by Ron Ripley
Victor winced at the mention of his old town, but he kept any comments to himself.
“Start with Amy,” Shane said. “Ghosts tend to operate pretty close to where they were killed, or where items they’re attached to are.”
“The radius is usually about a mile,” Frank added. “For the strong ones, mind you. And it seems like this gentleman Hank fits the description.”
“Can you get an exact address for us?” Victor asked Sofie.
“Sure,” Sofie said, nodding. “That information will still be in the personnel files. And I can talk to Micky. He’s sweet on me.”
“I’m sure he is,” Frank said with a grin, and the woman’s face darkened slightly.
Sofie cleared her throat and said, “Okay. I’ll shoot you all a text when I find out where Amy lives. Nice to meet you, Frank.”
She got to her feet, and Shane walked with her out of the room.
“So,” Frank said, “how did you get wrapped up in this?”
“My wife was murdered,” Victor answered in a soft voice.
Frank nodded. “You have my sympathies, Victor.”
“What about you?” Victor asked, trying not to think of Erin.
“Shane,” Frank replied.
“What?” Shane asked, entering the room and returning to his seat.
“How I got into the ghost hunting game,” Frank clarified.
“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “It was me. But Frank was a big bad man before me.”
“I had stopped being a big bad man before you,” Frank disagreed.
“What did you do?” Victor asked.
“US Army Special Forces,” Frank said.
“Don’t let that fool you,” Shane said with a shake of his head. “Big bad man before he met me. Trust me.”
“What were you doing when you two met?” Victor asked.
Frank grinned. “I was a monk. A life of quiet prayer and reflection.”
Shane lit a fresh cigarette, and without a hint of humor said, “Like I told you. A big bad man.”
***
The coffee mug was on the front seat beside him, and Tom opened the GoPro box. He took the small camera out, glanced over the directions, and quickly set it up. It took only a few minutes to get it connected to his laptop, and a short test run confirmed that it was indeed operating the way it was supposed to.
He took a deep breath, swallowed nervously, and attached the GoPro to a headband, slipping the elastic on over his forehead. Tom adjusted the band at the base of his skull and noticed how his hands trembled.
He ignored his fear, bent down, and picked up the whiskey. When he unscrewed the cap, the smell of the liquor caused him to gag, and he turned his head away, gasping for breath.
Just do it. Get it done, he snarled at himself. With a shudder, Tom forced his hand to bring the bottle up to his lips. Repressing a groan, he took a long, nauseating drink. He clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together, refusing to allow himself to vomit.
After the urge had passed, he took another drink, and then another.
“You’re almost there, Tom,” a voice said beside him.
Tom looked over at the passenger seat and saw Nicholas. There was a genuine concern on the dead man’s face.
“Another drink, boy,” Nicholas said gently, “perhaps two. That is all.”
Tears spilled out of Tom’s eyes as he nodded, brought the bottle up again, and forced himself to take one more drink.
Chapter 26: Out and About
Amy Marin could look out her bathroom window and see the smoke rise up from the kitchen of the Arel home. Occasionally, she did just that. After she had first been fired and escorted from the premises by security, Amy had often stared at that smoke.
She would shower, with the curtain pulled back, and let the hot water beat down on her back until the pads of her fingers and toes were prune shaped. And then she would stand there a little longer. Amy dreamed of setting the building on fire. Of watching the fire engines respond, and then the ambulances. Perhaps even the police and well-meaning citizens. In that fantasy, she was armed with a rifle. One of those assault weapons everyone on the news complained about.
But that dream, Amy understood, would end with her either in prison or dead. She didn’t like either of those options, so she had sought out a third.
One of the reasons she had worked with the elderly was for the opportunity to watch them die. Amy was fascinated by death, and by ghosts, and the possibility, or impossibility, of an afterlife.
She had been fired for sitting beside Gertrude Goldenblatt and watching the woman die from a stroke rather than calling for an ambulance.
Through her adult life, Amy had been interested in death, and had studied it and ghosts extensively. In her early thirties, she had happened upon a copy of a catalog by the company, Moran & Moran, an organization that specialized in the sale of haunted and possessed items. Over the following decades, she had built an almost complete run of the catalogs, and she had loved to read through them, imagining the power of the dead within the items listed.
In the weeks after she got fired, Amy had discovered ample time to reread those catalogs, and she had spent hours each day scouring the internet for mentions of haunted items that might be for sale. She had even reached out to Moran & Moran, looking for something, anything violent. But they had politely and firmly told her they would not sell such items to people whom they did not know.
It was after that conversation that she had plunged back into her online quest.
And she had found Hank’s radio for sale. The description of the radio had tickled the back of her mind, and after a day of reading through her old catalogs, she found it. Moran & Moran had offered it for sale decades earlier, and Amy read how terrible Hank had been. Amy figured it was divine intervention that led to the discovery of Hank’s radio. And who am I to say no to what God wanted?
The thought made her chuckle.
Amy didn’t believe in God. Not in the least.
She turned away from the bathroom window and went back to her small den. Sitting down in her chair, Amy focused her attention on Hank’s radio. The temptation to let the dead man run rampant through Arel’s home was difficult to ignore. Some nights she woke in a cold sweat, longing to hear the sirens.
Patience, she chided herself. I need to be patient. Or else it will all be over too quickly.
She cleared her throat, smiled and said, “Hello, Hank.”
After almost of minute of silence, Amy frowned and repeated herself.
Finally, after several more agonizing seconds, Hank appeared.
He gave her a conspiratorial wink and leaned against the wall, an act whose physics she still couldn’t understand.
“Ms. Amy,” Hank said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You’ve killed two so far,” she said, trying to stay focused on what she wanted, and not the strange attraction she felt for the dead man.
“So far,” he agreed. His smile broadened, and she knew that he could see how uncomfortable he made her feel.
Amy licked her lips, forced herself to concentrate and asked, “Will you kill more?”
“Of course I will.” His laugh was infectious, and she found herself smiling. “Would you like me to pick up the pace, Ms. Amy?”
Amy didn’t trust her voice, so she only nodded.
“Now,” he said, smiling, “tell me, am I to keep to the building, or am I allowed to work outside?”
“Just the building,” she said, struggling with a strange giddiness.
“Good,” Hank said. “I’m so pleased they’re all right there.”
“Who?” Amy asked, although she already knew the answer.
“All those beautiful older ladies,” Hank said, and a gleam entered his dead eyes. “You see, when I was alive, I always had to go and look for them. So much work. Now, well, they’ve herded them all into one place. It’s like walking into a butcher’s shop and getting to pick out my own hog to be slaughtered. You just don�
�t get service like that anymore. No, not at all.”
Hank loosened his tie and said, “Did you know that I grew up on a farm, Ms. Amy?” he asked.
She shook her head, wary about his sudden question.
“I did,” he said, smiling wistfully. “We were sharecroppers. Terrible life. Absolutely terrible. Left my folks and my sisters, and took off for Chicago. Wanted a taste of the cold. Plus, you know, I grew up hearing all about those rum-runners and the fights they got into with the feds. You get a love for stuff like that, when you’re poor.”
His smile softened, and Amy leaned forward a little to hear him better.
“It wasn’t until Chicago, when I saw my first grande dame, that I knew what I wanted,” Hank whispered. “Her throat was so pale. So long. I’d never seen anything like it before. All the women I had known had been broken by life, and here was one who was so damned elegant. I’d learned how to dress by then. Gotten a job in a haberdashery, and I was making a fair wage. Plus the younger ladies, well, they didn’t mind paying for things, if you talked to them just right.”
He chuckled. “Those girls were nice, but they were girls. Not women. Not beautiful, old women with their long necks just waiting for me to strangle. I used to carry a piece of cord in my pocket. I’d get fidgety. It helped calm my nerves, to sit in a back room and play cat’s cradle. My sister Eunice had shown me how.”
Hank sighed and shook his head. “Anyway, the woman’s name was Adelaide Straus, and she was more than happy to speak with me. I even convinced her to let me into her home. Her husband was at his club, and she was tickled pink to be entertaining a young fellow. Hm, and entertain me she did. I left her on the kitchen floor, spread out like Christ on the cross, but with no chance of resurrection.”
He stood up, stretched with all of the languid self-assurance of a predator, and winked at her.
“I’ll pick up my pace, Ms. Amy,” Hank said, nodding. “Keep your ears open. I’m sure you’ll be hearing more soon enough.”
The dead man vanished, and Amy shuddered with delight.
Pity he’s dead, she thought, and turned on the television to take her mind off Hank and his radio.
***
Before Erin’s death, Victor had often gone into the city of Nashua to shop at various stores. New Hampshire, unlike Massachusetts, didn’t have a sales tax.
His visits had been, for the most part, to the borders of the city, where the malls and the shopping plazas could be found. Rarely had he gone into the inner city. There had never been a need to.
But now he found himself walking along a narrow street in the run-down center of the city, beside Shane’s friend, Frank. The two of them were going to get a look at the Arel building, where the murders had occurred.
They turned left into a small parking lot, crossed it, and came to a stop on a small pier that protruded into an equally small pond. Across the water’s dark, still surface, Victor could see the ugly, faux brick façade of the building. Lights shined in some of the plate-glass windows, and occasionally a shape could be seen passing by them.
A bit of movement off to the right, catching Victor’s attention. Frank leaned on the pier’s railing, staring out over the water. Victor turned his head to see what had moved.
A tall, handsome man stood a few feet away, although Victor was certain he and Frank had been alone only a moment before. From the man’s lips an unfiltered cigarette hung, the tip of it glowing in the night. Smoke curled up lazily into the dim, evening light, and Victor frowned.
He couldn’t smell the cigarette smoke.
As that realization settled in, the other man turned and looked at Victor and Frank with an expression of surprise.
“You can see me,” the stranger said in a voice that reminded Victor of an unscrupulous salesman.
“What?” Frank asked, glancing over, and then straightening up.
Before Victor could answer Frank’s question, he threw his hands up to ward the stranger off as the man rushed toward him. Victor stumbled back into Frank as a wave of cold air smashed into his chest, and then he crashed to his knees on the hard wood of the pier. Falling forward and catching himself on his hands, Victor shuddered, breathless from the blow.
Gasping for air, Victor allowed himself to be helped to his feet by Frank.
“You okay?” Frank asked.
Victor could only nod, more concerned with breathing than answering. He watched Frank look around, his expression tense and focused.
After a moment, Victor managed to asked, “What was that?”
“That,” Frank said in a grim voice, “was a ghost. And I’m fairly certain it was our murderer as well.”
Chapter 27: An Information Vacuum
Victor sat in the hotel bar, nursing a Booker’s. He felt rattled about the encounter with the ghost behind the Arel building, and he wondered when he would get back to Pennsylvania. He had left a message for Tom, but the boy hadn’t answered. A nagging sense of worry ate at him, and Victor wanted the situation with the radio over and done with.
The coworker of Sofie’s who was sweet on her was on vacation for the next few days, which meant there was no way to get the information that they needed to find where Amy Marin lived. No one had been friendly with Amy at the assisted living home, and the woman didn’t have a phone. It turned out the woman didn’t own a house either, which meant she rented, and there were hundreds of apartments around the home. Anyone of which could house the woman.
Victor considered his drink; thought about finishing it and retreating to the impersonal safety of his hotel room, but shook away the idea. The room was the last place he should be. It reminded him of how alone he was, of the terrible emptiness in his life without Erin.
He drained the glass and motioned for the bartender.
A young man, heavily tattooed and with a large red beard that reached down to his chest, came over and asked, “Another Booker’s or something else?”
“Booker’s and a bottle of Stella Artois if you have it,” Victor said.
“That’s a hell of a combination,” a woman said from behind him.
Victor glanced over his shoulder, nodded, and then twisted around on the barstool.
The woman from Jeremy’s funeral sat beside him, a smile playing on her face.
“Mr. Daniels,” she said. When the bartender came over, she asked, “May I have two fingers worth of the Crystal Head vodka, please?”
“Sure thing,” the bearded man said.
“What can I do for you?” Victor asked, wary of the woman.
She moved stiffly in her seat, and he noticed the cane resting against the bar. “I’m curious as to how you’re progressing against my brother.”
“You’re curious?” Victor asked.
“My father and I are both curious,” she said.
“I don’t even know your name,” Victor said, taking a sip of his beer.
The bartender brought over the vodka, and the woman paid for it before continuing.
“Running a tab this evening?” she asked.
“Yes,” Victor said, trying not to snap. “Who are you?”
“Ariana,” she answered. “And you’re Victor. We met at Jeremy’s funeral. There, all set. Now, tell me, how are things going with the pursuit of Stefan Korzh?”
“Not great. I’m here,” Victor said. Surprise and shock boiled within him and he kept a lid on it, refusing to let the woman know she had rattled him, and continued to do so with her presence. “Which leads me to my next question. How the hell did you know I was in New Hampshire?”
She winked. “Tricks of the trade, Victor. Why are you here, instead of in southwestern Pennsylvania attempting to find my brother? You know, if you’re here, you can’t flush him out for us.”
Victor, unsure as to whether or not Ariana was joking, hesitated, then he shrugged and decided to let her know what the situation was. He kept his voice calm as he said, “There’s a haunted radio that’s been acting up. A friend asked me to look into it.”
/> Ariana frowned, tapped her fingers on the bar, and then finished her vodka. She motioned for another, put the money on the bar and asked, “An old Crosley radio? One of the table tops?”
Surprised, Victor nodded.
“I didn’t think he had gotten that out,” she murmured. Then she smiled and thanked the bartender. “Anyway, that’s why you’re here?”
“Yes,” Victor answered. “That’s why.”
“And as soon as you have it you’ll be on your way?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Excellent,” Ariana said. She took a pen out of a pocket, pulled a cocktail napkin closer and jotted down a cell phone number.
“Cliché, I know,” she said, smiling as she passed the napkin over to him, “but it serves a purpose. That is my number. Or, rather it is one of my numbers. Should you need any assistance, don’t hesitate to call. I may not be as mobile as I was before my injuries, but I can still help. We’d love to have the radio back where it belongs.”
She held up her vodka and said, “Zazdarovje!”
Ariana drained her glass easily and picked up her cane as she got to her feet.
“What happened to you?” Victor asked.
She smiled at him and winked.
“Stefan Korzh happened to me,” Ariana replied, and left the hotel bar, the rubber tipped foot of her cane thumping loudly on the parquet floor.
Chapter 28: Misery, Pure and Simple
When Tom had finished with another bout of being violently ill, he had managed to make his way to the kitchen. He made a cup of coffee and dry toast and carried both to the table. Collapsing into the chair, he wondered if there was another way he could give Nicholas control. One that wouldn’t leave him sick and tired and wishing he was dead as well.
Without a suitable answer presenting itself, Tom finished his small breakfast and wasn’t in the least bit surprised when Nicholas appeared in the kitchen.
“How are you feeling this morning?” the dead man asked.
Tom raised an eyebrow and Nicholas shrugged. “I merely wished to know if you felt any better than the previous time.”