The First Church

by Ron Ripley

  These ghosts had blinded the boys. Killed a police officer.

  Colleen gasped and staggered. When she regained her balance and looked ahead, she saw she was no longer alone.

  Two men stood before her. Young Japanese men, clad in khaki uniforms stained with dirt and blood. One of them snapped a question at her, and she couldn’t answer.

  She didn’t understand them.

  The other asked another question.

  “What have you done to the Church?” she demanded. “Where is Miles?”

  Both of the men looked surprised, and then they laughed. One of them said something and the other laughed harder.

  “Who do you think you are?” Colleen said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You cannot simply come in here and do as you please. You hurt those boys, and you killed a police officer. You are not, I believe, Christian men.”

  The laughter faded, and the smiles vanished at the word ‘Christian.’

  “Now you listen to me,” Colleen continued. “Miles Cunningham assured me, that you and your friends would be here to protect and care for my Church. He also assured me at least one of you would be able to speak English.”

  The two ghosts looked at each other and one of them repeated the word ‘English.’

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Do either of you speak it?”

  Neither of the men responded.

  Anger boiled up within her. “This is completely unacceptable. How am I supposed to make certain you will be able to take care of this Church when I’m gone if I cannot even communicate with you.”

  Grim expressions appeared on the men’s faces, and still they didn’t respond. They merely watched her as one might watch a bug as it scrabbled across a hot surface.

  “When I die,” Colleen said, trying to control her anger. “You will be responsible for the protection of this Church, and neither those boys nor the police officer deserved what you did to them. This is not how you will behave in the future, am I making myself clear?”

  “Die,” one of the ghosts said.

  In response to her question both men drew knives from their waists. Long knives, the edges of which gleamed curiously in the pale glow of the overhead lights.

  The knives, Colleen suddenly understood, were for her.

  She took a single step back, and the men spread out.

  The men’s faces lacked all emotion. Their knives were held out and again she was asked a question she didn’t understand.

  Before she could answer, however, the man on the left stepped gracefully in. His movements were delicate, with all of the coordination of a professional dancer, and she barely felt the bite of his knife as he slipped it into her side.

  Colleen gasped at the intense pain and the second man jumped in. His knife joined his comrade’s. The first man leaned in and whispered a single word to her.

  “Die.”

  And both of the knives twisted at once.

  Chapter 28: In the Riverwalk

  Brian finished the last of his salad, set his fork down and drank some water. He really wanted a little whiskey to wash the meal down, but he would have to wait until he was back in his hotel room for it.

  The waiter, a pimply faced young man named Tim, came over and cleaned away his dishes.

  “Do you want anything else?” he asked Brian.

  “Coffee, please,” Brian said with a smile.

  “Decaf?” Tim asked.

  “God no,” Brian said, laughing and shaking his head. “I am a finely tuned caffeine filtration system. Decaf just gums up the works.”

  Tim grinned and nodded. “Okay. Cream or sugar with it?”

  “No thank you,” Brian said. “Just plain old black coffee.”

  “Okay.” Tim left with the dirty dishes and Brian glanced at his phone on the table.

  No new text messages. No new alerts.

  Shane Ryan was due to arrive in the next fifteen to twenty minutes if traffic hadn’t been too heavy.

  The door to the coffee shop opened, and Brian looked up.

  Luke, Jim, and the Reverend walked into the shop.

  Looks like the start of a joke, Brian thought, trying not to chuckle. A teenager, a blind man, and a Reverend all walk into a coffee shop.

  Jim and the Rev waved to Brian, and he returned it.

  “Just the man we were looking for,” Reverend Joe said when they reached the table.

  “Take a seat,” Brian said. “Why didn’t you text or call me?”

  The Reverend’s face reddened with embarrassment as the three of them sat down. “I’m ashamed to say I seem to have misplaced my phone. It might be at home, or in the car, but I cannot find it.”

  “Did you call it?” Brian asked.

  Jim answered for the Reverend. “I already asked him. Guess he forgot to charge it, too.”

  Reverend Joe nodded in agreement.

  “Well then,” Brian said, but then he paused as Tim returned with his coffee.

  “Would any of you like something to drink?” the young man asked.

  “Just water for me, please,” Reverend Joe said.

  “Coffee, black, please,” Luke answered.

  “The same please,” Jim said.

  Luke tilted his head slightly towards his grandson and asked, “Are you sure? You may be up all night.”

  “I’m sure,” Jim answered.

  Tim smiled. “Alright, then. Water, two coffees. Got it.”

  “So,” Brian said after Tim left. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “James and I may have found something,” Luke said. “We read about Mr. Boyd having caught a young man trying to burglarize his house. And, from what I remember when speaking with Mr. Boyd, the boy was intent on getting into the trophy room.”

  Brian looked at Luke. “You think maybe the kid went back? After Mr. Boyd died?”

  Luke nodded.

  “When he was arrested,” Jim said, “the police reported they had found other stolen items in his room at home. Maybe he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he had to go back.”

  “Okay,” Brian said, nodding. “Let’s say he went back. He learned, somehow, about Mr. Boyd dying. He figured out he could get into the trophy room and steal the stuff. Did you find out who this kid was or anything?”

  Luke and Jim shook their heads.

  “It’s why they came to me,” the Reverend said. Again they paused as Tim returned with the drinks. Once he left, Reverend Joe continued. “Luke and I believe we need to go to the police.”

  “The police?” Brian asked.

  “Yes,” the Reverend said. “We need to show them the phone, to begin with. Also, I think, and Luke agrees, Detective Brown might be able to help us look at the file with the thief’s name.”

  Brian rubbed his jaw for a moment, took a sip of coffee and said, “You know you may well be arrested for withholding evidence in an investigation?”

  The Reverend nodded. “I have thought of it. However, I don’t really see how we can find out what we need to about the young man, any other way.”

  Brian frowned. “We could always see if we could make contact with Mr. Boyd again.”

  “No,” Luke said, shaking his head. “Mr. Boyd never knew who the thief was. The police never told him. They were worried he might retaliate. He hurt the young man. A lot.”

  “We’re taking a big chance here,” Brian said shortly. He looked down into the dark liquid in his mug. “I’ll be surprised if the police believe the video is real. Kids are pretty adept at all sorts of tech stuff nowadays, and I think you might be biting off more than you can chew. Also, there’s no guarantee the detective will even be able to access the records we need.”

  “Still,” Luke said, “I’d like for us to try it.”

  Brian looked again to Reverend Joe and the man nodded.

  Brian sighed. “Okay. I’ll do a little more digging myself. I’d like to find an alternative to the detective, if possible. Just in case he doesn’t work out.”

  The Reverend looke
d relieved. “Excellent. Well, Luke, what should we do from here?”

  “We’ll go back to my apartment,” Luke said. “I’ll call Detective Brown and ask him to meet with us. We can work it out from there. First, though, let’s finish our coffee.”

  “An excellent idea,” Brian said, and he lifted his mug. The four of them drank in silence, and Brian wondered where Shane was.

  Chapter 29: A Curious Surprise

  Dan Brown’s work phone rang, and he looked at it. After the second ring, he reached out and answered the call.

  “Detective Daniel Brown, New Hampshire State Police,” he said.

  “Detective,” an older man said. “This is Luke Allen.”

  Dan blinked, and he recognized the name.

  “Mr. Allen, sir,” Dan said with a smile as he sat back into his easy chair. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you could come to my apartment,” Luke said. “I have something you may want to see.”

  It took a moment for the statement to register and Dan wondered what a blind man could possibly show him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Allen, I don’t mean to sound crass, but aren’t you blind?” Dan asked.

  Luke chuckled. “I am. And I don’t mean to sound trite, but, well, I have something here, and the Reverend Malleus and I both feel like you should see it.”

  Dan straightened up. “What do you have, Mr. Allen?”

  “I have a phone,” Luke said, “and while I obviously haven’t seen what’s on it, the Reverend has.”

  “A phone,” Dan said. “Matt Espelin’s phone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dan tried to contain his excitement. “It shows what happened to Carlton? It shows who did it?”

  “Yes,” Luke answered.

  Dan reined in the urge to tell the man to bring the phone directly to the Keene Police station. “You said you’d like me to come over?”

  “Yes, sir,” Luke said, “if it isn’t too much trouble?”

  “Not at all,” Dan said excitedly. “I live in Falstead, just on the other side of old Mason. I should be there in about half an hour.”

  “Excellent,” Luke said, relief thick in his voice. “Now, Detective, I’ve heard the recording. I can only imagine the visual portion of it is just as terrible.”

  “I need to see it,” Dan said. “I’ll be there soon.”

  He ended the call and stood up. Part of him raged against whoever had kept the phone out of evidence. But he needed to get it back, the sooner the better. If there were a case which had to be built against someone, it might be a little tough, but he was sure they could work around it.

  Barely able to contain his excitement, Dan quickly got ready, worried the phone might disappear again.

  Chapter 30: Meeting Shane Ryan

  Brian patted the pockets of his shirt and realized he hadn’t brought his cigar or lighter with him from the hotel. He sighed, dropped his hands back to his lap and shook his head.

  “Brian Roy?” a voice asked.

  Brian looked up, surprised to see a man his own age across the table from him.

  He hadn’t heard the man approach or even enter the coffee shop.

  The man was bald.

  No, Brian realized. He’s completely hairless.

  Yet even as the thought crossed his mind Brian stood up and offered his hand. The man shook it warmly and sat down.

  “I’m Shane Ryan,” Shane said as Brian returned to his own seat.

  “A pleasure, Shane,” Brian said. “And I really appreciate you coming up here.”

  Shane grinned and shrugged. “Not a big deal. And, seriously now, how could I resist? You’ve got two ghosts who speak Japanese?”

  “I do,” Brian said.

  “See,” Shane said, smiling, “how can I not come up here for Japanese ghosts? When, in New Hampshire, am I going to get an opportunity like this one?”

  Brian chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly,” Shane said. “So, why don’t you give me the info on what’s going on here?”

  Brian did.

  He told Shane everything from the two teenagers being blinded to the information about Mr. Boyd. He made sure he didn’t leave out any part of the story.

  When Brian had finished, Shane signaled to Tim and ordered a cup of coffee.

  “I’m glad I came,” Shane finally said. “This is going to be interesting. So, the others are with the detective right now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brian answered. “If they’re not, I’m sure they will be. The police won’t waste time getting their hands on the other phone.”

  “I wish you still had it,” Shane said. “I’d like to hear what the first one was asking about.”

  “I downloaded the video,” Brian said.

  Shane grinned. “Of course you did. Is it at your hotel?”

  “Yeah,” Brian answered. “It’s just up the street.”

  “The Holiday Inn?”

  Brian nodded.

  “Good. I got a room there,” Shane said. “Figured I might be here a day or two. Didn’t want to have to drive back and forth from Nashua.”

  “Good call.”

  “After my coffee, can we go up there and take a look at it?” Shane asked.

  “Of course,” Brian said. “I’d love to know what the ghost was saying, too.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Shane said.

  A moment later, Tim arrived with Shane’s drink.

  “How’d you get into the ghost business?” Brian asked.

  “Grew up in it,” Shane replied. “And not in a good way. Haunted house.”

  “Bad?” Brian said.

  “It had its good days and its bad,” Shane said. “Too many bad ones, though. My therapist says I suffer from PTSD because of the house. I asked her if it was the house or the combat I saw in Afghanistan. She said the early childhood trauma trumped the adult issues.”

  “What do you think?” Brian asked.

  Shane shrugged. “Not sure what to think. She’s nice enough, but, hey, she works for the Veteran’s Administration. Pretty sure they don’t want to cough up any cash for PTSD. I had a hell of a time getting them to pay for my partial disability.”

  “What do you mean?” Brian said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

  Shane grinned. “I told them I had bad knees, a bad back, and tinnitus.”

  “Infantry?”

  “Did a lot of translating, especially on the ground,” Shane said. “But I spent way too much time walking around the Afghanistan with a full pack. Anyway, my first evaluator said there was no evidence of combat-related injuries.”

  “Seriously?” Brian asked. “Hold on, why am I even surprised? What happened?”

  “I grabbed a box of copy paper nearby, told him to carry it around the building for as long as he could and then to come in and tell me how his back and knees felt.” Shane took a drink of his coffee. “He called the VA police, they came in, a supervisor came in, and I told them what was going on. The super, he looked at my record, looked at the evaluator and told him to get out. I’m on thirty percent disability now for my knees and back, plus the tinnitus.”

  “I avoid the VA because of their attitude,” Brian said.

  “You were in?” Shane asked.

  “Ten years. Army. Forward observer,” he answered.

  Shane raised his mug to him. “More power to you, my friend. That’s a hell of a lot of time out in the field.”

  Brian laughed, and Shane grinned before he finished his coffee. He motioned for Tim, and the waiter hurried over with the bill. Shane looked at it, nodded, and pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his front pocket.

  “Keep the change, kid,” Shane said, standing up. “I’m all set if you are, Brian.”

  Brian stood as well and slipped his book into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “I am.”

  They left the shop together and made their way up the street to the Holiday Inn. Neither of them spoke
as they entered the hotel and rode the elevator up to Brian’s room. Once they were inside and the door was locked, Brian turned on his laptop and glanced over at Shane.

  The man stood in front of the window and looked out at the wooded landscape.

  “You okay?” Brian asked.

  “Hm?” Shane looked over at him. “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Every once in a blue moon, I wonder what it would have been like to have grown up without ghosts.”

  “Well, growing up without them treated me okay,” Brian said, smiling.

  Shane chuckled. “How’d you get into this business?”

  “Bought an old farm house, out in Mont Vernon,” Brian answered. “Problem was there were a lot of dead folks there. And one really rotten dead kid. Things sort of went from bad to worse.”

  “Yeah. They usually do,” Shane said.

  “How did you learn Japanese, if you don’t mind my asking,” Brian said. “Did you take it in college or in the service?”

  “No,” Shane said, grinning. “Neither of those. I’ve got this knack for languages. If I hear a language spoken, I pick it up really quickly.”

  “If you hear it?” Brian asked.

  “Yup. I mean there are certain limitations,” Shane said. “For instance, I’ll never be confused for a native speaker of Japanese. I speak it extremely well, but since I didn’t learn it when my palate was still forming, there are certain sounds I won’t be able to produce properly. I can understand it like a native speaker, though. Chinese is still pretty rough for me. So many different dialects from city to city. Huge difference between Cantonese and Mandarin.”

  “Shane,” Brian said, smiling. “I barely speak English, and it’s my first and only language.”

  Shane laughed and stepped away from the window. “The video ready to roll yet, Chief?”

  “Yup.” Brian turned the laptop slightly, and Shane came closer. Brian hit ‘play’ and turned the volume up.

  The boys laughed, and the ghost spoke.

  “May I?” Shane asked, gesturing towards the laptop.

  “Go for it,” Brian said, nodding.

  Shane paused the video, brought it back to the beginning, and started it again.