by Ron Ripley
“What a sweetheart,” David muttered.
“Hey,” Jenna said from behind, “takes all kinds to make a world.”
Gabby laughed and David could only shrug at their private joke. His concern for them dropped the closer they got to the Keep. There was a change in the air, a coldness that surprised him. They were still a hundred feet away and the temperature lowered with every step.
The twins became quiet. Finally, Gabby asked, “Is it always this cold?”
David could only shake his head, not trusting his voice to be steady.
“How strong is he?” Jenna asked, coming up on his right.
“It isn’t just him,” David said, clearing his throat to mask his fear. “No one’s sure how many he has killed. Or how many others died after he vanished.”
“Hold on,” Jenna said. “I thought he was dead and buried on the grounds.”
“It’s what the organization suspects,” David said, wondering why the women hadn’t read the dossier on Emmanuel Borgin or his house. “Even now he won’t confirm that he died on the grounds. Or even where he’s buried. If he is buried. He might be tucked away in one of the rooms no one ever found.”
“House of horrors?” Gabby asked.
Jenna snickered as David nodded.
“There were always the rumors about sacrifice and black magic,” David said, leading the way towards the back of the building. “They were never confirmed. The journals and diaries of others who were frequent visitors here do mention ritual cannibalism, though. And it seems like it’s something the dead here wish they could enjoy again.”
“We’ve heard rumors that this is where our people go when they misbehave,” Gabby said.
“It is,” David replied. He stopped and looked at the twins. “That’s part of your job. To help people disappear.”
The women smiled.
“No,” David said, shaking his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. That was executing someone. Maybe making it look like an accident. Or a crime. Maybe even digging a grave somewhere, or dumping them in the ocean. That’s child’s play. This, Borgin, it’s the real deal. You do something bad enough, and Blanche and I, we brought you here.”
The twins glanced at one another and then Jenna asked, “Like who?”
“Think about it,” David said. “This is your job now. Think about someone who the organization would love to have put in here.”
“That’s easy,” Gabby said.
Jenna nodded. “Abigail. But Abigail got away. Scooted right out after that mess she managed to make in New Hampshire.”
“She didn’t make the mess,” David corrected. “She just panicked. She ran.”
“Yeah she did,” Jenna said. “I heard from one of the accountants that they were able to trace some of her money to the Keys.”
David nodded. “That’s definitely where some of the money is. But that’s not where she is.”
“Oh yeah?” Gabby scoffed. “And do you know where she is?”
David gestured towards the Keep.
Jenna raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”
“I put her in there,” David said, and he started to walk again.
“What happened to her?” Gabby asked as they hurried to keep up.
“They took her arms and her legs,” David answered.
“And then you cleaned up the remains, right?” Jenna asked.
“It never got that far,” David clarified.
“Why not?” Gabby asked.
“Because of what happened to Blanche,” David said. “Harlan had to call in a few favors. One of the New Hampshire agents showed up at the Vermont State Police impound yard and claimed the Jeep as his own. Plus Harlan had another one of our people working in the yard that day.”
“And that worked?” Gabby asked.
David snorted. “Of course it worked. Cops never suspect anything. We’ve had people in law enforcement for a hundred years. Why do you think no one ever tore the Keep down? Or any of the others?”
“Oh,” Jenna said, nodding. “But you’ve still got to get rid of the body, right. I heard that, from Harlan.”
“When he was explaining the job,” Gabby added. “Whoever got caught in here, the remains had to be taken care of.”
“I didn’t clean up her remains,” David said as they reached the door to the kitchen.
“Why not?” Jenna asked.
“She’s not dead yet,” David stated, and he went into the Keep.
Chapter 32: Another Interrogation
Marie Lafontaine sat in the chair across from Shane Ryan and looked at the man she had once been intimate with.
Physically he was no longer the same. He had been beaten and bloodied, shot and burned. His left ear was healed, but a mangled mess. Scar tissue, pink and raw, was pulled tight along the right side of his neck. As he tapped his feet he drummed his fingers on the table, and she saw again how he had only eight remaining.
The skin on his face was stretched thin, as if he hadn’t been eating well for months. Beneath his eyes were black circles and a vein thumped rhythmically in his left temple. His eyes watched her and they were guarded.
They were in Interrogation Room 2. Room 1, where Shane had been kept when brought in by Martin was being processed as a crime-scene.
Less than an hour earlier, Shane had opened the door to Room 1, stepped out and informed a passing officer that the Lieutenant was dead.
Shane had been secured in the second interrogation room, and then it was discovered that the cameras focused on Room 1 had been turned off. All of the cameras. It hadn’t been a malfunction because the different pieces of equipment ran on various systems, ensuring that at least one was always able to catch the interrogation of a suspect fully.
The Lieutenant was indeed dead. He was without any signs of obvious trauma, and no one quite knew when the man had died. The last anyone had seen of him had been near the coffee pot almost two hours earlier.
“Hello, Shane,” Marie said.
“Hello, Marie,” Shane said, his voice tight. “Funny meeting you in a place like this, huh?”
There was no humor in his voice and none in his eyes.
She had called him after Kurt’s funeral, but Shane hadn’t answered, or returned her text messages.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“You should ask the Lieutenant,” he replied.
Marie kept herself from frowning. “He’s dead.”
“That, I have discovered, doesn’t stop some people,” Shane said.
“Well, if I see him around I’ll ask him,” Marie quipped. “Since he’s not here, either physically or spiritually, why don’t you fill me in?”
“Evidently, the gentleman in question didn’t appreciate my mouth,” Shane answered. “So he brought me in to chat about the man who immolated himself in my side yard.”
“And did you have anything you could tell him about that?” she asked.
“I told him where he could go,” Shane said. “And how to get there. And how most of his friends could go with him.”
Marie sighed. “Did you tell him anything pertaining to the man who lit himself on fire?”
“No.” Shane yawned. “I did not.”
“Alright,” Marie said, changing tack. “How did the Lieutenant die?”
Shane shrugged.
“When did he die?” she asked.
He shrugged again, rolling his shoulders and yawning again.
“How long did you wait before you told someone he was dead?” Marie asked.
“Until I was sure he was dead,” Shane replied.
“Why did you wait until you were sure?” she asked, surprised.
“Because I didn’t like him,” Shane snapped. “I wasn’t going to perform CPR on him and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone else to either.”
Marie sat back, stunned.
Shane shook his head. “Don’t look shocked, Marie. He was miserable. He’s in a better place.”
“D
id you kill him?” she demanded, leaning forward.
Shane grinned. “No. No, I did not.”
“Did he just fall over and die then?” Marie asked.
“Sure,” Shane said. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Marie said.
“Going to sleep,” he answered. “I’m tired. Your Lieutenant kept me up for a little too long.”
“You can’t go to sleep,” Marie hissed. “That man is dead, Shane.”
Shane cracked open his eyes, looking at her through narrow slits.
“He is dead,” Shane responded. “And I can go to sleep. I don’t care. I didn’t care that he fell down. Didn’t bother me that he died. Now, do me a favor, Marie. Either send me downstairs to one of the cells so I can at least sleep on a cot, or leave the room and turn off the light. I’m tired.”
A knock on the door interrupted her.
In silence, she stood up and left the room.
Detective Dwayne Bright was in the hallway, an unhappy look on his face.
“What’s up?” Marie asked, closing the door behind her.
“They got Martin to the hospital,” Dwayne said. “No marks on him except for what the coroner swears is frostbite.”
“Frostbite?” Marie asked, stiffening.
Dwayne nodded. “Yeah, he says there’s a spot of it the size of a fist on Martin’s back, like someone put a piece of the Arctic there and held it for a while. Doesn’t know what the hell could have caused it, and he won’t know the cause of death until he can open Martin up. He’s going to get on it today.”
“Alright,” Marie said, regaining her composure.
“Do you think he had anything to do with it?” Dwayne asked, nodding towards the interrogation room.
“I don’t think so,” she answered. “But I’ll keep asking.”
Dwayne gave a sad nod. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”
Once he turned and left, Marie reentered the interrogation room.
Shane was in the same position, his eyes closed once more.
She slammed the door shut but he didn’t react.
“Who did it?” she demanded.
“Who did what, Marie?” Shane asked.
“Who killed him?” she hissed in a voice barely audible. “Carl? Eloise? Was it Courtney?”
At the last name, Shane’s eyes snapped open.
“No,” Shane answered after a moment of silence. “None of them. Why don’t you review the video? See what you get.”
Marie almost told him there was no video, but she kept the information to herself.
“I want you to tell me who did it,” Marie said, sitting down.
A bitter smile crept onto his face.
“You don’t know,” he said, straightening up. “There’s nothing on the film. Or did he turn it off? He did, didn’t he? The Lieutenant was worried someone might see a little something they shouldn’t, so he shut it off. Easy enough to explain I’m guessing or he wouldn’t have risked it.”
Marie clenched her teeth but said nothing.
She didn’t need to.
“Yes,” Shane whispered. “That was it.”
In a louder voice he said, “I really don’t know what happened to that fine, upstanding officer. It’s a shame really. I was shocked. Surprised. Saddened. Horrified. I don’t know, let’s put through a few more adjectives out there, shall we? Lock me up or send me home, Marie. I’ve had about enough for one day.”
Marie wanted to put him in a cell. Judge Valade was on the bench for the day and he didn’t have an issue with signing a material witness warrant.
But that would only seal Shane’s lips permanently and Marie wanted to know what had happened to Martin.
Without looking at Shane, Marie stood up and left the room. She needed to get the okay to let Shane go.
Shane’s bitter laughter followed her down the hall.
Chapter 33: In the Keep’s Kitchen
The room was an atrocity.
It stank of death, the fetid odor of rotting human flesh polluting the air. The bags containing the remains of the most recent trespasser, as well as the limbs of Abigail, remained where David had left them.
Blanche was face down on the floor. She looked like a child’s abandoned toy, and he realized that she had been nothing more than that in the end.
David shined his flashlight around the kitchen.
“What’s in the bags?” Jenna asked, pointing her own light at one of them.
“The last person to trespass here,” he answered.
“Got it,” Jenna said. “We were told there’s a landfill with a crematorium nearby?”
David nodded. “West Lebanon. Retired prison guard runs it. Doesn’t mind the extra money and doesn’t ask any questions.”
David stepped further into the room, went around Blanche’s corpse, and reached the door into the main hall. He stepped out and held the flashlight up. The hall was empty and he waited in silence until the twins joined him.
“Why aren’t there any doors?” Gabby asked.
He didn’t look around. “It changes.”
“What? That’s true?” Jenna asked.
David looked at her. “Listen to me. Listen well. This building changes. Constantly. Whether it’s only an effect of the ley lines beneath the foundation, or if it’s really some twisted, brilliant architectural masterpiece, the Keep changes. You will get lost in here. It has happened to others. And they haven’t been found. All of the rumors about Borgin Keep are true, and you need to remember that.”
“Alright,” Jenna murmured. “We’ll remember it.”
“How do we meet him?” Gabby asked. “Do we call for him?”
David shook his head. “He doesn’t know you. He’d rather take you deeper into the Keep than listen to you. I hope he listens to me.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Gabby asked.
“I give him a belly full of salt and we run like hell and hope we can get out before he comes at us,” David explained.
“Have you had to do that before?” Jenna asked.
“Once,” David said.
“Did you get injured?” Jenna asked.
“You could say so,” David answered.
“How so?” Gabby inquired.
“Let’s just say that before that incident, having children was an option,” David said.
Neither of the twins said anything.
David pushed the painful memory away and took a deep breath as he adjusted his grip on the shotgun.
“Emmanuel!” he called out.
There was no echo. The building seemed to devour the sound of his voice.
“Emmanuel!” David yelled again.
From a shadow, the dead man emerged. A wide, manic smile was spread across his face and he laughed as he saw them.
“Hello, David,” Emmanuel said. “Blanche is here.”
David shivered and said, “I know.”
“I’m glad. She misses you,” the dead man continued. “She is ever so fond of you. Did you know Abigail is still alive?”
“How?” David asked, surprised.
“A wounded deer,” Emmanuel whispered. “It was chased in here by someone, and she’s eating it. Right down to the bone! You can hear her gnawing on them, it’s so very exciting, David.”
Then Emmanuel straightened up and smiled past David at the twins.
“And you are Gabby and Jenna?” the ghost inquired.
David nodded that they were, and then he stopped.
“How did you know that?” David asked.
Emmanuel smiled. “Is he the one then?”
Horrified, David spun around and pulled the trigger on the shotgun, but the hammer merely clicked.
“Sorry,” Gabby said without the slightest hint of sympathy. “Harlan doesn’t believe you’ll be quiet once you retire.”
The shotgun was ripped from his hands and thrown aside. A cold hand grabbed him by his hair and jerked him off his f
eet.
David tried to free himself, twisting to the left and right.
Emmanuel’s laughter filled his ears as he dragged him backward.
His flashlight was knocked out of his hand and David was plunged into darkness.
“Relax, David,” the dead man said. “There are so many people here that you know!”
Which was exactly what David was afraid of.
Chapter 34: On the Way
Shane had been to many places in his life. He’d traveled the world and drank and fought with some of the best. There had been rough bars in Thailand, taverns in England, and beer gardens in Germany. He had drunk homemade vodka in Serbia and smoked hash with tribal leaders in Iraq.
Never, however, had he set foot in an abbey before.
“You look nervous,” Frank said, putting the magazine he had been reading down.
Shane chuckled, adjusted his dog tags under his shirt and nodded. “Little bit.”
“Why?” Frank asked. The question was sincere, without a mocking tone.
“I know what I’ve done,” Shane replied. “Kind of feels like it’s wrong to be in here.”
“Well,” Frank said, “first you have to get rid of that idea. You’re in an abbey, not a church. Second, if we were in a church, that would be the perfect place to reflect on what you’ve done. Church is where you can ask forgiveness, and God can forgive, Shane.”
“That’s the thing,” Shane said, clearing his throat. “I don’t want forgiveness. I don’t feel bad about anything I’ve done.”
Frank’s eyes widened and he sat back. “That’s a whole different story then.”
“Yeah, it is,” Shane said. Before the conversation could continue on its uncomfortable course, an older man walked into the small waiting room.
The stranger was tall and what could only be described as well-built. His jaw was square, his eyes bright behind a pair of black framed glasses, and his steel gray hair was cut close to the scalp.
Both Shane and Frank got to their feet, the authority of the man was undeniable. It radiated from him.
“Shane, this is Abbot Gregory. Sir, this is my friend, Shane Ryan,” Frank said.