by Ron Ripley
Swearing, Luis tried to bring himself upright and to strike at Shane with his free hand.
Shane twisted sharply, and Luis’ captured wrist snapped before the man punched him twice in the nose, breaking it.
Pain exploded into Luis' head as blood poured from his nostrils. A boot stomped on the inset of Luis’ foot, driving him to his knees with the pain. He tried to swing at Shane, but Shane blocked it easily, turning the blow aside, catching the wrist, and breaking that one as well.
Luis panted, his head down, blood dripping between his knees and onto the floor.
“When General George Armstrong Custer was killed at the Battle of the Little Big Horn,” Shane said conversationally, “it is rumored the Lakota defiled his body in only one way. Do you know what it was, and why?”
“Shut up,” Luis whispered.
His head snapped back as Shane drove a knee into his mouth.
Luis shrieked as his front teeth and jaw broke.
“Pretty sure that’s not any sort of answer.” Shane lifted him up, dropped him into the chair and walked back to the bottle of whiskey, never taking his eyes off Luis.
“Anyway,” Shane said, lighting a fresh cigarette and pouring himself another drink. “What the Lakota were supposed to have done, was to pierce Custer’s eardrums so he might hear them better in the next world.”
The room took on a crimson hue, and Luis knew one of his eyes was filling with blood.
“Did I hit you too hard?” Shane asked with genuine interest. “Sorry about that. It’s been a while since I had a little tussle. You know how it is, you forget how to regulate your body. Oh well.”
Shane removed the cigarette for a moment, took a long drink, then placed the cigarette back between his lips. He sat down in his chair and looked at Luis.
“You have anyone you want me to get in touch with?” Shane asked politely.
Luis swore at him.
Shane shrugged and finished his drink.
Luis tried to marshal his strength, tried to will himself to get up and out of the chair. He felt a surge of energy and managed to rise to his feet, but as he did so, Shane Ryan was there, a pale, scarred, and deadly man.
The .45 was once more in his hand, and he looked at Luis. Then, in a soft voice, he said, “This is Berkley Street, and you shouldn’t have come.”
Before Luis could respond, Shane pressed the muzzle of the .45 into Luis’ stomach and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 8: No Response
“What do you mean?” Abel asked.
A glimmer of frustration shone on David’s face briefly, but the man mastered his emotions and said, “Sir, Luis and his team are missing.”
Abel shook his head, refusing to accept the statement.
“Come now, David,” he said, “surely there must be some mistake?”
“No sir,” David said grimly. “I wish there was. I’ve taken the precaution of sending in a solo scout to make contact. No one is in their room, nor has anyone seen their rental vehicle at the hotel over the past few days.”
“Where did it go?” Abel murmured aloud. “Where could they have gotten to?”
A light tap on the door sounded, and David answered it. The nurse handed him a note and said, “This just came in. Someone from communications brought it to us.”
“Thanks,” David said.
After the door had closed, Abel glanced at David and asked, “Will you read it, please?”
The captain of his guard opened the letter and did so.
“The rental car was discovered in a parking lot several stores up from the rental agency. Evidently, it was cleaned and detailed. There is little hope of finding any sort of trace evidence,” David read, his lips forming a tight line across his face. “Our people canvassed Berkley Street as well. No one remembers seeing any of our trio.”
“Someone killed them all,” Abel murmured.
Folding the paper, David continued.
“It was probably the home’s owner,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” Abel asked.
“A little more information on this,” David said, holding up the paper. “Seems like our happy homeowner was a combat vet. Career Marine.”
“That,” Abel said angrily, “is some pertinent information that should have been shared prior to an attempt being made on the house.”
David nodded his head in mute agreement. “I agree, sir. But there’s nothing in the system about him. Not a damned thing.”
“Then how did you learn about his service?” Abel demanded.
“During the canvas, sir,” David explained. “Several of his neighbors spoke of his having been a Marine.”
“What else?” Abel asked sharply.
“Evidently, sir,” David said, his cheeks reddening, “the owner, Shane Ryan, is no stranger to ghosts.”
“I’m not surprised,” Abel said, unable to stop the sarcasm from filling his words. “It is a haunted house, after all.”
“No, sir,” David said. “The tech team did a little more digging for me, and they found reference to him in several online paranormal sites and journals. He’s done quite a bit.”
Abel closed his eyes and pressed his fingers tightly to either temple.
“What exactly are you telling me, David?”
“Sir,” David said, “I’m advising you to not attempt to obtain 125 Berkley Street. I think we’ll lose far too many people in the effort.”
Abel’s head throbbed, his stomach churned, and he felt the need to lay down.
I want that damned house! he thought, and he heard the petulant, spoiled tone of his thoughts.
“It is sound advice,” Abel forced himself to admit. “I wish to be alone.”
“Of course, sir,” David said, and he left the room.
As the door clicked shut, Abel opened his eyes and wondered if it might still be possible to get the house.
Chapter 9: Shadows in the Night
Marcus sat in the kitchen, a single hurricane lamp burning low. He smoked his pipe, enjoying the taste of the tobacco.
Elaine appeared in the shadows by the door and startled him.
Coughing, his eyes watering, Marcus said, “Hello. You scared me.”
She offered up a small, apologetic smile. Her lips remained pressed close together, the dead woman forever attempting to hide the root of her mangled tongue.
“Is the boy still asleep?” he asked.
The smile widened, as it always did when they spoke of Alex, and she nodded.
“That’s good,” Marcus said, feeling some relief. “Very good. Do you wish to travel outside this evening?”
She shook her head vigorously.
He hadn’t believed she would want to leave Alex alone, but he had felt the need to ask.
Elaine pointed to a piece of paper on the table. Each letter of the alphabet was written down, and a selection of common words were jotted on it as well.
“You want to talk?” Marcus asked, picking up a pencil and a small pad of paper.
She nodded.
“Then let us,” he said, smiling at her.
Elaine walked closer, the temperature plummeting around him as she did so. When she was near enough, she pointed to the first letter, and they began the long, drawn-out game of speaking.
When she finished, Marcus read what he had written.
Christopher was wandering the street.
Marcus’ throat tightened, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. He wanted to ask her if she was positive, but he knew she was. Elaine would not have sought him out otherwise.
“Have you told Alex yet?” he asked her.
She shook her head and mimed the act of sleeping.
“Hm,” Marcus said, nodding. “Yes, that’s true. I’ll tell him when he awakens.”
She vanished a moment later, and he was left alone in a slowly warming room.
Several minutes later, Timmy entered, whistling softly to himself.
“Hey,” Timmy said. “How’s it going?”
“Slow,” Marcus replied. He lit his pipe again and then asked, “Have you seen anything unusual outside?”
“Other than the dead wandering around?” Timmy asked with a laugh. “No. Why? What are you looking for?”
“Elaine has reported Christopher has been wandering around outside,” Marcus said.
Timmy frowned and sat down at the table.
“Did she say if he has that damned bayonet with him?” Timmy asked.
Marcus shook his head. “I forgot to ask if he was armed.”
“I’m really hoping he doesn’t,” Timmy said after a moment.
Marcus frowned, and then his eyes widened.
Timmy nodded. “Yup. If he can walk around outside with it, he can go just about anywhere he wants in the Village. Not exactly a good thing.”
“No,” Marcus agreed. “I would have to say that’s perhaps some of the worst news we could have received.”
“Well, here’s hoping he hasn’t figured it out,” Timmy said. “Or that anyone else has bothered to inform him.”
“That would be decidedly unpleasant,” Marcus said.
“Yeah,” Timmy sighed. “That’s one way to put it.”
***
“Alex.”
He grumbled, turned over onto his side and tried to ignore the man’s voice.
Then Alex opened his eyes.
The man who was speaking wasn’t Marcus or Timmy.
Or anyone else he recognized.
“Alex,” the voice said again.
Alex pushed himself up to a sitting position and saw he was still alone in the front room, the fire in the hearth heating the room pleasantly. A ghost he had never seen before stood outside the main window.
The newcomer was old, dressed in an even older Army uniform, and smiling pleasantly.
“You’re awake,” the man said.
Alex nodded. “Who are you?”
“Dennis,” the man replied. “That’s all you need right now. You’re friends with my grandson.”
“Marcus?” Alex asked.
Dennis chuckled and shook his head. “Goodness, no. Timmy. He’s my boy. A little rough at times, but he’s my good boy anyway.”
Alex thought of Timmy and nodded in agreement with Dennis’ assessment.
“I’ve come to ask a favor of you, Alex,” Dennis said, the dead man’s expression growing serious.
“What is it, sir?” Alex asked.
“None of the ‘sir’ stuff,” the dead man scolded playfully. “I was enlisted. I worked for my paycheck. Now, about that favor.”
“Sure,” Alex said.
“You know Meredith?” Dennis asked.
“Of course,” Alex replied, smiling at the memory of the woman. Since Worthe’s troops had retreated from the Village, he hadn’t been able to see her.
“She’s mighty friendly with Timmy,” Dennis explained. “She would like it if you could tell him they need to talk.”
“Is everything okay?” A wave of worry washed over him.
“That I couldn’t tell you,” Dennis said. “I hope it is. But that’s best left for Timmy to decide.”
Alex frowned, but nodded. “Sure. I’ll tell him. Right now.”
“Thank you,” Dennis said. “Alex, I’d shake your hand, but I don’t think it would work out too well.”
“No,” Alex grinned, “probably not.”
“You’re a good boy,” Dennis said as Alex got to his feet. “Just like my Timmy.”
For some reason, the compliment made Alex feel hot with embarrassment as he smiled and hurried out of the room.
***
Timmy shook his head as the boy appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Hell, kid,” Timmy laughed. “You just about scared the hell out of me. What gives?”
“Yes,” Marcus said, turning in his chair to look at the boy. “Why are you awake?”
“I have a message for Timmy,” Alex said.
“Oh, really?” Timmy asked, suppressing a desire to laugh.
“Meredith wants you to meet with her,” Alex replied.
“How do you know that?” Marcus asked in surprise.
“An old man told me,” Alex answered.
Timmy looked at him and said, “An old man. What was his name?”
“Dennis,” Alex said.
The name struck Timmy like a blow.
He swallowed, forced a smile and said, “Do you remember what Dennis was wearing?”
“An old Army uniform,” Alex said without any hesitation. “I mean, like, really old. It was cool. There were a lot of ribbons on it.”
“Yeah,” Timmy agreed. “A silver star, too.”
Marcus looked to Timmy and asked, “Do you know him?”
“Dennis Knip,” Timmy said. “My mom’s dad. He was fantastic. That man was always there for me.”
“What’s he doing here?” Marcus’ voice was filled with confusion. “Is there something you have of his?”
Timmy shook his head. “Just myself. Meredith said he’s always with me, but she never said why or how.”
“You’re his boy,” Alex said.
The words knocked the wind out of Timmy.
He could hear his grandfather say them. Timmy could remember the way his grandfather would tell everyone that Timmy was his boy and his alone.
“Well,” Timmy said after a moment of silence spent martialing his thoughts. “Let’s figure out how to get to Meredith.”
“That’s easy,” Alex said.
Timmy looked at him, confused.
The boy smiled. “We ask Elaine to get her.”
Chapter 10: Messages Sent
Marcus awoke at three in the morning, his internal clock driving sleep from him. He sat up and found Timmy already awake. Alex lay on his bed, asleep and snoring slightly.
“Do you want to wake him?” Timmy asked.
“I do,” Marcus replied. “However, I think it might be best for you to do so. He cannot always rely upon me.”
“Sure,” Timmy said. He crouched down beside Alex’s sleeping form and gently shook the boy awake. “Hey, kid. It’s time to do your trick.”
Alex yawned, smiled, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Sure.”
He got to his feet, and as Marcus and Timmy watched, the boy dressed quickly, humming cheerfully. From the table by the door, he picked up the manacles that had once kept Elaine bound in the attic.
The dead woman appeared a moment later. Alex and Elaine had discussed the situation earlier, and she would do her best to communicate with Meredith.
“Ready?” Alex asked.
Elaine nodded, and Alex grinned at Marcus and Timmy.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the boy said, and he was out the door before anyone could speak.
“Kid’s got some serious courage,” Timmy said a moment later.
“He does,” Marcus agreed. “But he has nothing to fear out there.”
“Do you really think so?” Timmy asked, and Marcus could hear the hint of disbelief in his voice.
“Do you think I would allow him out that door without me if I did not have the utmost faith in him?” Marcus asked gently.
“No, I suppose not,” Timmy said, and the silence grew around the two men as they waited.
***
Alex yawned as he walked, and Elaine kept pace with him, gliding through the snow. Here and there, he caught sight of Huron warriors as well as a few others he had not seen before. They were dressed similarly to Guy, and there was even another Brother dressed like Brother Michel, but that ghost was in far worse condition.
A small part of Alex wanted to stop and talk with them, to find out who or what had killed them, but he remained focused on delivering the message.
Eventually, with the stars shining down upon him, Alex reached the wrought iron fence of the Village. The watchtowers stood evenly placed along the perimeter, but none of the guards seemed to notice him.
Or else they don’t care, Alex thought.
&nb
sp; He knelt in the snow, took Elaine’s shackles out of his pocket and slid them through the fence. He covered them with snow, looked up, and saw Elaine on the other side of the wrought iron.
She smiled nervously at him.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’ll find her, and then you’ll be back in no time. I promise to stay inside until it’s okay to get you. Deal?”
Elaine nodded.
“Cool,” Alex said. “I’ll see you soon.”
He got to his feet, waved to her, and hurried back to 114 Broad, wishing he could see Meredith’s reaction.
Chapter 11: The Absent Guest
Jane sat in the slim warmth of her tent, eating a quick meal and keeping her anger on a tight leash.
This is stupid, she thought, shoving the last spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and chewing quickly. I shouldn’t be out here. Someone else should be chasing after his lost pet. What the hell!
She picked up her coffee, added a little more powdered creamer to it, and drank the bitter mixture down as quickly as she could.
The beverage was more for the caffeine than any sort of flavor.
I could be having this in the comfort of my own bed, she thought. She muttered a curse and started to pack up her mess kit. Within minutes, she was outside, tucking her small, one-person tent into her rucksack.
Stupid. Just stupid.
She cinched the straps closed, snapped each snap, and shouldered the rucksack quickly. Checking her pistol, she pulled her hat down lower, and started off.
All traces of the subject were gone, and Jane suspected the woman knew far more about winter hiking than anyone had realized.
The professor is crashing, she thought dully. He’s making too many mistakes, and this is one of them. Why weren’t we watching everyone in that house? Did he just not pay attention?
No, Jane thought. He’s wrapped up in Meredith. Doesn’t he understand she’s all about Timmy?
Jane shook her head and adjusted the single-point strap on her weapon. Her mind drifted slowly as she walked, her thoughts continuously turning back to the audacity of David and the professor assigning her the task of finding the woman.