by Ron Ripley
Part of him tried to shove the memory away, back down into the dark hole he had dug within his heart to keep all the good times safe, but he refused to allow the memory to be taken from him.
I miss her, he thought. And it’s okay to miss her. It’s alright.
He sat for a long time in silence, his monitor eventually going dark.
Finally, he straightened up, and turned the screen back on. An email alert blinked at the bottom of the screen and, frowning, he clicked on it.
After the fires, Victor had set himself up for news alerts regarding suspected arson in northern West Virginia.
And there was another fire.
In the same town as the last two, and Victor suspected that if he looked at a map of the town, he would find the address of the new fire to be close to the others.
Well within the mile parameter of a ghost who was possessing people.
Or little boys.
Victor followed a link in the message that brought him to an article about the fire, which mentioned the others. There was also an additional link to the discovery of a body near the scene of the arson.
Victor read through the article about the fire, then the one about the body, which was little more than a quick explanation. No details were given by the journalist.
The comments, Victor discovered, had more information than the article.
As he read through them, he learned that the victim had been tortured and mutilated. The body was that of an unidentified man, but one of the commentators believed the person to be an amateur journalist who had been in the area. Near the bottom of the list of comments, Victor read several that disturbed him.
Ann C. wrote: Police were here asking if I saw any kids hanging around.
Mike F. wrote: Same here. Had a detective ask if there were any kids nearby.
Michael H. wrote: Yup, wanted to know if there were any troublemakers. Said none that would do something like set a fire.
Ann C. wrote: I think they’re looking for the kids to ask about the murder.
Dennis D. wrote: That’s it exactly. I overheard them talking when I was coming back from my walk.
Victor turned away from the monitor and stared at the wall for a long time, trying to gather his thoughts.
This is too much, he told himself. I need to find where the book she’s bound to is. Someone has to know.
Swinging his chair back to the screen, he brought up Google and typed in bookstores in the northeast portion of West Virginia. As the screen was populated with the results, Victor hunched forward and tried to think of the different places the haunted book might be hidden.
Chapter 39: Looking for a Friend
Stefan tightened the strap of his rifle, then brought it up to his shoulder quickly, sighting along the barrel and firing off a quick shot. He used the scope to see where he had hit the target, and he let out a grunt of satisfaction.
The round had struck the target in the center, an inch or so away from a perfect shot. But the distance was 75 feet, and when he had still possessed both eyes, he would have been able to put the round through the dead center at three times the distance.
Shaking his head, Stefan lowered the rifle, slung it on his back, and crossed the long, cracked concrete back to his small rooms. Once there he put the rifle on the counter in the kitchen and took out his 1911 Colt .45. He was satisfied that he could hit targets center-mass with a small caliber weapon. What he needed to carry was a firearm that had enough punch to put a man down with the first round.
And the Colt was guaranteed to do that.
It was a big, loud, and heavy weapon. A sledgehammer in comparison to the weapons he preferred.
But Stefan needed to get the job done, and not to massage his own ego.
He picked the holster up, clipped it to his belt, then slipped the pistol into place. Stefan added several spare magazines and made certain he had a pair of knives as well. With the comforting weight of the pistol on his side, he wondered if it would prove strong enough to take care of Anne Le Morte.
Probably not, he told himself. It should take care of her friend. Even with her looking out for him.
Still, Stefan thought, what am I going to do about her?
He left the kitchen, letting the problem roll around in his head. By the time he reached the observation room, he had come up with a rough solution.
If I’m going to destroy her, he thought, then I need to find an appropriate weapon, which is going to require a significant amount of time. If I’m going to take her prisoner, that too is going to require a significant amount of time.
I’ll have to lure them away, to someplace where she won't be able to influence anyone, Stefan thought.
He turned on his laptop, brought up a map of the area and began to scour it. For two hours, he searched, and then he sat back, grinning. He picked up the bottle of vodka he had begun to keep by his chair and took a celebratory drink.
A narrow valley cut through the back part of the land he owned, and it turned into a small, box canyon. He doubted many people would hike into such a place, knowing they would need to hike all the way out again. Most hikers he had met enjoyed circuitous routes that brought them back to where they had come from.
The box canyon wouldn’t appeal to anyone.
Except for him.
Time to go and find them, Stefan thought. He stood up, took another drink, then set the bottle down. In silence, he walked toward the exit.
***
Ariana sat in the hotel room and considered whether she should reach out to Victor Daniels. She found the man interesting, and attractive. It was a strange sensation, one she rarely allowed herself to explore. Her life, as a child and as an adult, had been dedicated to her father. Ivan Denisovich had been at first a living god, and then a dead one. But he still had been a god. No one had ever come close to replacing him in her heart, and she did not believe Victor Daniels would.
It was still a curious thought, the idea that someone might demand as much attention as her father.
And the more time she spent in contact with Victor, the more it seemed like it could happen.
Not that he would let it, she thought, taking a sip of her tea.
Ariana was well aware of Victor’s past, of what had brought him to the hunt for Stefan Korzh. What had dragged him into the world in which she was born and raised in.
Stranger things have happened, she told herself, and she smiled at the ridiculousness of her emotions. Is he the forbidden fruit? Is that why he is so attractive to me?
Ariana shrugged and finished her tea.
She considered again how she had approached him in the bar, how she had told him of Bontoc and Anne Le Morte, and she sighed.
That had been stupid, she scolded herself, getting up and walking to the bed. Shedding her robe, Ariana climbed onto the bed and slipped between the sheets, sighing. Her body still ached from the injuries visited upon her by Stefan. The scars could be repaired, she knew. Erased with plastic surgery and cosmetics.
She wouldn’t let them vanish. The scars would remind her of her mistake, and of how her life had almost been lost.
She thought of Victor attempting to lay hands on Stefan, and she shuddered. Stefan Korzh enjoyed the act of killing.
Victor Daniels clearly did not.
She glanced at her phone on the bed table. Victor’s number was in her phone, and she could call him, tell him where Stefan was.
No, she thought, closing her eyes. Anne needs to have her chance at him first. Maybe she’ll get it done, the way father wants. Maybe Victor won’t even have to get involved. It’ll be cleaner that way. Easier for everyone involved.
But when she slept, Ariana dreamt of her brother and watching him die under Victor's blows.
Chapter 40: Shane’s Gift
Tom entered the study and found Victor asleep at the desk, the man’s head tilted back, mouth open and snoring lightly.
Picking up a thin blanket off the other chair, Tom brought it to the older man and
covered him as best he could with one hand. When he finished, Tom picked up the package that the hammer had been shipped in, and an object rattled against the inside.
Curious, Tom carried the package out of the room and into his bedroom. Holding it above his bed, he shook the packaging until a small, folded piece of paper, fell out.
Tom opened the paper, a small incisor slipping onto his bed. He glanced at it, then read the note Shane had written.
Hey kid, this is for you. Keep it with you. His name is Chaos, and he’s a pain in the ass. But, like all good dogs, he's loyal as hell. Treat him right, and he'll do right by you.
Shane
Tom put the note on the bed, picked up the tooth and shuddered at the cold that seeped out of the enamel.
“Chaos?” he whispered.
A low growl instantly filled the room, and Tom jerked around.
In the doorway to his room stood a small, short hair terrier. Cold pulsed off the canine, and he glared at Tom.
Tightening his grip on the tooth, Tom forced himself to remain calm and to think of what Shane had written.
Breathing slowly, Tom sank to one knee and said, “Hi Chaos, I’m Tom.”
The dog’s growling stopped, and he tilted his head a fraction.
Tom smiled, feeling relief wash over him. “Yes, I’m Tom. I’m a friend of Shane’s.”
With the mentioning of Shane, the dog’s tail whipped back and forth, and the dog vanished.
From beside the bed came a small voice, “Was that a dog?”
Tom glanced over at Ezekiel and nodded to the dead boy.
“A dead dog?” Ezekiel asked.
“Yeah,” Tom said, getting up and sitting down on his bed.
Ezekiel took a step into the room, looking around. “Tom, do you think he would play with me? I miss my dog.”
Tom nodded, smiled and said, “Sure, I think so. You want me to try and call him back?”
“Yes, please,” Ezekiel whispered.
“Okay,” Tom said. He squeezed the tooth in his hand and called out, “Chaos.”
And the dead dog came out to play with the boy.
Chapter 41: A Walk in the Woods
Stefan walked along the narrow path, his movements slow and sure. Soon, he knew, he would come upon some trace of Anne Le Morte and her caretaker. When that occurred, he would have to lead them on a chase, down into the box canyon, and solve at least that part of the problem.
He had been on the move for over three hours, stopping only once to eat and rest his legs. His empty eye socket throbbed with pain, and he popped several aspirins as he walked. He grimaced as he chewed them, the bitterness helping to fend off the exhaustion he felt creeping in upon him.
Stefan came to a stop and crouched down.
The wrapper for a Snickers candy bar clung to the base of a tree.
He picked the plastic up and turned it over. There were still traces of chocolate in it, and the dye in the plastic wasn’t faded from the sun.
Stefan dropped the wrapper to the trail and stood. He glanced around, tilting his head slightly to smell the air, and as the wind shifted, he caught a faint scent of body odor and human waste. Turning towards the direction of the wind, Stefan saw a slim path that branched off the main trail. He loosened the .45 in its holster, made certain his knives were within easy reach, and followed the new path.
His steps became lighter, his focus greater as he closed in on Anne and her caretaker. Stefan knew he would need to move quickly, staying close enough for them to see but not close enough to touch.
The further along the path he went, the stronger the odor of unwashed flesh became. A new scent joined the first, that of fire and roasting meat.
A moment later, Stefan heard a man’s voice speaking in French, and a woman’s voice responded a heartbeat later.
Creeping forward, Stefan searched for the man, and soon he found him.
Anne Le Morte’s caretaker sat beside a fire, across from which Anne’s doll was propped. A hunk of flesh, pierced by a long, narrow shaft of metal, was hung above the fire. Fat dripped from the meat, hissing when it struck the flames.
An urge to draw his .45 and empty the magazine into the man swelled within Stefan, but he stifled it. Killing the man outside of the canyon would not solve the problem of Anne.
Far from it.
Stefan wormed his way back a few feet, got to his feet and took several deep breaths. With his mind clear and his lungs prepared to work at full capacity, he stepped purposefully on a fallen branch and broke it. As the dry wood cracked loudly in the forest, Stefan let out an angry, exaggerated curse.
The reaction from the caretaker and Anne was instantaneous.
They exchanged exclamations in French, and Stefan heard the man scramble to his feet.
Trying not to grin, Stefan turned, found the sun's position quickly, and broke into a run. In his mind's eye, he fixed his place on the map of his property and sought out the canyon.
Behind him, the caretaker crashed through the underbrush, and the race was on.
Chapter 42: A Quick Chat
Victor woke up with a crick in his neck and a dry mouth. He winced as he straightened up in his chair, and he was surprised to see the blanket on his lap.
“You’re awake,” Tom said from the doorway.
“Yes,” Victor said, carefully massaging the sore muscles of his neck. “Thanks for the blanket.”
Tom nodded.
“What are you up to?” Victor asked.
Tom shrugged, then said, “Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, of course,” Victor said, motioning for the boy to sit.
Tom did so, adjusting his prosthetic.
“What’s on your mind?” Victor asked.
“I’ve been talking with Shane, and emailing one of his friends, a man named Brian Roy,” Tom answered. “It’s about the dead.”
Victor waited for the boy to continue. Tom hesitated for a moment, then the words rushed out of him.
“I can see the dead,” Tom said quickly. “I mean, even when they don’t want to be seen. Sometimes it’s just a change in the light, or it can be a full-fledged figure. But I can see them, I can see what they’re doing. I think I always could. I remember, you know, when I was a little boy, and seeing people in graveyards, or on stretches of road. But it wasn't until recently when we were around the dead all of the time that I understood that I could see them, even when they didn't want to be seen.”
“Oh,” Victor said, surprised. He blinked, shook his head and asked, “And this is what’s bothering you?”
Tom nodded and added, “And, I don’t know if it bothers me. I feel like I should be able to do something more with this gift. Maybe I shouldn’t be so focused on Stefan Korzh. I thought maybe I should help you, when you go chasing after those items, like the radio up in New Hampshire.”
“Tom,” Victor began, then he stopped.
“What?” Tom asked. “Are you okay?”
Victor nodded. “Tom, can you sense a ghost as well as see them?”
“I don’t know,” Tom answered, frowning. “I haven’t thought of it. I could try. Why?”
Forgetting about the pain in his neck, Victor leaned over his desk, trying to contain his excitement.
“There have been some fires, and a couple of murders,” Victor said. “I know a possessed item was sent into the area, and that the ghost was an arsonist when alive. The thing is, I think she’s possessing a boy, and she’s using him to set the fires, and to commit the murders. I don’t know where she is. But I need to find her.”
Tom was silent for a few moments, then he said in a low voice, “I can find her.”
“Are you sure?” Victor asked.
“One way or another,” Tom answered, “I can find her.”
“Alright,” Victor said, standing up. He glanced at his clock and saw it was after three in the afternoon. “How soon can you be ready to go?”
“Give me ten minutes,” Tom said. “I�
�ll text Iris on the way out. I need to gather a few things.”
“Okay,” Victor said, and when the boy had left the room, he picked up his courier case. Flipping it open, he placed the hammer he had used on Hank’s radio in the case. From a drawer, he added matches, lighter fluid, and salt. Finally, from the top of the desk, he picked up the iron ring Shane had given him. He slipped it onto his finger, flexed his hands several times. Closing the case, he slid the strap over his shoulder and picked up his phone.
The tremors in his hands caused the phone to shake as he turned it on. He accessed the gallery and brought up the only photo he still had of Erin.
He stared at the picture until Tom came back to the study.
“You okay?” Tom asked.
Victor nodded, cleared his throat and put his phone in his pocket. “Yes. Let’s get this done.”
In silence, the two left the study to seek out the heart of Molly’s fires.
Chapter 43: Running Through the Wilderness
Stefan hated the man behind him.
Despite the caretaker's poor physical appearance and horrific smell, the man dogged his heels.
A stitch had developed in Stefan’s side, and every step was painful. And he still had at least half a mile to run, if not longer. When the wind shifted, it carried to him the stench of the caretaker and the maddening song of Anne Le Morte.
Stefan had been running for over an hour, and he had felt blisters form and pop on his heels. His breath came in ragged inhalations, and all he wanted to do was drive his fingers through the caretaker’s eyes and gut him like a fish.
Focus! Stefan reprimanded himself.
Then, for the first time, he felt the ground begin to descend.
He had reached the first mark of the slim valley.