by Ripley, Ron
The library, while being a good size, wasn’t so large that they couldn’t look at all of the shelves from where they sat at the desk. Charles was carefully moving his eyes over each shelf when Ellen spoke.
“There,” she said, getting up and pointing. “That box on the bottom shelf.”
Charles looked where she was pointing and stood up, catching sight of a box that took up an entire bottom shelf. He hadn’t noticed it before, and he probably would have looked right past it again. Mr. Sherman had stacked books upon the box, and the box’s wood was the same color as the shelves.
Charles and Ellen walked over to the shelf together, and they both sat down on the floor. In silence, they pulled the books off of the box, stacking them neatly on the floor beside them. As soon as the box was clear, and they pulled it out off of the shelf.
“Go ahead,” Ellen said, looking at him. “You can do the honors.”
“Thanks,” Charles said wryly.
“No problem.” Ellen grinned.
Charles took hold of the lid and lifted it up, the top heavy. When he got it opened completely, Charles saw why.
The entire box was lined with what looked like lead.
Within the box’s narrow confines were a few items. A folded letter, a small knife, a couple coins, and a bronze ring.
Charles felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up, and it seemed as though he heard a low growl. He closed the box and looked at Ellen.
“Want to finish this downstairs in the dining room?” he asked.
Her eyes had widened slightly, and she nodded.
Together they stood up, grabbed their coffees and left the room. He locked the door, put the key away and followed Ellen down into the dining room. His notebook and Mr. Sherman’s journal were still on the table where he had left them. Charles took a seat, and Ellen sat down on his right.
“Did you hear a dog growl?” she asked after a minute.
“Yeah,” Charles said. “That’s the puritan’s great dane.”
“Okay. I don’t want to meet either of them.”
“Understood. I didn’t want to meet them to begin with.”
“No doubt,” she sighed. “So, that’s Mr. Sherman’s journal?”
“Yes,” Charles nodded. “I want to see if there’s anything in here about the items that were up in the box.”
“Did he keep notes on the other stuff?”
Charles nodded again.
“Well,” Ellen said, “he probably kept notes on those too.”
“I hope so,” Charles said. “I hope like hell the box works.”
“Me too,” Ellen said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Me too.”
Chapter Three
Elmer and Dave in the ICU
Elmer had very little time left.
Fiona and the boys would be home by six o’clock in the evening, which meant Elmer would have to be there to greet them, or else Fiona would be worried about him. When Fiona was worried, life was unpleasant.
Elmer sat close to Dave and wondered if the man was ever going to come out of the coma the doctors had induced.
Elmer doubted it.
The doctors hadn’t passed on any uplifting information. In fact, a Doctor Cho had informed Elmer he might want to start considering funeral arrangements and had even sent a social worker to talk to him.
No, Elmer sighed. It didn’t seem like old Dave was going to be able to pull out of it. Which meant Elmer was going to have to do some legwork. Or rather, he was going to have to hire a private detective to do some legwork. Fiona would be worried if Elmer went out and about—which was completely out of character. There was a reason Elmer worked from home.
He didn’t like people much.
His two days in the ICU had tested his patience.
He had seen one woman die, and another one was on her way out. Good God, the amount of bitching and complaining that went on was enough to want him to put them all out of their misery.
Elmer let out a long, slow breath and focused on the goal. He needed to obtain all of those items Captain Epp had spoken of.
Elmer needed them.
This was far beyond want. That’s what Fiona couldn’t understand about his museum of hate. Elmer didn’t want the items, he needed them. When he found out one was available for purchase, he had to have it.
It was as simple as that.
Dave moved on the bed.
Ever so slightly, but he had moved.
Elmer straightened up, risked a glance out to the nurses’ station to make sure no one was watching, and got far closer to Dave than they had said was okay.
“Dave,” Elmer said in a low voice, barely audible over the various noises of the machines connected to the old pawnbroker.
Dave moved again, his head turning gingerly towards the sound of Elmer’s voice.
Elmer’s heart beat rapidly. “Dave, can you hear me?”
The heart monitor beeped rapidly.
Dave nodded.
“Dave, it’s Elmer. Where did you get the bayonet from?”
Dave mumbled something around the breathing tube in his mouth, and Elmer leaned even closer. Elmer clenched the arms of the chair, fighting the desire to rip the breathing tube right out of Dave’s mouth.
“Dave!” Elmer hissed. “Where did you get it from?!”
An alarm sounded on one of the machines, and movement at the nurses’ station caught Elmer’s eye. The nurses rushed towards the room, and the doctor on duty came out of another patient’s room.
Swearing vehemently under his breath, Elmer pushed himself back and away from Dave’s side, making room for the medical staff.
Someone asked him to leave, and Elmer nodded, getting up and stalking out of the room, and out of ICU altogether. Dave was flat-lining. There wasn’t any more to learn here. Elmer was going to have to hire someone.
Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, Elmer made his way to the parking garage, wondering who he should call.
Chapter Four
Charles and John Talk about the Bayonet
Charles had received a text from Lee that read, John, and the man’s cell phone number.
Charles parked his car in the lot of St. Philip’s Greek Orthodox Church, directly across from the Nashua Police Station. He looked at the time and saw it was four o’clock in the afternoon on the nose. Charles called John’s cell.
After two rings, the phone was answered, and a cautious voice asked, “Hello?”
“John?” Charles asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Charles. I’m Lee Parker’s friend.”
There was a pause, and Charles could hear the man’s breath quicken.
“Oh,” John said. “Yes. Yes. Lee said you would be calling.”
“I’m calling,” Charles said. He kept his tone neutral, his voice low. “I need something out of the evidence room.”
“Sure,” John said. “If I can.”
“No,” Charles said evenly. “There is no ‘if’ here, John.”
“Um, okay,” John said. “What do you need?”
“A bayonet came in from a murder. I need the bayonet.”
There was a long pause before John answered. “I can’t get that out of evidence for you.”
“John,” Charles said, “that’s not what I want to hear from you. Try another answer.”
The next pause was even longer, and for a moment Charles thought the man had hung up on him.
“It’s not here,” John said. “I, I already sold it.”
“To whom, John?” Charles said.
“I—”
“Don’t tell me you can’t, John,” Charles said, his old temper flaring, “because I swear to Christ that I will make sure you drink your food for the rest of your life.”
“A pawnbroker,” John said. “A pawnbroker in Milford. Guy’s name is Dave Ganz. Runs a little shop on the oval. I sold it to him a couple of days ago. I don’t know if he’ll still have it or not. He tends to move stuff pretty quickly.”
> A cold rage swept over Charles. This ass had put someone else’s life at risk because he needed cash.
“Um, are you going to clear me with Lee?” John asked.
“We’ll see,” Charles said, and he ended the call.
Dropping the phone into the console, he closed his eyes and got his temper under control. The man couldn’t know what the bayonet did. A few days earlier Charles wouldn’t have known.
Opening his eyes, Charles picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Lee. All good. Thanks.
Charles put the phone down, started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot. He needed to see what Dave Ganz had at the flea market. He needed to do it soon.
Chapter Five
Ellen and the Music Box
Ellen used the spare key Charles had given her to get into the house, putting her bag down on the floor by the front door and automatically looking for the peg to hang her keys on.
But she wasn’t in her apartment, so there was no peg to hang them on.
With a sigh, she dropped the keys on her bag, locked the door, and made her way upstairs to her bedroom. She’d managed to bring a few more belongings over from the apartment, but only when Charles or Betty had been able to help her. Ellen grabbed a change of clothes and went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and got dressed. She didn’t bother with make-up or doing anything with her hair other than blow-drying it.
She had no reason for anything.
Ellen pushed those thoughts out of her mind, picked up her dirty laundry and dropped it into the hamper. She opened the door to leave the bathroom and stopped.
She could hear music.
A soft, beautiful, classical piece sounded like it was coming from a music box.
Ellen looked to the right and saw the library door.
The music was coming through the door, and Ellen wanted to hear it better. She knew she could hear it better in the library.
Of course, she could listen to it better in the library. She could leave the light off and sit in the leather chair, and listen to the music.
She could open the door. Charles had put the key up on the top of the door jamb. She had seen him. She would have to grab the chair out of his room so she could reach it. A small part of her told her she shouldn’t get the key, she shouldn’t go into the room. She should go downstairs and ignore the music.
Ellen ignored that part of her.
She went into Charles’ room, found the chair, and brought it out into the hallway. The music continued to play as she fetched the key, got it down, and unlocked the door.
The music got louder the instant she opened the door, and she sighed happily. Ellen left the key in the lock and the light off, walking into the library guided by the small bit of light spilling in from the hallway.
She went to the leather chair and dropped down into it, closing her eyes and listening happily. Somewhere she’d heard the music before. Probably in a hospital or an elevator. Or both, she thought with a happy smile.
It was such happy music. She didn’t need to think about anything. She didn’t need to worry about anything. Ellen knew she had things to worry about, of course. Everyone did. But she didn’t have to when the music was playing.
The library was a little colder than she remembered, and for a moment she thought about getting up and getting a blanket from her room, but then she decided not to. She’d be okay with a little bit of cold, and besides, she didn’t want to miss any of the music.
No, she couldn’t miss a single note.
Ellen kept her eyes closed and ignored the increasing chill in the room. Even when she started to first tremble, and then to shake, she pushed the cold out of her mind and focused on the music.
Ellen smiled to herself and listened.
Faintly she heard a voice as if someone was calling to her. Then the door slammed shut, leaving her to the music.
***
Charles pulled in beside Ellen’s Volkswagen Bug and shut his car down. He pocketed his keys as he climbed out, and when he closed the door, he realized something was wrong. The glass in the house windows seemed to be vibrating in their frames.
He sprinted for the door, which opened for him. Faintly he heard Mr. Sherman say, “The library.”
Charles heard music as he raced into the house. He took the stairs two at a time, pushing the music out of his thoughts. He knew instinctively the music was the problem.
Suddenly a memory leaped forward, a flashing picture of one of Mr. Sherman’s journal pages. A music box found amongst the belongings of a revolutionary war soldier who had died of exposure at Valley Forge.
The music grew louder, trying to push deep into Charles’ mind as he reached the second floor. He pushed aside his chair and threw open the door, the key clattering to the floor. He saw Ellen in the chair, curled up in a fetal position. Her lips were blue, as were her eyes, the whites of which were showing in a slim gap between the eyelids. She was pale, far too pale.
Hypothermia. Charles looked around the room and spotted the music box playing on a shelf on the back wall. The faint image of a soldier sat in front of it, wrapped in rags and the remnants of a blanket, his kerchiefed head topped with a three corner hat. He had rotten teeth and glared as Charles hurried forward.
The ghost said nothing as Charles seized the music-box, a small, heavily carved wooden box with the lid open and the delicate instrument playing within. The lid wouldn’t close, and Charles could feel the cold seeping into him. A desire built, calling him to sit on the floor and listen. To do nothing more than to listen.
The floor, Charles thought. Looking down, he saw the lead lined box, dropped to his knees so heavily the pain shattered the desire to listen, and he opened the box.
Behind him the ghost screamed, a sound that ripped through Charles’ thoughts even as he dropped the music-box into small ghost prison and slammed the top down.
The music stopped instantly.
Charles snatched up the key to the door and got to his feet, hobbling with pain over to where Ellen sat. He didn’t bother trying to lift her up, he merely pushed the chair out of the library, its old brass wheels squealing. A moment later, he had her and the chair in the hallway, and he was locking the door. He put the key in his pocket and managed to pick up Ellen.
Leaning heavily against the wall, Charles managed to make it down the stairs and into the den. He put Ellen on the couch, started a fire in the fireplace, and turned his attention back to her. Her skin was cold and unnatural to the touch, but she was still breathing.
As the fire grew, Charles sat down on the couch, pulled Ellen against him, and then covered them both with an old comforter off of the back of the couch. His body heat would be the best thing for her. He rubbed her arms and hands, keeping as much contact as possible with her body.
Long minutes passed before a murmur escaped her lips.
A few more minutes after that, she asked in a small voice, “Why am I so cold?”
“You went into the library,” Charles answered softly.
“Oh, Jesus, I did, didn’t I?” she groaned, shivering against him.
Charles was sweating from the heat of the fire as well as the comforter and Ellen.
“I hate to ask,” she said after a few more minutes, “but are we going to be safe here? I don’t want to see Mike, but if the alternative’s dying, then I’ll have to go back.”
“Understood,” Charles said. “There has to be a way, and it might be as simple letting them know who’s in charge. I haven’t finished reading all of Mr. Sherman’s journal yet. Maybe there’s something in there.”
Ellen’s shivering subsided, and she sat up, pulling the comforter around her as she twisted on the couch to face Charles.
“Thanks,” she said. “How did you know that body heat worked best?”
“I do a lot of research,” Charles smiled, “on a lot of different things. I had to write about hypothermia once.”
“You remembered that?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I remember lots of things. Too many things, when it comes right down to it.”
Ellen shook her head. “No, Charles, you keep on remembering stuff. It definitely came in handy today.”
“You hungry?” Charles asked, standing up.
“A little. I bought some chicken noodle soup the other day. I’ll make that in a bit.”
“I’ll get it,” he smiled. “Stay on the couch and get warm.”
Charles left the room and went to the kitchen. As he went about getting the soup ready for her, there was a whisper from behind him. Charles turned slowly around and saw nothing.
“Charles,” Mr. Sherman whispered. The word came from directly in front of Charles.
Charles took an involuntary step back, bumping into the countertop.
“Ah, good,” Mr. Sherman said, his voice still low. “There are times when I try to speak to you or Ellen, and neither of you responds. I can only assume I am not strong enough at those moments.”
Charles waited in silence.
“Charles, I left the library open because I would visit with the dead. I was fascinated by history. They are egotistical, which is part of the reason why they are bound to those objects. They lack the imagination to see the world without them. You must either bind them all to the room permanently, or stroke their egos. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Charles answered softly.
“So long as you ignore them, they will, like petulant children, demand your attention. When they demand it, however, they might kill you or Ellen. They are violent, as you know. Take steps to ensure they will not be violent with you and Ellen.”
Charles waited again, but after a few minutes there was nothing else. Either Mr. Sherman had passed along the information he had wanted to, or else he had lost the energy to do so.
Turning back around to the pot he had taken out, Charles prepared the soup with shaking hands.
Chapter Six
Elmer and the Investigator
Fiona and the boys were home.
Elmer was pleased they were back, that Owen had taken first in his age group, and that Ryan had taken third in his own, but their return prevented Elmer from conducting certain business transactions from the safety of his house.