by Ron Ripley
And now Rolf was in a lead box, the box itself on the center of the hotel room’s table. Besides, it was a pale ceramic mug with a large letter ‘E’ upon it. And next to that was a bottle of cheap bourbon.
“I don’t like it,” Jeremy said, repeating the statement for the twentieth time.
“I know you don’t,” Victor replied. There was no sense of frustration in the answer. “You don’t have to. Erin wasn’t your wife. She wasn’t your best friend.”
Jeremy nodded even as he said, “I can keep him in the museum. He will be contained. We can’t know what will happen when the bear is destroyed.”
“The bear won’t be destroyed,” Nicholas said, appearing in the room and filling it with darkness. “I don’t believe you understand that, Mr. Rhinehart.”
Jeremy shivered at the sound of his name spoken by Nicholas. He knew of the man’s history, of the violence he had wreaked upon the world.
The man had been a butcher and Jeremy doubted that that had changed with death.
“Can we be sure though?” Jeremy asked, pressing the issue.
“I have been many things in my time, Mr. Rhinehart,” Nicholas said, chuckling, “but a liar was never one of them. Leave me to my task. It is easy enough for me.”
Jeremy shook his head but said nothing more.
Nicholas turned to Victor and said, “Now, grandson, drink, and drink well. The quicker you are drunk, the quicker this can end for you.”
“It won’t end here,” Victor said in a low growl. “It will end when I find the person who sold the damned bear to Erin.”
Nicholas chuckled. “Yes, you are my grandson. We will do wonders together, Victor. Absolute miracles. Now drink.”
Jeremy watched as Victor reached out, took hold of the bottle and twisted the metal cap off. He dropped it to the table, where it clinked, and raised the bottle to his lips. Jeremy closed his eyes and shook his head.
The smell of bourbon filled the room as did the dead man’s laughter.
***
Rolf felt the tight bonds of lead relax, and he surged out of the confines of the bear.
He found himself in a small room, standing beside a bed. Rhinehart sat at a table, Victor beside him. A half-empty bottle of liquor stood beside a coffee mug, and the box that had so recently kept him prisoner.
Rolf nearly shouted with joy as he realized that Victor was drunk.
He took a step forward to claim the man’s flesh as his own when Victor’s head turned towards him, the eyes wide and gray.
Rolf hesitated.
He glanced around, the room felt strange to him, as though it wasn’t all that it seemed. With a cautious eye on Victor, Rolf tried to slip through the wall.
He couldn’t.
“Where are you going, Rolf?” Victor asked, and while the voice was his, the inflection was off.
With a growing sense of fear, Rolf realized he wasn’t speaking with Victor. In silence, he tried to push through the floor and couldn’t.
Rolf was trapped. Snarling, he demanded, “Who are you?”
“Me?” the other asked. “You know me. But not like this. My name is Nicholas. Do you remember me?”
Rolf did.
He threw himself at the wall and bounced off it.
“Trying to leave?” Nicholas asked, standing up. He strode forward without any semblance of being drunk.
“What are you going to do?” Rolf hissed, shrinking back, knowing he couldn’t fight the creature in front of him.
“Hm, an excellent question,” Nicholas responded. “I don’t think you are deserving of an answer though. Do you?”
Before Rolf could reply, Nicholas reached out and grabbed him by both arms.
Nicholas, with Victor’s hands, was able to pin his arms to his side. It was a terrible, horrific feeling and he tried to pull his right arm free.
Which he did, in a way, for he left the arm in Victor’s grasp.
“Yes,” Nicholas murmured, “I believe this shall be the perfect way to dispose of you.”
“No,” Rolf begged, “please, you don’t know what will happen.”
“No,” Nicholas replied, “I do not. You, however, will know soon enough.”
He dropped Rolf’s right arm to the floor, where it slowly faded from view. Casually, Nicholas reached up and yanked Rolf’s ear off his head.
Rolf gasped and sobbed, tried to sink to his knees and felt himself jerked up once more.
“My grandson told me,” Nicholas said in a low, calm whisper, “that you murdered his wife. I find this especially egregious, and I do believe that you’re no longer welcome here.”
Rolf felt his other arm being torn away and he screamed, a long, painful sound that caused Nicholas to let out a thrilled laugh.
Chapter 56: Preparations for the Hunt
Victor’s head felt as though a thousand hammers were landing blows upon it. Groaning, he picked up his water, took another pair of aspirin and washed them down.
“Still not better?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” Victor answered. “Cheap bourbon.”
“Cheap bourbon and possession,” Jeremy corrected his voice carrying a note of sadness in it.
Victor wanted to feel bad about disappointing the man the night before, but he couldn’t. Nicholas had offered vengeance and had provided it. The bear Rolf had possessed was once more only an antique toy. Jeremy would bring it down to Connecticut and keep it secured in his museum.
“Will you really keep Nicholas with you?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes,” Victor answered. “I have to. He’ll help us find the seller.”
“Do you believe that?” Jeremy asked.
Victor nodded and instantly regretted the act. Groaning, he answered, “Yes. I do.”
“And what does he ask of you in return?” Jeremy’s voice was soft.
Victor coughed uncomfortably and replied, “That he gets use of my body once in a while.”
“You find this acceptable?” Jeremy asked.
“To kill whoever killed Erin?” Victor asked. “You’re damned right I do.”
“It is a deal with the devil, you’ve struck,” Jeremy warned. “There is no easy way off this path once you have started.”
“I figured as much,” Victor said.
After a moment of silence, Jeremy said, “I’m going to bring the bear to my house and put it away. Then I’m going to make a list of the items that I know the Korzhs had. If you want to start researching their child, then I am hopeful we will each have some actionable information when we meet again in a week or so.”
“You’re going to help me?” Victor asked in surprise.
“I won’t help you take your vengeance,” Jeremy corrected, “but I will help you track the seller down. No more of these items can be let loose on the world.”
“I know,” Victor agreed.
“Well then,” Jeremy said, getting to his feet, “I will speak with you in a day or two. Earlier if something of significance jumps out at me.”
“Alright,” Victor said. He waved good-bye as Jeremy let himself out of the hotel room. Less than a heartbeat later the room darkened.
“You know what I have not done in a terribly long time, grandson?” Nicholas asked.
“No,” Victor said, wincing while turning to look at his dead grandfather.
The man stood by the bathroom as he said, “I have not eaten a steak. An honest to God, American steak.”
“Well,” Victor said, “let’s see what we can do about that.”
And with a grimace, he picked up the half-empty bottle of bourbon from the table and started to drink.
Chapter 57: The Cemetery
The cemetery was old, with some of the headstones dating back to when Pepperell had been founded in 1775. Tall trees lined the fieldstone wall and cast dappled shadows on the gathered dead. The sod had yet to take over Erin’s grave and the edges of it were yellowing.
I’ll have to bring water next time, Victor thought.
He sat
down on the grass, wrapped his arms around his knees, and stared at the place where Erin’s own headstone would be. The flowers had been removed, per the regulations of the cemetery, and Victor didn’t mind. Seeing them wilting above his wife’s grave would have been another reminder of how alone he was.
Alone and without any of the mementos of their life together.
Rolf had robbed him not only of his wife but also of their physical history.
No photographs of their wedding existed. None of the presents they had exchanged. Not their favorite movies or their beloved books. Her childhood dolls and his Star Wars action figures.
Everything was gone.
Every piece of their life had been erased and at some point, Victor knew, he too would begin to forget.
And there would be nothing to help him remember.
Rolf had been the thief of dreams. The murderer.
But he had been taken care of. Nicholas had seen to that, tearing the ghost to shreds according to what Jeremy had said.
At the thought of the older man who had helped Victor so much in regards to Rolf, Victor closed his eyes and dropped his head onto his knees. For several minutes, he stayed in that position, listening to the birds and the squirrels in the trees.
Jeremy had asked Victor to accompany him on the quest to find the seller, the one who had shipped Rolf to Erin. The unknown individual had sent out others, and they too had caused damage, but Victor didn’t care about them.
He only cared about Erin.
She was all he had ever cared about.
Victor lifted his head up and stared at the dull outline around her grave.
“I’m going to go for a bit,” Victor whispered. “I’ll come back. I need to find who did this to us. I love you, Erin.”
His eyes stung but no tears fell.
He was too angry to weep.
Victor got to his feet, looked down and said, “I’ll be back. I promise.”
He turned to leave and the wind blew, sounding as if someone asked him a single question.
When?
“When I put them in the ground,” Victor answered, and he left the cemetery in silence.
Chapter 58: Done Alone
“Tell me when you are going to return!” his father snapped.
“I can’t because I’m not sure,” Stefan answered, struggling with the feelings of guilt swirling in him.
“Where are you going?” Ivan demanded.
“It’s better if I don’t tell you, Father,” Stefan replied, wincing.
His father’s anger pulsed into the room.
“I do not like this,” his father stated in a dull, flat voice. Stefan fought the urge to run for the front door.
“I have to move the collection,” Stefan explained again. “If I don’t, I might lose it to that pair of undeserving men.”
“You’re lying,” his father snarled. “And you still refuse to retrieve that which you have sent out. You are destroying your birthright!”
Kind of the point, Stefan thought, but didn’t say as much to his father. He struggled with the feeling of hate and fear warring within him. “I can’t explain it now.”
“No,” his father hissed, cutting him off, “you won’t explain it now. There is a difference, Stefanushka, and you are stepping around it. There is something you need to remember.”
“What’s that?” Stefan asked, eager to leave before his father’s temper became too hot.
“I can always find out what you are doing, my son,” Ivan said in a low voice. “These walls may contain the others, but they will not contain me. There are those that will help Ivan Denisovich Korzh if he calls to them.”
“Okay,” Stefan said, worry and fear crawling around his stomach, “well, I’ve got a lot of driving to do. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“See that you are,” his father said, and went silent.
Stefan hurried out of the house, locking it behind him. He would return, after he was settled in Kansas. The state was big, and he would be able to continue with his work of killing the amateurs. And when that was done, he would move on to the older ones.
The bad ones.
Stefan went to the RV he had purchased, climbed into it and glanced around. The dead were silent, secured in boxes and containers stacked around the vehicle. He had hours to go before he would rest. For a moment, he considered the setback he had suffered with the loss of the house in Long Island, and the items that had been in it, but then he smiled.
Soon he would be in his new home, and none would be the wiser.
Whistling, Stefan started the RV, shifted into gear, and pulled out of the driveway. Life, once more, was looking up.
* * *
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Stefan Korzh Hunts
A harsh wind ripped down the center stairwell of the apartment building, causing Stefan to huddle against the cold concrete wall. The white cotton gloves on his hands were too large and provided little protection from the chill. He pulled the small box closer to his chest and waited for the cold to pass.
It did so after nearly a minute, and when it had gone, he straightened up and continued towards the fifth floor. When he climbed past the third, his legs began to tire. Anger at his own physical weakness smothered his body’s complaints, and he focused on each stair. The worn treads of steps were slick from decades of use, and he had to watch where he placed each foot. His sneakers weren’t new, and what little grip was left on the soles might not prove to be enough for the ascent.
Stefan reached the landing for the fourth floor and paused, taking a moment to make certain no one was following him.
He was alone on the stairs, as he had thought he would be. Most people would take the elevators. And Stefan knew that no one would notice him, a thirteen-year old boy, in a structure as large as Crisp, Building 1.
And Stefan had been careful.
He had chosen the Crisp apartments, and he watched them. In the weeks prior to the adventure, he had found his mark there and made certain he knew everything about her habits.
Stefan waited a full minute to make certain he was alone, and then continued his ascent. Soon he reached the fifth landing, but he hesitated at the door that led to the floor. The day prior, he had slipped a wedge made of folded paper into the lock to stop it from catching. With a gloved hand, he reached out, took hold of the worn metal door latch and tugged on it gently.
The door slid on silent hinges, the smell of the WD-40 he previously used still strong in the air.
He edged the door a fraction of an inch past the frame and peered into the hall beyond. The hall was empty, as he had hoped it would be.
Stefan pulled the door open far enough for him to slip in, and then eased it closed behind him. The sounds of televisions and people arguing reached his ears. A horrific wave of mixed aromas assaulted his nose, stinging his eyes and causing him to bite back a cough. He hated the smells of other people, and the food that others ate was the worst.
Stefan shook the distractions away and focused on his target instead.
Apartment 515, seven doors down on the right from where he stood.
There was a light green, faux grass mat with the word ‘Welcome’ spelled out in letters formed of sunflowers. Bright pictures of fairies and gardens, beautiful flowers and snow-capped mountains were taped to the metal door. A spider plant hung on either side of the door, and there was a sign to the right that said, “There are no strangers here, only friends we have not met.”
Stefan hated all of it.
He crept closer, hesitating when passing each door, readying the excuses he had prepared.
Yet no one left the safety of their apartments to investigate the stranger on their floor.
No one cared.
When Stefan reached her door, he squatted down and pried open the lid of the wooden box. In its confines lay an origami rose, the open bud a vibrant, almost pulsing red. He extracted it with a care that bordered on reverence and laid it on the left side of the mat. She was left-handed,
he knew, and it would be natural for her to glance there before she entered her home.
A chill filled the hall, rising up from the paper rose. The air pulsed in front of him and a shape began to form.
“Stop!” he hissed in Russian.
The shape fluctuated between definition and ambiguity.
“I will crush you,” he whispered, “and then I will bring you to my father.”
The form vanished.
Stefan nodded in approval. “A woman will come here soon enough. She is yours.”
A low, dry chuckle escaped from the origami rose and Stefan stood up. Long strides carried him back to the door that led to the stairs. He pushed it open, removed the paper wedge and placed it in the back pocket of his jeans. With the door only slightly ajar, Stefan settled in and waited.
Time passed, and people came and went from the other apartments. None of them noticed the origami flower, and none of them went near the stairs. All made their way to the elevators at the end of the hall.
At 6:26 PM one of the elevator doors opened, and she came out.
Mrs. Anise, who helped run the library at school.
Her husband had been murdered, so the story went, and she had sought refuge in anonymity. She put the books away in the school library and made sure everyone behaved.
More than once she had sought to put a smile on Stefan’s face by telling him jokes, or giving him a piece of candy.
But he didn’t need sweets or amusement.
Stefan needed to be left alone. He had told her in no uncertain terms that she had to stop talking to him, but that had earned him a trip to the principal’s office. The trip to the head of the school had resulted in a phone call home. He had received a whipping from his father, and a slap from his mother.
Then they had promptly ignored him again and returned to their pursuit of the dead. All Stefan had received for his honesty was punishment, so there would be no more discussions with Mrs. Anise about what he did or did not want or need.
The rose would solve the problem as well as satisfy his curiosity about one of the items in his mother’s collection.