by Ron Ripley
As Doc avoided the shotgun, Francis reached him, wrenched Doc’s gun free and threw it aside. The young man was much stronger and quicker than Francis had been lead to believe.
Doc lashed out with a fist and caught Francis in his newly wounded side. And, if Francis had been a regular guy, the blow would have been enough to put him down.
No, Francis thought, turning himself towards Doc. I’m not a regular guy.
He brought the heel of his hand up, smashing it into Doc’s chin. The clack of his teeth against each other was grating, and Francis smiled.
I was a bad man, Doc, Francis thought. Long before I was ever a good one.
The fight was short and brutal.
When Francis was done, he stood over Doc. The former Army medic lay on his back, both eyes swelled shut and his breath coming in great gasps. Francis’s fists had mashed Doc’s lips, giving them the shape and appearance of swollen, bloody sausages. As Francis looked down at the man, he realized he had blood on his robes.
You can never come back from this, Francis told himself. Your time as a monk is done. Your peace is ended.
Accepted, he thought, and he squatted down beside Doc. He picked up Doc’s left hand and said, “Can you hear me?”
Doc nodded.
“Good,” Francis said. “Can you speak?”
“Yes,” Doc said, the word barely intelligible. “What do you want to know, Dead Man?”
“Why?” Francis demanded.
“I’m dying,” Doc said, chuckling and grimacing at the same time. “I wanted to help as many people as I could.”
“Where is the Nurse buried?” Francis asked.
Doc spit blood at him.
Francis took hold of Doc’s left pinky and broke it.
Doc’s shriek echoed off of the headstones.
“Where is the Nurse buried?” Francis asked.
Doc shook his head.
Francis broke the man’s left ring finger.
Doc sobbed and vomited.
“Where is she buried?” Francis asked again.
“A crypt,” Doc gasped. “And she’s going to kill you for this. She’s going to kill you.”
“Maybe,” Francis said. He dropped Doc’s mangled hand and stood up. He grabbed Shane’s gear bag, picked up his shotgun and looked around the cemetery. In the curiously peaceful light of the night sky, Francis could see four separate crypts. He contemplated another round of questions with the recalcitrant Doc, but he shook the thought away.
Too much time, Francis thought. And torture never feels right.
Francis left the traitor on the ground and walked towards the nearest crypt to see if he could find the Nurse.
Chapter 61: Reaching the Cemetery
Shane’s feet had gone numb by the time he reached the cemetery, and he didn’t know if he was stumbling from exhaustion, pain, or a combination of the two.
He caught sight of Francis as the man entered a nearby crypt, but Shane couldn’t see Doc anywhere. Moving into the low hanging fog, Shane heard a sound, nothing more than a whimper, but he turned towards it and saw Doc crawling towards the edge of the cemetery.
“Doc?” Shane asked. He wanted to hurry to the man, but an uncomfortable feeling whispered for him to stop.
Doc looked up, a wheezing laugh escaping his mangled mouth.
“Have you come to die, Shane?” Doc asked. “You must have. She’s here. Waiting for you. Waiting for the monk. You think she needs the dead to help her? Not the Nurse. She needs no one and nothing. You’ll die. But not before she’s played with you a bit.”
Shane’s skin crawled at the man’s words, most of which were difficult to understand.
“You sided with her,” Shane said softly, finally understanding.
“Long before you were here,” Doc said, crawling again. “Oh yes, Shane Ryan. I chose her, and I am pleased I did. So many of us, staff and patients, even a few family members. We all chose her.”
Shane stared down at the man and watched him crawl.
Shane tightened his grip on his knuckledusters.
There’s the sweet-spot, a calm, cold voice told him. Right there, where the skull meets the top of the C-Spine. Or the temple. A single blow and he’ll be dead. One punch and he won’t pass the word to any of the Nurse’s twisted little devotees.
Shane relaxed his grip, turned away from Doc and limped towards the crypt he had seen Dom Francis enter. As he walked, the fog began to dissipate. The air grew colder and the stars and moon shined brighter.
She’s coming, Shane realized, trying to quicken his pace. She knows we’re here.
Dom Francis stepped out of the crypt again, quickly bringing the shotgun up.
“Shane,” the monk said. “You look like crap.”
“Like looking in a mirror,” Shane said, nodding towards the wet spots standing out starkly on the monk’s robes.
“True,” Dom Francis said. “You run into the traitor?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “Why are you checking the crypt?”
“Little weasel said she was in one of them,” Dom Francis paused and looked around. “It’s colder.”
“She’s around,” Shane said. He searched the graveyard, surveying the three other crypts.
“Why is she waiting?” the monk asked.
“To kill us,” Shane replied. “I think she’s expecting us.”
“Too bad for us,” Dom Francis muttered.
“Yup,” Shane agreed. “Ready to try door number two?”
“Of course,” the monk said.
“You shouldn’t,” a feminine voice said from behind them.
As they turned around, the Nurse stepped forward, slapping the shotgun out of Dom Francis’s hands. He swung at her, but with a flick of her wrist, he was thrown backward, striking a small headstone and tripping over it.
Shane, unable to run, stood his ground.
The Nurse looked at him sympathetically.
“Why are you struggling against me?” she asked him, genuine curiosity filling her voice. “You are alone in this world. I seek only to give you peace. To grant you rest.”
“I don’t mind being alone,” Shane said. “And peace and rest, they don’t particularly interest me.”
“You are unloved,” she said sadly.
Shane’s dog tags grew cold, and he smiled at the Nurse.
“No,” he whispered, “I am loved.”
A high-pitched wail pierced the night, and Courtney launched herself out of the dog tags.
Chapter 62: Fighting Among the Stones
Shane knew he was running on adrenaline and little else.
He doubted Courtney would give him much time to get to the Nurse’s crypt, but he found himself drawn to watch the battle between the ghosts.
The Nurse was strong, incredibly so. She had survived and thrived for decades, and whether she realized it or not, Shane knew she had fed on the energy of the ghosts around her.
Courtney had none of these in her favor. But she was angry.
Shane watched as Courtney slammed into the Nurse. There was no finesse. No deft and able moves, nothing ‘Hollywood’ about the fight between the two dead women.
A glow wrapped around them, pulsing in time to the punches Courtney was landing. The Nurse staggered back, a look of surprise on her face. And as she tried to regain her balance, Shane limped as quickly as he could to the next crypt.
In the light of the moon, he read the name carved in the granite mantle above the door.
Ruth Williamson.
Shane smiled grimly, and when he reached the door, he found it locked.
Worry ate at him as he dropped his gear bag and dug out his collapsible shovel, glancing over his shoulder at the battle behind him.
The Nurse had managed to straighten up, and she shied away from Courtney’s blows. But they weren’t having any effect, and the Nurse was realizing it. Even as he watched, Shane saw her look of surprise and shock being replaced quickly by annoyance, and then anger.
He lifted the shovel and s
mashed the lock. The old metal sheared away, and a wave of dizziness caused Shane to stagger forward, slamming against the door. It swung open, and he fell into the crypt, landing heavily on the tiled floor.
He felt the knife wound keenly, more blood spilling out and soaking his hoodie He pushed himself back up, reached out and grabbed his gear bag. From it, he pulled out a lighter and for a heartbeat he stared at it. A glance outside showed the battle between Courtney and the Nurse had shifted. Courtney was moving backward with the Nurse advancing toward her.
Leave, Courtney, Shane thought. Leave.
He shook his head, needing to focus. This was going to hurt.
He opened his hoodie, clenched his teeth and ripped the bandage off. Blood pulsed out of the wound in time with his heartbeat, and he let out a shaky, tired laugh.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Do it.”
Shane flicked the lighter, and he brought the bright flame to the wound. He let himself yell as he cauterized the wound, the smell of burning flesh hard in his nose. His hand shook as he dropped the lighter to the floor and a cold sweat broke out across his brow.
“Shane!” Courtney screamed.
He looked out the doorway, and he saw Courtney. She backed towards him, Ruth grimly pressing towards her.
“Run, Courtney,” he said.
She glanced at him, and he nodded.
A look of sadness flickered across her face, and she vanished.
Ruth paused, looked around, and then continued on toward the crypt. When she reached the doorway, she stopped, and she was clearly irritated.
“Shane Ryan,” she said in a firm, maternal tone, “you have been an extremely difficult patient.”
Shane chuckled, the absurdity of the statement too much to handle. His chuckle turned into a laugh, and his belly hurt from it. Tears spilled from his eyes, and he had to catch his breath. Finally, he stopped and looked at the Nurse. Her look of irritation had been replaced with one of concern.
“You’re going mad, aren’t you,” she said sadly.
“Probably,” Shane said. “But I’m still going to cook you up.”
“No,” the Nurse said, gently, “you’re going to your well-deserved rest, warrior.”
A shotgun blast ripped through the night air, and she vanished.
Dom Francis stood a few feet away, leaning against a headstone.
“She’ll be back,” Shane said, getting up.
The monk nodded. “Light her up. I’ll cover you.”
“You got it,” Shane said, and he turned to find her bones.
Chapter 63: Ruth Williamson Returns
Francis didn’t know how many rounds he had left. Getting thrown into a granite headstone hadn’t helped his short term memory retention.
He wanted to move closer to the crypt, but he couldn’t. Not only because he had a better field of fire from where he stood, but if he tried to move from his position, he would probably fall down.
It had been a tremendous effort to stand, and only his strength of will had allowed him to shuffle a few feet to the front of the crypt. Once there, he had been able to enjoy a clear, sure shot.
The air shimmered to the left of the crypt and the Nurse appeared.
Oh no, he thought, looking at her face. She is decidedly unhappy with me.
The Nurse took a step forward, and Francis shot her.
And once more, she vanished.
This is going to get old fast, Francis thought, his head starting to pound. She’s going to figure it out, and I’m going to die.
“How’s it going?” Francis called out.
“Found it!” Shane yelled back.
“Little good it will do you both,” the Nurse hissed from behind Francis.
He tried to spin around, but instead he fell to the ground, which saved him. As she stepped closer, glaring at him, Francis managed to bring the shotgun up and fire again.
“Hurry!” Francis shouted, struggling back into a sitting position.
“Really?” Shane yelled. “Because, you know, I thought this might be a good time to start writing my memoirs.”
A crash sounded, and Shane let out a harsh laugh.
Francis looked into the crypt and saw Shane. The man stood triumphantly by a sarcophagus, and the Nurse appeared behind him.
Francis shot her, and some of the rock salt caught Shane high in the back.
Oh no! Francis thought as Shane leaned against the sarcophagus. Horrified, Francis watched as Shane slid down to the floor.
Ruth Williamson snatched the shotgun out of Francis’s hands and snarled, “I’ve had enough of you meddling with my patient, Father.”
She cast the weapon aside and grabbed hold of him by the front of his robes.
“You’ve left me no choice,” she said, a hint of sadness in her anger. “I have to euthanize you.”
“Sure,” Francis agreed, and he punched her. He fell against a headstone as the iron sent her back to her bones.
Better hurry up, Shane, Francis thought as darkness closed in around the edges of his vision. I’ve got nothing left.
Chapter 64: The Homestretch
Shane pulled himself up, dragging his gear bag along as well. Holding onto it tightly, he looked into the open sarcophagus. The physical remains of Nurse Ruth lay in front of him. She was dressed in what had been a beautiful gown, her hands neatly folded over her stomach. On her head was perched a nurse’s cap. Her skin, ancient and parchment-like, clung to her bones, accentuating all of them. Dried flowers were scattered about her.
Too bad you’re crazy, Shane thought. He removed the lighter fluid from the bag, popped the cap and sprayed the body down. When it was empty, he dropped the can onto her body and took out the steel wool.
Not taking any chances here, he told himself, and he sprinkled it over the corpse.
“Why are you desecrating my body?”
Shane turned around and saw the Nurse. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, and she looked displeased.
Shane shrugged.
A look of sympathy came onto her face. “You really are a mad man, aren’t you?”
“Some people say I have a few mental issues,” Shane replied. “I disagree, personally. You know? Everyone’s a little crazy. Once in a while.”
She nodded her head. “It is why I want to grant you your peace, Shane.”
“You know,” he said, “I really do appreciate the gesture. But I’m not too thrilled with the idea of dying right now.”
“Dying is easy,” she said comfortingly.
“I’m not ready,” Shane said.
“It’s because you’re afraid. We’re all afraid of the unknown,” she said, her voice filling with compassion. “I’m here to help you be unafraid. To know that there is a better place for you.”
“Well,” Shane said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “I guess the question I have right now is, do I have a choice?”
She shook her head. “I am afraid not. It is your time, Shane. None of us can argue with that.”
Shane nodded.
He took out a cigarette, his hands shaking as he put it in his mouth. Fumbling around he found his lighter, snapped out a flame and lit the cigarette. As he exhaled, the Nurse frowned.
“Perhaps,” she said, giving him a cold smile, “I should let you live and suffer with the cancer growing in your chest.”
Shane inhaled deeply, the smoke calming.
“But,” she added, “I will enjoy killing you.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said. He took one last drag on it, then flicked the cigarette onto her remains.
The result was instantaneous.
Some of the steel wool burst into flames, which lit the lighter fluid and sent a blue flame ripping through the sarcophagus.
The Nurse screamed and lunged at Shane, slamming him hard against the stone. His breath rushed out, and he gasped for air. She pressed him there, even as she started to burn bright blue. He could feel flames against the back of his head, and he fough
t against her, trying to move away from the fire.
Only when her own interior flames destroyed her arms, did she fall back, and release him from the threat of immolation.
Shane fell to the floor and rolled away from the ghost as she burned.
She twisted her face towards him, her eyes turning into smoldering orbs.
“Why?!” she howled. “Why?! I was doing God’s work!”
“Why?” Shane repeated. “Because you’re not God! You’re not anyone! I hope you burn in Hell!”
Her response was lost as the flames devoured her, and he was left alone in the crypt as smoke filled the enclosure. Coughing, Shane rolled over and crawled to the door. Tears streamed down his face as he reached the open air.
He lay pressed against the cold grass, struggling for a breath free of the acrid smoke. Shane twisted his head to one side, and fear rippled through him.
Ghosts stared down at him.
Hatred filled their dead eyes, but none of them advanced.
Spitting the foul taste of the Nurse’s burning corpse out of his mouth, Shane sat up and saw why the dead remained where they were.
The ghosts of Matias and Brett stood between him and Dom Francis’s unconscious body.
No, Shane realized, they’re not standing, they’re hovering.
Matias and Brett were several inches off the ground, and their expressions were cold and hard.
Without looking at Shane, Matias said, “Rest now. They will not touch you. Not when we are here.”
“Are you strong enough?” Shane asked, his voice little more than a croak.
Brett nodded, and Matias smiled.
“They ask themselves the same question,” Matias said. “I will say yes, and I am eager for them to try to find a definitive answer.”
“Okay,” Shane said, letting his head drop back to the grass. “Whatever you say, Matias.”
Shane tried to crawl, but exhaustion swept him into unconsciousness.
Chapter 65: Awake and Alert
Francis woke up to the night sounds of the woods around the cemetery. He was on his back and looked at the night sky.