by Ron Ripley
Nicholas grumbled, but said, “No. I do not. I’ve actually grown quite fond of the boy myself. I admire his determination as much as I admire yours. You will both succeed, I have no doubt, in your quest for vengeance. I would like to speed it up. That is all.”
“I know,” Victor said. “But it’s not going to go anywhere if Tom and I don’t get some sleep. And, let’s not forget, I still need to find the man. I can’t easily do that with an enraged teenager, or an angry ghost. Hell, I don’t even know what Korzh looks like.”
“You don’t?” Nicholas asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“No,” Victor said, shaking his head in the darkness, “I don’t.”
“Why don’t you contact Moran and Moran?” Nicholas asked.
“Why would I?” Victor asked.
Nicholas chuckled. “Oh, grandson, they know everything about every collector there is. If anyone is to have a photograph of Ivan Korzh’s son, it will be Moran and Moran. Call them in the morning; I am sure they will be willing to help. They were fond of that traitor, Jeremy.”
Before Victor could reply, he felt his grandfather leave the room.
Victor lay in the darkness, feeling the warmth return to the air.
He wasn’t a traitor, Victor thought bitterly, rolling over onto his side. He was my friend.
Chapter 11: Finished
He felt no sense of satisfaction when he placed the last lock on the door and secured it. Instead, Stefan Korzh felt as though he had enclosed himself in a box, and handed the key to someone who did not have his best interest at heart.
Stop it, he snapped at himself.
He shoved the thoughts away and focused on what he had accomplished in the days since he had seen the article on Anne Le Morte’s attempt to travel.
Dozens of boxes were stacked inside of the warehouse. Boxes, according to his father, that represented Stefan’s birthright.
A sneer slipped onto his face, and Stefan shook his head. He strolled over to the cardboard containers, all of them kept behind a thick line of salt. A list attached to a clipboard waited on the floor, and Stefan picked it up. The paperwork contained detailed information on each item within the boxes. Almost all of the items his mother had prized dearly.
Items she had cared for with far greater affection than she had ever shown Stefan.
His father’s ghosts remained at home, far from Stefan, and under the ever-present and watchful eye of Ivan Denisovich.
Stefan smiled at the thought of his father’s consternation, the way the dead man had been foiled.
Ivan Denisovich was still out and about in the world, as was Stefan’s half-sister, Ariana.
The thought of her wiped the smile from his face, and he left the presence of the haunted items. He hurried back to his monitor room and went about the ritual of checking all of the recorded footage. While he knew that he had wounded her, Stefan had an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, one that told him his half-sister was far more resourceful than he wanted to admit.
When the review of the footage ended, and nothing other than a pair of deer at the far western entrance showed up on the screen, Stefan relaxed.
Ariana and their father would come for him again. Of that, Stefan was certain.
Until then, he needed to find a way to send the haunted items out into the world without risking his own safety. He had considered working with a third party, but that was inherently dangerous as well. Someone would inevitably be able to track a package back to him. If that someone was willing to ask questions the hard way.
And Ariana most certainly would, he scowled.
The option of working with Moran and Moran remained as well, but that would practically ensure that the items went to collectors. An event Stefan hated to encourage.
No, he thought angrily. I still have to do this myself. Which means I’ll have to go out. It’ll be best to limit the trips as much as possible.
The last excursion earlier in the morning had resulted in several nerve-racking minutes when a Pennsylvania State Trooper had gotten behind him on a back road. Stefan had seen the dash-cam mounted in the trooper’s vehicle, and he had eased his pistol out of its holster. When the officer eventually turned on a side road, Stefan had been wondering if he could kill the man, seize the equipment in the cruiser, and get away.
He had been pleased that it hadn’t come down to that.
I need time, he thought, sighing. Time to recoup. Get my act together and get it all planned out again. Too many interruptions.
Stefan poured himself a small helping of vodka, hesitated, then added a little more. Holding the glass in one hand and the list in the other, he sipped the strong drink and let his eyes roam over the various descriptions, seeking one to list next.
He found it on the third page.
An old Christmas card, possessed by a young man who had been fond of drowning former lovers.
Chuckling, Stefan finished his vodka, leaned forward, and began to create a description for the item.
All the while he hummed Christmas carols, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
Chapter 12: A Call and a Request
The sound of Victor’s phone ringing took him by surprise. He straightened, picked the phone up, and looked at the number.
It was a 603 area code. New Hampshire.
Curious, Victor answered the call.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Is this Victor Daniels?” a woman asked.
Hesitant, he answered, “It is. Who is this?”
“My name is Angela Sigsund,” she replied. “I’m an attorney with Follender, Allens, and White. We’re the executors of Jeremy Rhinehart’s estate, and we were hoping we could have you come to our offices in Milford, New Hampshire. We’ve finished with the remainder of Jeremy’s estate, and you are the final piece, which is as he wished it to be.”
Victor was stunned, his mind numb for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “When did you want to do this? I’m all the way in southwestern Pennsylvania.”
“The sooner, the better,” Angela replied. “We can get you on a flight from Pittsburgh International Airport by tomorrow, and have you land in Manchester if that works. A car service would pick you up and bring you down. We would, of course, pay for any meals and put you up for the evening.”
“Um, wow,” Victor said, shaking his head, “really?”
“Really,” she said, and Victor could hear the smile in her voice. “We don’t normally do this for people, but Attorney White is insistent. He and Mr. Rhinehart were very close.”
“Oh,” Victor said, not sure what else to say.
“Does that sound good?” Angela asked.
“Yes, yes it does,” Victor said. “Do you want to call me back with the flight information?”
“How about we stay in the 21st Century, and you give me your email address. That way I can forward you all the appropriate information,” Angela said, laughing.
Victor smiled and said, “Sure. It’s VictorDE74 at Hotmail.”
“Very good, Mr. Daniels,” she said, a business-like tone replacing the easy familiarity that had been there a moment before. “Keep an eye out for an email from our offices, and we’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks,” Victor said, and he ended the call. He stared at his phone, shook his head, and put it down on his lap.
Tom came into the room a few seconds later and dropped into a chair, asking, “Who was that?”
Victor told him, and Tom gave a sharp nod. “Okay. So you’ll be gone a few days?”
“Yes,” Victor answered. He opened his mouth and then closed it.
“What?” Tom asked.
“Nothing,” Victor said.
Tom frowned, and Victor sighed. “I was going to tell you that I was nervous about leaving you here, by yourself. Then I remembered what you’ve been through. You’re not a kid. Not anymore. I don’t have to worry about you doing something stupid.”
“I could kill Korzh.” Tom’s voice was hard, the wor
ds blunt and brutal.
“You could,” Victor agreed. “And if you find him, then do it. Although I’d rather you wait for me.”
“Sure,” Tom said, his shoulders drooping.
“I hate him,” the teenager whispered.
“Yeah,” Victor said softly. “Me, too.”
Chapter 13: Paternal Rights
Ariana reclined on her couch, washed several Advil tablets down with a glass of chilled white wine, and waited for both the medication and the alcohol to take effect. Physical therapy wasn’t getting any easier, which she understood was the point, but it didn’t make the pain any less severe.
She closed her eyes for a short time and considered how best to entertain herself.
Nothing came to mind.
She had binge-watched her favorite shows on both Amazon and Netflix. There was nothing new she was interested in on Hulu. Occasionally, she read histories of the Great Patriotic War, where her grandfather on her father’s side had fought, but holding the books caused unnecessary pain.
Ariana grumbled, opened her eyes, and sat up. She finished her glass of wine, contemplated a second, but instead her attention fell on the glass coffee table.
On top of an oversized book dealing with the history of the Winchester rifle, was the compact her father had given her when she was a little girl.
She had used it only a handful of times to reach out to him, and she felt the urge to do so again.
Ariana hesitated then she picked up the compact, opened it and whispered, “Father, remember the watch.”
A heartbeat later, the temperature in the room plummeted. The wine glass and the top of the coffee table frosted over even as the thermostat clicked and the heat came on.
And her father stood by the television, smiling at her.
“Ah, my little girl,” Ivan said, his voice a deep rumble. “How are you healing, my dear one?”
“Better than I could have hoped,” she admitted. “But it’s still too slow for me.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Of course it is.”
Her father glanced around the room. “You keep a neat house. Much as your mother did.”
Ariana beamed with pride.
“Tell me,” he said, turning back to face her. “What is it that presses you to call upon me?”
“I missed you,” she said in a low voice, suddenly six years old again. “That’s all.”
“One day,” Ivan Denisovich said, “you will be able to gain entrance to the old house and remove me from the room to which I am bound. That day I will come and live with you.”
The statement took her by surprise, and she asked, “When? When could we do that?”
“We need to take care of Stefan first,” he answered, his voice becoming hard. “Unbeknownst to him, Stefan has the key to my room. Only when he is dead, it would seem, will we be able to find the key and free me. If he knew that he has it, I am certain he would destroy it in the hopes of finally being rid of me. But we will not allow that to happen, will we.”
It was not a question.
“No,” Ariana said. “And as soon as I am better, I will find him and take him.”
“I have no doubts in you, or your abilities, daughter,” Ivan Denisovich said, smiling. “However, I have sent Bontoc to collect Stefan’s skull. I have every hope that he will be successful, and that we will be able to continue on. It is one of the reasons why we released Anne into New Orleans. My son was exceptionally foolish, especially in regards to the Le Monde creature. If he had not harmed her, we might have avoided releasing Anne at all. But we can rest assured that he will hide in Pennsylvania. Surprisingly, he is afraid of the doll, and that fear will keep him locked away from the world.”
“What of Victor Daniels?” she asked. “What if he gets to Stefan first? What if we aren’t able to learn where Stefan is hiding?”
“Then Bontoc will question Mr. Daniels,” her father said coldly, “and obtain the information we seek.”
“And after that?” Ariana asked.
“After that, dear daughter,” Ivan Denisovich said, “Bontoc will have yet another head to add to his collection.”
Chapter 14: Dubious Company
Tom watched the cab drive away with Victor in the back seat, the sun rising in the east and fighting the cold of the morning.
Once the car reached the end of the street and turned onto the main road, Tom let the curtain fall back into place and returned to his bed. He sat down, ran a hand over his head, and felt the stubble. Dropping his hand back to his lap, Tom made a mental note to remember to shave his scalp, and he picked up the Spanish textbook Victor had purchased.
The language was easy, the words no more difficult than English. Especially not after having mastered so much of Latin before the deaths of his parents.
Tom sighed, closed the book, and returned it to his bedside table.
His bedroom door rattled in its frame and without a glance toward it, Tom said, “Come in.”
Nicholas drifted in through the wall and took a precarious seat near the dresser.
“You’re up early,” Nicholas said.
Tom nodded, eyeing the dead man warily. Nicholas reminded him of a junkie, always eager for the next fix.
Unfortunately, Tom was the ghost’s drug of choice.
“Now that the proverbial cat is away,” Nicholas said, “I was wondering if the mice were going to play at all.”
Tom eyed the ghost before he answered, “Later. Right now I want to go back to sleep.”
Nicholas frowned, opened his mouth to speak and Tom cut him off.
“I may not need rest when you’re driving,” Tom said in a hard voice, “but I feel it when I get back in control. My body aches and I have a hangover. Neither of those is particularly pleasant. So, yes, I want to go out and look for Korzh. No, I do not want to go out right now. I need some time to rest, recuperate, and figure out where to go to next.”
Nicholas bristled at the refusal, but he straightened up and said, “Perhaps while you rest I could try and find out where he is.”
Tom cast a wary glance at him and asked, “How are you going to do that?”
“There are ways to look, ways to travel,” Nicholas answered, winking conspiratorially. “Especially if you know where to look.”
“And you do?” Tom asked.
“Yes, I do,” Nicholas said, chuckling. “Now, as much as I would like to take the body for a drive, as you so quaintly continue to put it, you are correct. You do need to rest. Pushing your flesh too far will do neither of us any good. It could, in all actuality, prove to be somewhat detrimental to our cause.”
Tom kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Good. Now, If you could leave me alone, I’d like to go back to sleep.”
Nicholas looked at him, then smiled and stood up. “Shall I see you soon?”
“More than likely,” Tom answered. “Don’t wake me up. I’ll come down when I’m ready.”
A flicker of annoyance darted across the dead man’s face, but he only nodded and left the room the same way he had entered.
For several minutes, Tom sat on the bed, staring at the wall, seeing nothing but memories of his mother’s body. They were harsh, brutal images, but he let them play out nonetheless. He remembered each vicious detail, and by having them etched into his mind, he knew his hatred would never dim. His resolve would never weaken.
In silence, Tom lay down, pulled the sheet and blankets over him and rolled toward the wall. The bed was soft and unfamiliar still, and the room did not smell as his own had. He had a fear that he would forget his own house, but at the same time, he knew he shouldn’t fight it.
Soon he would need to obtain a new identity. His name would need to be changed, both first and last. Tom would have nothing but memories.
And do I even want them? he asked himself. A minute later, he answered his own question.
Of course, you do, moron, are you going to forget Mom? Even Dad?
He knew he wouldn’t. Same as he knew he would
n’t forget Korzh.
All he had to do was find out where the man was, and what he looked like.
When that happened, Tom planned on killing the man as slowly as possible.
Chapter 15: Evidence and Resistance
Cam Marchand had been the property and evidence sergeant for ten years at Central in New Orleans. He had seen the exotic and the mundane when it came to murder weapons and other items that investigating detectives felt necessary to keep for the successful prosecution of a case. The doll in the recent Orphanage Murder, as it was being labeled, was by far one of the strangest.
Each day when he entered work before he turned on the coffee pot or his computer, he went back to box 397AKO and checked on the doll.
If someone had asked him why, Cam wouldn’t have been able to answer.
He was drawn to the toy.
But he knew it was more than that. Much more.
On Friday morning, he unlocked the door to the property room at six instead of seven. He flicked on the lights, ignored everything else, and eased the door closed behind him. The soft thrum of electricity that was ever present in the building could be heard faintly, but Cam listened for a different sound.
One he had sworn he had heard the day before, and which had haunted his sleep.
He closed his eyes, straining to hear it, and then, the voice was there.
A soft, gentle singing. It reached out, caressed him, and caused his heart to flutter. His fingers twitched, his mouth went dry, and he smiled.
The words were mostly unintelligible, although he did catch a few words and phrases in French. They were difficult for him to translate. He hadn’t spoken any French since he had lived with his grandmother as a boy, and the words he heard were old, antiquated, and spoken in such a way that he wasn’t quite sure as to whether or not it was a patois he was listening to.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
Cam had heard the song in his dreams, and while he didn’t know what the unseen woman sang about, he knew it was for him.