room. He took hold of the doorknob, which was a great deal colder than he remembered it ever being before, and let himself in.

  The coffee cup was on the table, but its contents were spilled across the same and on the floor.

  Shane sat on his chair, arms across his chest and a smile on his face.

  Martin’s own smile almost faltered, but he managed to keep it in place as he closed the door behind him and took his seat again.

  “Sorry about that,” Martin apologized. “Tried to get you something, but you know how it is.”

  “Sure,” Shane said. “Sorry about your coffee.”

  Martin glanced at the spilled liquid and shrugged, keeping the false smile on his face. “It’s not that big of a deal, right?”

  “No,” Shane said, shaking his head. “Not really. But Mrs. Henderson is wondering why you put her piano wire in your coffee though.”

  “What?” Martin asked, confused.

  A blurred shape slammed into him, knocking him out of the chair and onto the floor. His head struck the tile and the breath rushed out of him. The room spun out of control and he found himself staring up at the ceiling.

  “Don’t use the wire,” Shane said, and Martin turned to see Shane continued to sit, unmoved. “They’ll figure it out.”

  “Doubtful,” a woman replied, her voice vibrating with rage. “But I will do as you suggest.”

  Martin tried to sit up but he was struck from behind, a hard, painful blow that sent him reeling back to the floor on his stomach. He found he couldn’t move, his limbs refusing to respond to his commands. All he could see of Shane was the man’s worn black boots.

  A cold sensation bit into Martin’s neck and the unknown woman whispered in his ear, “This, my fine young man, is going to hurt a great deal.”

  An excruciating pain erupted in his back and what felt like a vise clamped down on his heart.

  As the pressure increased, Martin understood two things.

  The first was that he was unable to scream. And the second was that the woman had told him the truth.

  Chapter 31: David Brings in the New Team

  The women, Gabby and Jenna, were twins. Not particularly young, but not old either. David couldn’t place their ages and he found that oddly disconcerting.

  “Is this it?” Jenna asked. The red tie she wore with her black suit was the only way he could tell the difference between the women.

  David glanced at Borgin, then back to Jenna and wanted to ask if she saw another medieval style home around. But he didn’t. He kept his temper because he was almost done. He had to bring them in and make the introduction to Emmanuel, if he could find him.

  David wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but it was something he had always known he would have to do. It was how it transpired, and had for as long as he had worked for the Watchers. For those ghosts who were cognizant and rational enough to interact on a somewhat normal basi
s with the living, introductions were absolutely necessary. The pleasantries cut back on unwanted deaths.

  “How long are we going to wait here?” Gabby asked.

  “Until I say so,” David snapped.

  The women looked at him in surprise, but they didn’t flinch or recoil. They were hard, just as everyone he had ever met in the organization was.

  “Okay, Gramps,” Jenna said. “No need to get all cranky.”

  David looked at her and wondered what it would be like to draw his pistol and execute her in front of her twin.

  Jenna seemed to sense his desire and she raised her hands up and apologized.

  David gave a curt nod, reached into the back of the truck and pulled out his shotgun.

  “Do you need that?” Gabby asked, sounding more curious than derogatory.

  “You’ve been briefed on what occurred here on my last trip?” he asked.

  Jenna nodded and Gabby said, “Sure, unknown ghost took out your partner.”

  “Yes,” David said, “and I have every intention of making him extremely uncomfortable if he reappears.”

  The twins shrugged simultaneously and waited for David to take the lead.

  Cradling the shotgun, David stepped away from the truck and forced himself forward. He hated the sight of Borgin Keep, the way it protruded from the hill and stabbed at the skyline. David had always known it was a terrible place, and one that might well be the death of him.

  For some reason he had never thought it would claim Blanche.

  He realized it had been a stupid oversight on his part, as was his attachment to her. But they had been friends, and David had never had many of them.

  “Who built this again?” one of the twins asked from behind him.

  “A monster,” David answered. “He’s the worst I’ve ever met. He doesn’t always appear when we arrive. If he shows up tonight, and I hope to God he does, then you’ll see it. Even smell it. And let me tell you, I haven’t known too many of the dead that I could actually smell. Seems like there’s a cloud of death that follows him around. Maybe it’s just me.”

  Gabby came up to his left. “Maybe. Who knows, though. I knew a ghost, little girl, down in Providence. She smelled exactly like peppermint. Couldn’t figure it out until I learned she had used a peppermint to choke her nanny to death.”