by Ron Ripley
Jeremy took out a business card, one that listed him as an independent researcher and consultant, and Victor jotted his email address and cell number onto the back of it. Dr. Greene, in turn, gave them each a business card.
“Very good, gentlemen,” Dr. Greene said, “I will contact you within the next few days. Thank you again. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to Tom.”
They said their goodbyes, then Victor and Jeremy left the police station. Victor modified his step to walk beside Jeremy, and the two of them crossed the parking lot in silence. When they reached the car, Jeremy turned and asked, “Are you ready to start today?”
“Of course,” Victor answered, getting into the driver’s seat. A moment later, Jeremy was in the car as well.
“Now,” Jeremy said, “you are sort of a researcher as well, right?”
“Yes,” Victor nodded as he buckled his seat belt and started the car. “And there’s no sort of. Research is what I do.”
“And you’re stubborn and focused?” Jeremy asked.
Victor snorted. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Excellent,” Jeremy said. “So am I. I think it’s going to take a great deal of pig-headedness from the pair of us to find Stefan in the wilds of Pennsylvania. I foresee a great many hours spent in front of computers, and possibly even more rummaging through land titles in and out of the way towns and Pennsylvania Dutch villages.”
“I’m fine with that,” Victor muttered, glancing at the old and battered Victorian houses lining the street. He sighed and said, “Let’s get to your house. The sooner we get started, the better I’ll feel.”
“I understand,” Jeremy said, and after a pause he added, “and it’s your home now, too, Victor.”
Surprised, Victor said, “Thank you.”
The older man nodded, and Victor turned his attention back to the city. Thank you, Victor thought, sighing, but Stefan Korzh destroyed my home and my life.
I’m going to do the same to him.
* * *
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: A Definite Improvement
Stefan Korzh waited until the last shovel full of dirt was placed in his father’s grave before he turned and left. He felt the eyes of the cemetery’s caretakers on him, but he didn’t look back.
If he had, they would have seen the smile on his face.
Up until a few minutes before, Stefan had feared that his father would somehow climb up out of the concrete sarcophagus, leaking embalming fluid, and demanding that Stefan seek vengeance.
A vengeance Stefan had no interest in.
He had been shocked by the news of his father’s death, then doubly surprised when he had learned the man had been murdered. Ivan Denisovich Korzh had been a titan to Stefan, a Russian god seemingly immune to the natural laws of the world.
His death had been tremendously satisfying.
It meant, in the long term, that Stefan would not be bound up in a life focused on the care and upkeep of haunted items. He knew, of course, that his mother would press the issue, but Stefan could handle Nicole Korzh. And in a few years, he would be able to leave the house and forget everything about his childhood.
He loosened his tie, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked to the limousine the funeral home had provided. The rest of the mourners – and there had been a surprisingly large amount of them – had already left. His mother alone remained, a stunned expression on her face. Her hand clutched his father’s wedding ring, and Stefan had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the sight.
“Is it done?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
Stefan nodded and looked out the tinted glass of the window at the rows of seemingly endless headstones that stretched towards the forest.
“I couldn’t watch,” his mother said in the same, raw voice.
“I know,” Stefan replied.
“I’m glad you could,” she said. “Your father would have appreciated it.”
Stefan only nodded in response.
The engine rumbled into life, and the limousine pulled into the center of the cemetery’s road. Stefan kept his eyes on his father’s grave, watching as the caretakers laid down blocks of sod over his father.
The car turned, and Stefan lost sight of the grave. He settled back into the seat, buckled up and closed his eyes. Stefan exaggerated an expression of thoughtful concentration and hoped it would keep his mother silent.
He hoped to play the role of the mournful son, but he couldn’t do it with his eyes open.
Each time he saw his mother’s shattered expression Stefan wanted to laugh. Her misery was a soothing balm to the years of violence he had suffered at their hands.
Given time, Stefan hoped to make her suffer as much as he had.
Bonus Scene Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor
Three months had passed since his father’s death, and Stefan had lost track of the number of collectors who had come to pay their respects. Stefan ignored them as much as possible, but there were some instances where avoidance was not an option.
Saturday the fourteenth of August proved to be such a day.
The dead had been loud, much more so than usual, and it had kept him up for the better part of the night.
Grumbling to himself, Stefan carried the cleaning supplies up to the second floor and went into the bathroom. His mother was in her room, pouring over catalogs from auction houses around the country, and Stefan had to scrub the toilet.
Muttering angrily to himself, Stefan pulled on the rubber gloves, added a heaping dose of Comet to the inside of the toilet and picked up the scrubber. The chemical burned his nostrils, and he ignored it as much as possible. Halfway through the process, the doorbell rang.
Stefan rolled his eyes and continued to scrub.
When the bell rang a second time, his mother called to him from her room.
“What?” Stefan yelled back.
“Get the door!” she demanded.
Swearing under his breath, Stefan got up, stripped off the gloves and dropped them to the floor as he left the bathroom. When he reached the first floor and opened the door, he was surprised to see an attractive older woman. Her hair was blonde and swept back, her eyes a piercing blue and her lips were full. She wore a light gray business suit, tailored to accentuate an impressive figure.
“Hello,” she murmured, easing past him into the house. “Is your mother home?”
“She’s in her office,” Stefan replied, noticing how the woman’s shoulders sank a fraction of an inch with the information. Before she could speak again, Stefan called up the stairs, “Mother, company!”
The woman shrugged out of her coat, smiled at Stefan and handed it to him. He shrugged, turned, and hung it up on the coat rack as his mother appeared at the top of the stars, making her way down.
“Hello, Diane,” his mother said.
“Nicole,” Diane replied, walking forward to embrace his mother as she reached the first floor. “How are you doing, dear?”
There was a falseness to the question that caught Stefan’s ear, and he turned to look at her. His mother didn’t seem to notice.
“Well enough,” his mother replied. “Do you want some coffee?”
“I would love some,” Diane answered, and the two of them left the hall for the kitchen.
Stefan watched them go, displeased with the arrival of the strange woman, and with the curious lie in her voice.
Once the two women had entered the kitchen, Stefan went to the dining room. He sat down and leaned against the wall, able to hear everything his mother and Diane said.
Stefan listened as they exchanged pleasantries, chatted about people they knew in common, and traded gossip about others they weren’t fond of. The conversation continued along similar lines for almost an hour, and then Diane’s voice shifted.
It was a slight change and one that Stefan almost missed.
But her voice became sharper, her tone intense as she asked, “What will you do with Ivan’s collection?”
“Keep it,” his moth
er replied, ignorant of Diane’s change of attitude. “I don’t know what else to do with it. He was extremely proud of it.”
“Of course, he was,” Diane said, her voice soft and lilting. “And who wouldn’t be? Your husband gathered the finest collection of murderers. It’s truly significant, and I’m glad that you’ll be protecting it.”
Stefan’s mother murmured something he didn’t catch.
“I think it’s a shame, though,” Diane continued, “to keep such a collection hidden from our own kind. I’ve been speaking with some of the other, more important, members of our collective, and they agree that Ivan’s collection should be displayed. And prominently.”
Stefan straightened up, disliking the way the conversation was moving.
“I can’t give his collection away,” his mother said in a stiff tone.
“Of course you can’t,” Diane said with a pleasant laugh. “And no one would ask you to. Like any museum, they would only want to borrow the pieces. You know, I recently discovered that many of the finer museums in America don’t own most of their pieces. The items are on loan from other institutions and individual collectors.”
“Really?” his mother asked.
“Really,” Diane answered. “Think about all of our people who could look upon the glory of Ivan’s work. Think of how many would speak of him, and admire the great contribution he made to our people.”
Stefan felt anger churn his stomach, twisting it into a seething knot of rage.
He didn’t want anyone to think of his father.
Stefan wanted him forgotten. The memory of the man destroyed and shattered.
He wanted nothing to remain.
Nothing.
Shaking with fury, Stefan got to his feet and walked stiffly out of the room, heading for the stairs.
Bonus Scene Chapter 3: From a Distance and Efficient
Stefan’s hands shook, his anger threatening to boil over into physical violence with every step he took up the stairs. From the kitchen, he heard the continued conversation of his mother and their uninvited guest.
Stefan wanted nothing more than his father to vanish from the eye of the world. For the man’s entire wretched legacy to be forgotten and disassembled.
But Diane wanted to do otherwise, and she was playing to the ego of Stefan’s mother. His mother had worshiped Ivan Denisovich, and while she loathed to part with any of the man’s possessions, especially the complete collection, her desire to see the man remembered might sway her.
Stefan ground his teeth as he reached the second floor. He hesitated at the top of the stairs, clenching his hands into tight fists. At the end of the hall stood his father’s special room. The one bound and sealed, not only to keep Stefan and his mother out but to keep the dead locked in.
For several seconds he contemplated forcing his way into the room. It would be foolish, and more than likely he would be injured or even killed. Yet the anger lashing his mind made him believe he might be able to enter; that there was a chance he could get into the room and destroy the possessed items therein.
The annihilation of the pieces would be incredibly difficult, if he was even capable of it. And he would be at the mercy of the dead while he attempted their destruction, which could result in his death or possession if he was too weak.
Stefan took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly through his nose, forcing himself to think.
It doesn’t have to be destroyed, he told himself. It only needs to remain here, hidden.
The problem then wouldn’t be his father’s collection, but Diane.
And Diane was a far more manageable concern.
Stefan turned away from his father’s room and walked to his mother’s study. While her items were dangerous, the dead bound to them lacked the singular hideousness of his father’s. Yes, hers murdered and tortured, but never to the degree that his father’s had. The body counts attached to each of those items were, in some cases, well into the hundreds.
Stefan reached the door to his mother’s study, and true to form, he found it unlocked. He eased it open and slipped into the room, stopping long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The shelves were cluttered with various items, each marked with a small tag that declared who was attached to it and a number indicating the crimes committed by the ghost.
Closing his eyes, Stefan tried to remember all of the inane prattle his parents had exchanged about her collection. Soon it came to him, and he smiled. Opening his eyes, he sought out one particular piece.
On a low shelf, almost obscured by a chunk of red brick, Stefan found it. A small, blackened paperclip. He glanced around, spotted a pair of cotton gloves on his mother’s desk and took them down. After he had put them on, Stefan picked up the paperclip and read the tag attached.
Bekah Dryer, his mother’s neat penmanship declared. Used this paperclip in an electrical outlet, 1954. Four dead. (5).
Stefan concentrated, made his face a blank, unreadable mask and whispered, “Bekah.”
The temperature in the room shifted by a degree or two, not much, but enough for him to notice.
It encouraged Stefan and he whispered again, “Bekah. Bekah Dryer.”
The shadows across from him darkened, and a voice emerged from it.
“What?” a surly voiced woman asked.
“How long have you been here?” Stefan asked.
“Too long,” she snapped.
“Do you want to leave?” he inquired.
There was a pause before she replied. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Stefan answered, keeping his voice calm. “I only have a small favor to ask.”
“What?” she demanded.
“I want you to hurt someone for me,” Stefan answered.
Bekah laughed. “How bad?”
“Dead,” Stefan said.
The dead woman snorted. “Who is it?”
“Her name’s Diane,” Stefan said. “I’m going to put you in the pocket of her coat.”
“How do you want her to die?” Bekah asked.
Stefan smiled and said, “Anyway you want.”
Bonus Scene Chapter 4: A Successful Trip
Diane shifted her 1972 Camaro into gear and enjoyed the heavy thrum of the vehicle’s powerful engine. She adjusted her seatbelt and pulled away from the rundown home that had once contained the finest pair of collectors of possessed items in the continental United States.
The death of Ivan Denisovich had ended that, leaving his wife a wreck and unsure as to what to do with his legacy.
Diane knew exactly what to do with it. She smiled to herself, came to a stop sign, took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled toward the roof of the car. The museum had promised her a significant bonus if she could bring in even a tenth of what the Korzhs’ had kept locked up. She was positive she could wrangle every last item from Nicole Korzh. And if for some reason Diane couldn’t, she could always manipulate the woman’s son.
Diane had seen him lingering near her coat, even reaching out to caress the arm at one point.
She shook her head. Infatuation was a tool if employed correctly.
Diane grinned, turned left and opened up the throttle as she accelerated down the narrow, two-lane road. The trees were crowded around it, giving a claustrophobic sense of isolation to the entire area. It had been, she was sure, a conscious decision on the part of Ivan. She had met the man several times during her own brief career as a collector, and learned that he had done everything for a definitive reason.
Diane appreciated such a mentality. It was what kept her alive through some of the poorer decisions others made around her, and finally led her to accept the fact that she wasn’t fit to go into the field looking for loose items.
No, her specialty was acquiring possessed curios from others through money, promises, deception, and, when needed, outright theft.
But it wouldn’t be needed with Nicole. The eyes of Korzh’s widow had turned into veritable beacons when she learned about a legacy
left in Ivan’s name.
Diane let out a gasp as a sharp pain pierced her right side, causing her to jerk the steering wheel in the same direction. Taking in great, ragged breaths, Diane over-corrected the steering wheel and crossed the other lane, the car spinning and then diving headlong into a narrow ditch on the opposite side of the road.
A scream was torn from Diane’s throat as the Camaro jammed nose first into the earth, the steering wheel smashing into her chest. Bones cracked and ribs punched up into her lungs. Blood exploded out of her mouth and burned through her nostrils. Her vision swam, and she tried to breathe, but the pain was tremendous.
When her body finally forced her to inhale, she exhaled a desperate scream.
“Does it hurt?” a voice asked.
Diane twisted her head as much as she could towards the speaker, hope searing her thoughts.
Yet the hope was stillborn.
A ghost crouched on the ground outside of the broken driver’s side window. The specter was female, and young, perhaps in her late teens. Diane’s blurry vision couldn’t compensate for the way the dead woman fluctuated in and out of existence.
“Help me,” Diane begged.
“Help you?” The ghost chuckled, shaking her head. “I just murdered you.”
Diane wanted to ask why, but she couldn’t find the breath to do so.
***
The sound of sirens on the main road interrupted Stefan as he read an old military manual on how to prepare booby traps. He tilted his head up and listened for a moment. Within seconds, the sirens settled into a long, plaintive wail, a telling sign that the accident was close by.
More sirens approached, and they too stopped on the main road.
Stefan put the book down, stood, and went to his bedroom window. He could see the glow of red lights flashing in the early evening. They were less than half a mile away.