by Ron Ripley
“I,” she started, but then she began to shake and spittle formed at the corners of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered, and the whites rolled up, her hands opened and closed, the fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
“Pills,” she said through clenched teeth. “Purse. Seizure.”
The idea that she would die without telling him what she knew spurred him out of his seat. Stefan twisted around, found her purse on the floor, and jerked it into his lap even as she and the entire chair crashed to the floor. He tore the snaps off the purse as he opened it, found the small white bottle labeled, Gabapentin. A glint of silver caught his eye, and for a moment he was distracted, and he looked deeper into the purse.
He saw his own eye staring back at him.
“Gary,” Ariana said, without a trace of the debilitation she had been suffering from seconds earlier.
An unseen blow smashed into Stefan, hurtling him backwards.
***
Waves of nauseating pain washed over Ariana, threatening to send her into unconsciousness, much as Gary had done the same for Stefan.
Her half-brother lay limp on the floor, and Gary stood beside him.
Gary Sloan was a diminutive ghost, not quite a midget. He was slight, almost elfin, and his favorite pastime had been to cut the hamstrings of tall men when he had been alive in the 1930s. The compact he possessed had once belonged to a prostitute, the only person who had ever cared for him, and thus the only person he had ever cared for.
Ariana had the good fortune to look like the woman.
“He’s not as tall as I thought he would be,” Gary said, shrugging his shoulders beneath the rough cotton shirt he wore. He turned his attention to Ariana, frowning. “Do you need help getting out of there?”
“I would appreciate it, Gary,” she said, biting back a grimace. The three gunshot wounds throbbed, and as much as she wanted to seize hold of Stefan, she knew that she would be no match for him when he came to. And she didn’t have anything to hold him with to keep him bound and in place. She forced herself to smile at the ghost. If Gary realized how much Stefan had hurt her, he might kill the man, and that was an action only her father could take.
“Okay,” Gary said. He moved toward her and warned, “This might hurt.”
“Usually does,” Ariana said, and braced herself for the pain.
***
A pounding headache woke Stefan up and showed him that he was alone.
The chair he had bound Ariana to was empty.
Whoever Gary was, the ghost had helped her escape.
Ariana had recognized Stefan’s desire for information and exploited it.
It had been a deft move, and while he felt rage seethe below the surface, he nodded in grudging admiration at the way she had escaped. With a grumble, Stefan left the room.
In silence, he walked out into the daylight and stood still. He took several deep breaths, glanced back at the small shack he had transformed into a cell, and sighed.
Not knowing who she had truly been, or why she had been helping his father was disappointing. But at least he had confirmed that someone was helping Ivan Denisovich, and while he didn’t know why, he at least knew how.
And that knowledge lifted the shroud of fear off him. He would still need to watch his back.
I need to make a safer place. One laced with salt, and lined with cameras. A house with iron to keep out the dead, and a damned clear field of fire to gun down the living, he thought, following the path that would lead him to the main road. I am still not as safe as I need to be.
Not if I want to destroy my birthright.
Chapter 42: A Distant Memory
Tom woke up feeling as though he had been sick for a month. In the back of his throat he tasted something sour, and a quick look around the front seat showed an empty pint bottle of whiskey on the floor.
It took him several minutes to get his bearings, and when he did, he realized that it was late afternoon, almost evening, and he had no idea where he was.
Straightening up, Tom looked around the strange car he was in. The fact that he was in the driver’s seat was even odder, especially since he had been so reluctant to drive with his parents or to take lessons at school. A quick check of his surroundings showed he was in the parking lot of an abandoned McDonald’s.
“Tom,” Nicholas said from the back seat.
Swallowing back a scream and trying to get his thundering heart under control, Tom twisted in the seat to look at the dead man.
Nicholas grinned at him, the man’s form disturbingly solid. “You’re finally awake.”
Tom nodded. “How long was I asleep?”
“Less than a day,” Nicholas said, glancing out the window as a battered pickup truck went racing past. “Strange, how one becomes aware of the passage of time when in a body again.”
The dead man smiled at Tom, and Tom was shocked by the sincerity.
“Now, do you remember anything?” the ghost asked.
Tom shook his head. “I remember going past the unconscious police officer, and heading down the road. That’s it.”
“Best you don’t remember anything else then,” Nicholas said.
Tom went to scratch an itch on the back of his hand and discovered he had gloves on. When he went to take them off, Nicholas shook his head.
“Leave them on,” the dead man advised.
“Why?” Tom asked, confused.
“We borrowed this vehicle,” Nicholas answered. “Without permission.”
“We stole it,” Tom said, leaving the gloves on.
“Yes,” Nicholas said, grinning. “We did. Or, rather, I did. You were more or less asleep. In all honesty, you, personally, had nothing to do with it. Unfortunately, since I was in your body, your fingerprints would tell a different story.”
Tom was silent for a moment before he looked at the dilapidated fast food restaurant and asked, “How much longer until we get to Pennsylvania?”
“We’re here,” Nicholas responded. “And, if I’m not mistaken, we should find not only Jeremy and my grandson, but Stefan Korzh.”
A sickening rage exploded in Tom’s heart as he heard the murderer’s name.
His face must have reflected his feelings, for Nicholas nodded.
“Keep that hatred close, Tom,” the dead man said in a hard voice. “You’ll need it before long if I am not mistaken. We must be cautious, you more so than myself.”
“Okay,” Tom said in a hoarse voice. He looked out at the darkening sky and asked, “Now what?”
“Now,” Nicholas said, “we find my grandson, and from there, Korzh.”
“Let’s do it,” Tom said, and he left the safety of the stolen car.
Chapter 43: Disgusted
Stefan Korzh had suffered more setbacks in the past two weeks than he cared to think about. It was time, he knew, to do more than complain about it.
Stefan had become accustomed to being at the top, and he hated to be anything less than number one. Allowing his dead father to drive him out of not one, but two refuges was unacceptable.
Stefan knew Ivan Denisovich shouldn’t be capable of anything.
Not against him.
The unknown woman, and her escape, left a bad taste in his mouth, and Stefan felt a strong compulsion to know who she was. Not only to know her name, but her history, and to find her.
She needed to be dealt with, especially since she had been so eager to help his father. The woman had already proved herself to be a threat, and once she healed, she might be again if he didn’t find a way to contain both her and Ivan Denisovich.
And Stefan knew his father was probably the only person who knew who she was. That meant he would need to confront Ivan Denisovich, and the only way Stefan could do that would be to find the object his father was bound to.
Which required him to return to the house Ivan Denisovich had destroyed.
Stefan shuddered at the thought, but he knew there was no other choice.
“I hate him,” he sighe
d, and readied himself for the dangerous task ahead.
Chapter 44: A Growing Bitterness
Lana was back at the second crime scene, by herself.
There was something wrong in the air. A corruption in the woods that raised goose bumps on her arms and caused the small hairs at the back of her neck to stand on end.
The house was empty, the victim’s girlfriend still hospitalized.
And understandably so. Some of the forensic techs were seeing therapists. It had taken them the better part of the night to gather what remained of the victim.
Most of him, at least. Some had been stolen away by animals. A few pieces, Lana suspected, had been carted away as trophies by whoever had done the killing.
A few of her colleagues from Pennsylvania argued that it was an animal that had killed the man. She disagreed. The lack of tracks and the precision with which the body parts had been scattered said otherwise.
And there was the case in West Virginia, the rest stop with the teens.
No, Lana thought, squatting down and looking over the scene where they had found the man’s face. There’s something here. Something more.
Lana felt as though she was missing an essential clue, although she couldn’t put her finger on it, no matter how hard she concentrated.
After several more minutes, she sat down on the forest grounds and stared at the scene as she would in her office. Her eyes no longer focused on the trees and the world around her, but looked through it. She found the memories of what she had originally seen, superimposed them over the current landscape, and plumbed the depths of what lay beneath the dispersal of the body parts.
Why the face? She asked herself. Why the heads?
The crunch of leaves behind her disrupted Lana’s thoughts, dragging her back to the present moment. She held onto her temper and listened. Another light step sounded, and she knew it was a child.
Twisting around to tell the intruder to go home and to let her think, Lana froze, surprise replacing the scowl.
While the person behind her was the size of a child and dressed as one, it most certainly was not a child. It was not dressed in a Halloween mask, nor was it someone wearing disturbingly realistic makeup to look as though they had crawled out of some horror film.
No, there was nothing human about the creature before her, and Lana knew instinctively that the strange beast was the killer.
Her hand dropped down for her sidearm, but she was too slow.
And the creature was faster than anything she had ever seen.
Her cry of dismay was torn from her as the intruder’s sharp claws ripped out her throat.
***
Leanne’s voice was hoarse and difficult to understand over the poor reception of Jeremy’s cell.
“Leanne,” Jeremy said, controlling his anger with difficulty. “I have to express some concern over Jean Luc.”
“What of my friend?” she asked, her voice piqued.
“I believe that he is responsible for several violent acts which have occurred in the vicinity,” Jeremy explained. “I was hoping you might be able to speak with him.”
“Of course he might responsible for them,” Leanne snapped. “He’s a Lutin, a goblin. While most of his kind are a trifle amusing, he is not. But he was never violent. At least not with me. So, he hunts a few animals when he is outdoors. Or perhaps he even gets in a destructive mood and breaks some windows for the pure spite of it. Nothing drastic, I am sure.”
“Leanne,” Jeremy began, controlling his rising anger. “If you could just speak with him–”
“If you can get him to come to the phone, then I will,” Leanne said, cutting him off. She sighed and said, “I am sorry, Jeremy. I have not quite been myself since the incident with Korzh’s son. Jean Luc was quite upset as well. I will certainly speak to him, and I will do my best to get him to cease acting out.”
“Act out?” Jeremy asked, unable to contain his anger any longer. “Leanne, I believe he has murdered three people. Why, in God’s name, did you have me bring this creature? You let me stumble blindly about, and it is costing people their lives!”
A long, uncomfortable pause filled the air on the phone. Leanne finally broke it as she asked, “He has killed someone?”
“At least several people, Leanne,” Jeremy said.
“I confess, I’m confused,” she said in a soft voice. “As I said, he was never violent. Never with me. I don’t know why he would do this. Go and find him, Jeremy, and I will speak with him.”
“And if I can’t find him?” Jeremy asked. “How do I control him? Can he be controlled?”
“I hope he can,” she replied. “Call me as soon as you find him.”
Sighing in resignation, Jeremy said, “I will, Leanne. I certainly will.”
He ended the call without another word and went to his bed, the pain in his hip suddenly fierce, and the exhaustion dragged him down to the cool sheets.
***
Anger and depression fought for control of Victor’s thoughts, his mind never seeming to be able to rest. Janel had texted him several more times, and after the last one he had turned off the phone.
He appreciated her concern, but he had no desire to speak with her at any great length.
Not until Erin was avenged, and possibly not even after.
Victor sat at the small table in the kitchen of the rented house. The only light in the room was provided by a weak and fickle bulb under the cabinet above the stove. On the scarred table top was a solitary bottle of Popov Vodka, the cap still sealed.
Victor had been staring at it for the better part of an hour and would have gone on with the pointless act if he hadn’t been interrupted by the arrival of Jean Luc.
The small goblin came into the room with a curious, rolling stride, as though the creature was feeling particularly proud of itself.
Victor shivered at what Jean Luc might take pride in.
The goblin glanced at him, winked, scrambled up onto the counter and turned on the hot water. In less than a minute, steam came rolling up from the sink and when it did, Jean Luc leaned over, opened his mouth, and drank greedily. The creature’s gulping and slurping elicited a shudder from Victor.
It was only when Jean Luc raised his head, water running down his chin, that Victor noticed the blood on the creature’s hands and claws. The black t-shirt Jean Luc wore was darker than it should have been in some places as well.
And Victor knew it wasn’t animal’s blood that the goblin needed to wash off.
Turning off the water, Jean Luc dropped lightly to the floor, stretched, and then strode over to the table. He grinned wickedly and asked a question in French that Victor couldn’t begin to understand.
More inquiries followed, each fired off as the creature’s smile spread into an almost physically impossible width.
“I don’t understand,” Victor said.
Jean Luc shrugged and left the room, stinking of fear and old blood.
Victor didn’t know whose blood the creature was covered with, but the fear belonged to Victor, and to him alone.
A sense of foreboding spread through him, and without any further hesitation, he broke the seal on the vodka and poured himself a drink.
Chapter 45: An Introduction
He approached the house with a curious mixture of caution and trepidation, and without any sort of disguise.
Bontoc climbed the steps of the house, listening to the hideous squeal of each rotting board. The old wood was weak enough so that he could easily fall through, and he knew that such an accident could be anywhere from humiliating to fatal should he somehow sever the femoral artery. He allowed thoughts of concern to drift through as he reached the front door, and then cleared them away when he noticed the door was ajar.
His nose wrinkled at the scent of death. It wasn’t the smell of freshly spilled blood or even that of a corpse that had recently begun the process of decomposition. Instead, Bontoc smelled the curious, spiced scent of mummified flesh, as though bodies ha
d been stacked in the walls and forgotten, left to wither likes grapes upon the vine.
Bontoc pushed the door open and heard whispers.
Not one or two voices, but hundreds. Perhaps more.
And all of them were wondering why he was there.
Bontoc was beginning to question himself as well.
Before he could formulate the inquiry properly, a voice boomed out from the second floor and filled the house.
“Stefan?!” the unseen man demanded.
For the first time in his life, Bontoc hesitated. Then he shook off his fear and stepped into the house.
The voices stopped.
“No,” Bontoc answered. “I am not Stefan.”
The temperature in the structure plummeted, and he clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
“Then who are you?” the voice from the second floor demanded.
“I am Bontoc,” he answered.
There was a moment’s pause, then the unseen man asked, “Bontoc De Los Angeles?”
“Yes.”
“Son of Carlos?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” Bontoc replied, nodding.
“Come up,” the unseen man said. “My name is Ivan Denisovich Korzh, and I would like to speak with you.”
Bontoc found himself hesitant to do so, but he pushed forward. The entire stairwell groaned beneath his weight, the supports quivering. By the time he reached the second floor, he was sweating.
“Come here,” Ivan said, his voice coming from behind a heavy door bound with iron.
Bontoc turned to face it and took several steps closer.
“Yes, I can see your father in your face. He was an interesting man,” Ivan said.
“He blinded my mother,” Bontoc said coldly.
“I didn’t say he was a nice man,” Ivan replied. “I merely stated that he was interesting. Tell me, did he pass on his curious hobby?”
Bontoc thought of the hundreds of heads his father had collected in the western part of the island of Mindanao in the Philippines.