Chapter 32: Physical Manifestations

 

Victor’s stomach churned as he stepped around the corpse of Anne Le Morte’s dead caretaker. He had never seen such violence done to a human in person, and a gnawing fear settled in his stomach as he realized that he could enter the warehouse and find Tom in a similar if not worse condition.

Don’t, he snapped. Don’t think like that. He’s going to be fine. I know that.

But no matter how much he lied to himself, Victor didn’t know that.

He limped on towards the open garage door, Ariana keeping pace with him until they were twenty or so feet from the building.

“Stop, Victor,” she said, and there was a cold authority to her voice. Her brutal professionalism had taken control, and Victor did as she said.

He watched as she double checked the AR-15, flipped the safety off and said, “I’m going to take the lead. If I tell you to stop, you stop. No questions. Understood?”

“Yes,” Victor said, gritting his teeth. His head throbbed and ached, and he was certain he was at least mildly concussed. He got a better grip on his shotgun and followed Ariana’s lead the rest of the distance into the dim warehouse.

His eyes adjusted quickly, and he saw a small cluster of offices in the huge building’s center. Ariana approached a small door of the first office cautiously and glanced back, waving Victor off to the left, behind her. When he had done so, she dropped to a crouch, reached out with her left hand and twisted the doorknob. She shoved the door in and brought her hand swiftly back up to the rifle.

After several seconds, she straightened up and lowered her weapons slightly.

“Come on,” she said, crossing the threshold.

Victor nodded, not worrying about traps.

He was concerned only with finding Tom.

“Be careful,” Ariana said as they entered the small cluster of rooms, “Stefan isn’t here, but he may have left behind a trap or two.”

Again, fear for Tom’s safety sprang up and threatened to choke him, and Victor shoved it down.

“There,” Ariana said, pointing towards a tall box.

“The packing crate?” Victor asked.

She shook her head, strode forward and pressed a small button on a panel that Victor hadn’t seen.

“Tom?” she asked.

There was a click, and a moment later Tom answered tiredly, “Yeah. Who’s this?”

Ariana glanced over to Victor, but he couldn’t speak.

“Step back from the door, if you can,” she said.

“No can do,” Tom said. “But I can turn away from it.”

“Good enough,” she said.

Ariana nodded to Victor and said, “Use the butt of your shotgun, right here where the padlock loops through the eye. Don’t try and break the lock. Focus on ripping the screws out of the wood. Stefan built this quick, otherwise, we would need a saws-all to get Tom out of there.”

“Alright,” Victor said, wishing he had brought his lock-picking tools with him.

Doesn’t matter, he thought, and with several blows, he smashed the lock and hardware out of the improvised prison.

As he stepped back and caught his breath, Ariana pulled the door backward and the pale light of the office shined down upon Tom.

The boy looked tired and exceptionally small without his prosthetic, but he was alive.

“You’re an idiot,” Victor whispered.

Tom nodded, wiped tears from his eyes and stood up. “I’m sorry.”

The young man walked out of the cell and embraced Victor, and once more, he was reminded of how strong Tom was.

After a moment, Tom pulled back and said, “You’re Ariana.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, extending her hand.

Tom shook it. “Nice AR.”

The woman grinned and said, “Thank you.”

“Where’s your prosthetic?” Victor asked.

“I wish I knew,” Tom answered. “He must have locked it up. Probably in a lead-lined box, or in salt. He must have figured out Bontoc was in the ring.”

“Probably,” Victor agreed. “He moves fast. Korzh may even have had it prepped to go.”

“We better find it then,” Ariana said. “And we should do it quickly. Anne’s going to figure out something’s wrong sooner or later, and I would really like to not be here when that occurs.”

Tom’s face paled at the mention of Anne Le Morte, and he nodded his agreement.

Hurriedly, they moved through the rooms, pausing only once to stare at the impressive surveillance system Stefan had set up. A few minutes later, Ariana called out from a small room, “Here!”

Victor and Tom found her standing by a small bed, on which was a backpack, claymore mines, and Tom’s arm.

But the ring was gone.

“Did he take it with him?” Tom asked anxiously, looking around the bed and under it.

“Maybe,” Ariana said. “Especially if he figured out Bontoc was attached to it. I’m just curious as to where the hell Stefan got claymore mines. Those are hard for me to get a hold of.”

Victor noticed color rise to Tom’s cheeks.

“Tom,” Victor said, “are those yours?”

His son nodded.

Ariana’s eyes widened with appreciation. “Holy crap, kid. Were you going to blow this place up?”

“That was the plan,” Tom confessed.

Ariana laughed. “That is an awesome plan.”

“Ariana,” Victor started.

She shook her head. “No, seriously. We’re miles away from civilization. I can take the C4 out of the claymores, rig some other stuff together and blow whatever haunted items are still around to kingdom come.”

Victor wanted to disagree but discovered that she was right.

He looked at Tom and said, “I’m not going to ask where you got the claymores. Or how you managed to find someone who would sell them to you. We will, however, have a lengthy discussion about stupid decisions, like going after Stefan Korzh by yourself.”

Tom didn’t argue.

Victor sighed. “Okay. I need your help in that big brother room Korzh had set up.”

Both Tom and Ariana looked at him inquisitively, and Victor smiled coldly.

“I’m guessing a control freak like Stefan will have kept detailed records of who he sold haunted items to and what those items were.” Victor rubbed at the pain in his head before he continued. “And I’m sure that most of the dead can be identified by Moran and Moran, so long as there isn’t another auction in the near future.”

“And you’ll track them down?” Tom asked.

Victor shook his head. “We’ll track them down. I’ll homeschool you, if you want, that way I won’t have to leave you behind, and we won’t risk anyone being injured or killed by the others.”

“Good,” Tom said softly.

“Will this take long?” Victor asked.

“A little bit,” Ariana said with a feral grin. “You can’t rush when you’re working with explosives.”

“True,” Victor admitted. “I only ask because there’s a ghost on a killing spree.”

“Get what you need and take off,” Ariana said. “I have your number. If I find anything else, I’ll let you know. And I want to talk to you about Stefan as well.”

Victor nodded.

“Come on,” he said to Tom, and the two of them exited the room, leaving Ariana to examine the claymores.

 

***

 

She had said her goodbyes to both Victor and Tom, and when she was certain they were gone, she constructed a small but efficient timer for the bomb she had built.

Ariana walked close to the bomb where a small, but thick circle of salt lay on the battered and stained concrete floor. Crouching down beside the circle, Ariana withdrew a matchbox from her pocket. The item was made of lead encased in steel, and it served as an effective prison, when necessary.

Ariana held it out over the circle, just an inch or so above the floor, and opened it.

The aluminum ring fell and struck heavily for such a light piece of metal.

Bontoc appeared a moment later, a sour expression on his disfigured face.

“What is the meaning of this, Ariana?” he demanded.

She straightened up and moved back, out of arm’s reach. Ariana wasn’t certain if the ghost would find a way through the salt, or if some errant breeze would destroy the ring, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

“You’re not stupid,” she replied, placing the matchbox back in her pocket. “Sociopathic, but definitely not stupid. You tell me why I’m doing this.”

The feigned outrage on his face vanished, and he smiled, which, she decided was worse than his glare.

“You saw me strike down Victor,” the dead man said.

She nodded. “Why?”

“He might have harmed your brother,” Bontoc started.

“Half-brother,” she interrupted, correcting him.

He bowed his head slightly. “Half-brother. It is not up to Victor Daniels to inflict any punishment upon Stefan Korzh. That honor is reserved for Anne Le Morte and me.”

“Funny,” Ariana said, a cold feeling creeping up along her spine. “Dear old dad told me that I could take care of Stefan.”

Bontoc smirked and remained silent. But his eyes flickered to the open garage behind her.

Ariana didn’t look away from the dead man.

“I hope you’re not expecting Anne,” Ariana said. “Or her caretaker. Stefan beat the woman to death with her own shotgun. Right before he left.”

“They didn’t stop him?” the surprise in his voice held a tinge of rage.

She shook her head. “In fact, I expect Anne will shortly figure out what happened. Or at least suspect what happened.”

“He can’t have gotten away completely,” Bontoc said with a growl. “That isn’t how this is supposed to go.”

The dead man’s voice was rising, fury appearing on his face.

“He is supposed to die,” Bontoc snapped.

“Yup,” Ariana agreed. “He tends to not do that, however.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Bontoc hissed. “He’s going to die. Quickly, but I will be the one to do it!”

Ariana grinned. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Silence!” Bontoc spat.

“No, that’s not going to happen either.”

“You’re going to be dead soon, too,” the ghost said, his voice becoming low and dangerous.

“You won’t have anything to do with it,” Ariana said, walking over to the timer for the bomb.

“You’re wrong!” The dead man threw himself towards her, but the power of the salt stopped him, standing him upright as if he were caged.

Ariana blinked, then grinned.

“You won’t be smirking much longer,” Bontoc said, his voice a low guttural growl. “You’ll be bound. As will your brother, and we shall deliver unto your father.”

Ariana straightened up, the smile indeed gone from her face.

Bontoc blinked, a look of fear appearing for a moment in his eyes.

“What did you say?” she asked softly.

“Nothing,” was the dead man’s hurried response.

“Who is going to bind me?” Her voice was tight. “Is it you?”

The ghost hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of strength. To bind another.”

“No,” Ariana said, letting the thought roll around in her head. “But Anne Le Morte does. What is she going to bind me to?”

The dead man seemed to weigh his options, glanced at her and answered, “There is a small set of nesting dolls.”

Ariana held up her hand to stop Bontoc from saying any more.

She knew what he spoke of.

“Those nesting dolls,” Ariana said, choosing her words carefully. “Are they of a blue queen, with a crown of ice and fire?”

The dead man nodded.

She let out a bitter laugh and held back her tears only through force of will.

“I know those dolls,” Ariana said. “They were my mother’s. I looked for them when she died. I couldn’t find them.”

“Your father,” Bontoc said, “he made certain Anne Le Morte was in the house when the strangling woman slew your mother. Your mother is bound to them as well.”

“Is she?” Ariana’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.

The dead man nodded, a note of confidence returning to his voice. “I know where they are.”

“I’m sure you do,” Ariana said, and she smiled at him. “Tell me, if you would, why am I to be bound to the dolls?”

“Your father, he wants his family together,” Bontoc said. “He wants all of you together. And when you and your brother have been brought back into the fold, you will be delivered to him. The key awaits, and the dolls will be placed in the room with him, where he will join you. A family, as you were all, always meant to be.”

“Yes,” Ariana said, nodding. “I can see the logic in that.”

“Are you angry with me?” Bontoc asked, smiling.

“Not at all,” she said, walking past him to her home-made bomb. Ariana picked up the old analog alarm clock she had found among Stefan’s possessions. None of the components for her bomb required electronics. A simple mix of chemicals and the clock to set off an explosion to trigger the C4.

“What are you doing?” Bontoc asked.

“Not being angry,” she replied, winding the clock.

“Then what are you doing?!” he demanded, fear in his voice.

“Tidying up,” Ariana answered. The ticking of the clock was loud and reassuring. “I’m sure I’ll see you in Hell.”

Bontoc’s screams filled her ears as she walked out of the warehouse.

She had no need to run.

And Bontoc, she thought. Well, he can’t.

Ariana adjusted her weapons, wondering how best to destroy her father.

Chapter 33: Loathing

 

Stefan stood beside his car in the parking lot of a small convenience store, drinking a bottle of water and idly shaking a container of Advil in his free hand.

A distant explosion shook the windows of the store and sent the employees and customers running out to see what it was.

Stefan knew what it was.

They blew up my warehouse, he thought, anger and hatred merging together and spreading through him. They destroyed it all.

He watched the smoke rise in the distance while nearly everyone from the store recorded the scene on their phones. Stefan resisted the urge to kill them all and help slake his fury. Instead, he finished his water and got into his car. For a short time, he stared at the wall of the store, his mind mulling over what little information there was to process.

My half-sister is helping Victor Daniels, he thought, rubbing at his chin. Daniels’ son brought explosives. One of them knew enough to set up a bomb, and one without electronics because otherwise the ghost of the hunter would have made it inoperable. And then, that explosion. That’s not just the C4.

Stefan shook his head and started the car.

No, he thought, backing the vehicle up and exiting the parking lot. That’s the result of all of the haunted items being destroyed at once.

A small part of him was pleased that the items were gone.

But that was only a small part.

Furious at being driven from his home, Stefan drove towards his safe house and let his mind roam over the various options for revenge that remained open to him.

 

***

 

Anne Le Morte lay on her back as the ground shook beneath the cloth and porcelain doll that she possessed. For hours, she had lain like a newborn babe, swaddled in an old shirt and placed at the far end of the small hovel her caretaker had erected.

With the explosion, Anne realized something.

She is dead , the ghost thought. I must find another.

Her caretaker’s death left Anne Le Morte unfazed. There had been others before the woman, and there would be more after her. This, she knew, was as certain as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening.

Anne went to free herself from the cloth and found that she could not. She struggled against it, but to no avail. The caretaker had made it too secure. Angry, she let out an enraged scream, and while the flimsy walls of the hovel shook, they were too well-secured.

Her caretaker had made certain Anne would be safe until the woman’s return.

But she won’t be returning! Anne fumed. The stupid cow was slain and has trapped me!

Anne forced her mind to calm itself, and let her senses open. She searched for signs of civilization, of people walking or driving. But her range was limited, and there was nothing.

No houses. No shops. Not even a person walking along the slim game trails she had followed.

Anne Le Morte was alone and trapped.

With a furious and silent snarl, Anne settled her mind and waited.

Soon, she thought, someone will pass by, and I will convince them to help, as I have convinced all the others.

The idea of her future success pleased her, and Anne sang softly to herself, hoping her stay in the hovel wouldn’t be for long.

Ivan Denisovich’s children still needed to be slain.

Chapter 34: Home and Struggling

 

Victor slumped in his chair in the study. Tom was asleep, his face drawn and pale.

Their discussion had been short and brief with Victor doing most of the talking. He did not lay down ironclad rules as his own father had done, nor did he attempt to chalk Tom’s actions up to the hubris of youth.

Tom wouldn’t be hunting on his own, and he hadn’t tried to defend his actions.

Victor hadn’t punished him.

Being held as a prisoner by the man who had killed his parents had been punishment enough.

Victor’s phone rang, and he answered it.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Victor,” Shane said. “You found him.”

“I did,” Victor answered. He had left a message for the other man earlier.

“Was it bad?” Shane asked.

“Bad enough,” Victor answered. He gave Shane a quick synopsis, and the other man uttered several choice words. When he finished, Victor asked, “How are things up there?”

“Strange,” Shane answered. “The dead are in an uproar about something, but they won’t tell me. I don’t know if it’s just this area, or if it’s on a wider scale, but they’re acting like trouble is on its way, even though they don’t know what that trouble is.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Victor said.

“Me too,” Shane said. Victor heard the click of a lighter, a long exhale, and then Shane continued. “Anyway, I’m glad you have him. What are you two doing now?”

“He’s asleep in a chair, and I’m going to try and get some rest,” Victor answered. “We’ve got a problem in another town that needs to be taken care of.”

“You’re not leaving him alone again?” Shane asked.

“No,” Victor said. “Not at all.”

“Good,” Shane said. “Listen, do me a favor, Victor, call or text me when you get to wherever it is you’re going. I want to know you two are okay.”

Victor chuckled and said, “I will.”

They ended the call, and Victor looked at Tom. The boy was still asleep, and Victor knew he needed to be as well.

Closing his eyes, Victor got comfortable in his chair, not willing to leave the child alone just yet.

 

***

 

Leanne contemplated calling for a cab, but a paranoia grew within her as she considered such an act.

What if this woman called for cabs? she wondered. If she did, would they know that I shouldn’t be here? Could I explain it?

Her continuous weakening left her doubtful about her ability to handle unknown situations. All she could do was marshal her strength for whatever it was she would face to secure additional power to hunt down Victor Daniels.

And I cannot waste that on some miserable cabbie.

With dusk settling in, Leanne made her way to the back of the house, exited it, and then walked out of the backyard. She wore shapeless clothing and leaned on the dull, battered steel cane she had found in the woman’s home.

When she reached the street, Leanne paused and tilted her head up slightly. She closed her eyes and let the noise of the surroundings wash over her. Her nostrils flared, and she reached out with every sense, seeking the slim trail that she knew was there.

And she caught a hint of it, a whiff of power twisting through the air.

Leanne opened her eyes, smiling for the first time in days. She continued along the street, with the cemetery on her left-hand side. As she passed the wide opening into the burial ground, Leanne saw the name, Edgewood Cemetery , on a bronze sign secured to the right post.

Edgewood, she thought, glancing at the houses around the cemetery. Not many woods left here.

Leanne limped past the long, wrought-iron fence and the well-kept homes, focusing her thoughts on the power in the air. It grew stronger with every step, and her pace increased, a deep hunger driving her forward.

If all went well, Leanne would have regained her strength and feasted on fresh meat before the night was through.

Chapter 35: A Flash Flood

 

Justin and Jared Sandock hurried along the narrow game trail that cut through the woods along the edge of the Sunny Fields Golf Course. Raindrops crashed into the leaves above them, and when the wind shifted, the rain was driven sideways into the teens’ exposed skin. Justin felt miserable, and a glance at his brother showed Jared was suffering as well.

Mario, their boss at the golf course, had kept them late, scrubbing the toilets in the women’s room. And all because the brothers had tried to skip the last two stalls.

Mario, unfortunately, had done three years in the navy, and he knew what to look for when people were trying to skip out on doing their job.

Justin’s hands ached from the work, which he had been forced to do twice since Mario made them clean the entire restroom again.

We only wanted to get home before the rain, Justin thought. He knew it wasn’t true though. Neither one of them liked cleaning the bathrooms. Mowing the lawns and watering the flowers was what they had been hired to do.

None of this janitor stuff, Justin thought bitterly. If he had known that when he was hired, Justin wouldn’t have taken the job.

“This is terrible,” Jared complained.

“I know,” Justin answered, trying to ignore the rain. “We’re almost home.”

“This is stupid,” Jared added.

Justin rolled his eyes and focused on the trail. Mud splashed up around his white sneakers, and he let out a groan of disgust. He would have to clean them before his next shift. Not only was the golf course particular about the dress code, but Mario made sure everyone followed it.

The trail dipped down and curved slightly, bringing them to a small stream. With the heavy and sudden rain, the water moved faster than usual. Yet Justin knew he and his brother could cross it easily. Both boys ran the hurdles for the high school track team, and a three-foot-wide stream wasn’t anything for them to be concerned with.

Justin broke into a jog and sprang from one side to the other, clearing the water easily. He moved further up the trail to give his brother room. After traveling another eight or nine feet up, Justin turned around to ask Jared a question, but his brother wasn’t there.

Confused, he back-tracked to the stream and stopped, horrified and shocked.

Jared lay face down in the water, another boy straddling over him and keeping Jared’s head submerged.

It wasn’t the fact that someone was drowning his brother that had frozen Justin in place.

It was the terrible realization that the water was passing through the killer as if he weren’t there.

Fear drowned him in panic and a strangled scream escaped Justin’s throat as he turned and fled.

Branches slapped at his face and roots pulled at his feet. First, one sneaker was torn off, then another, and Justin ran along the trail in his socks. He let out a pained scream as a sharp object stabbed the bottom of his left foot, and he spun and twisted, crashing into a tree. The stump of a branch pierced the side of his throat, and he hung there for a moment.

Then he saw the strange boy who had drowned his brother appear on the path, and Justin pushed himself off the tree. The jagged end of the branch jerked out of his neck, and he managed four steps before he pitched forward and crashed onto the trail.

He felt weak and lightheaded as he dug his fingers into the muddy ground and tried to pull himself forward, to get away from the achingly cold sensation creeping up on him.

Justin’s vision narrowed, shrank, and then left him blind as he sank to the earth. He struggled for breath, yet his lungs refused to work. His heartbeat became erratic, and then it stopped.

“You can’t go yet,” a voice whispered. “Your brother wants company.”

A cold hand wrapped around Justin’s arm and in the stillness of his mind, Justin screamed.

 

Chapter 36: Too Much Time in the Air

Victor and Tom had unpacked, and the boy was in one of the hotel room’s beds, fast asleep.

A forceful knock sounded at the door and, with a sigh, Victor stood up and went to it. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole before he unlocked the door and opened it.

“Hello,” Sara said, stepping into the room, her voice loud and boisterous. She grinned at Victor as she passed him, then the smile faltered, and a look of embarrassment fell over her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had your son with you.”

Tom snored and rolled over. His left arm, with its vivid, pink scar on the stump of his upper arm, fell out of the blanket.

“He could sleep through the end of the world when he’s tired,” Victor said, giving the detective a reassuring smile. He adjusted the blanket on Tom, then went to the air conditioner’s controls and turned it down another degree.

“Take a seat, Sara,” Victor said, motioning towards the chairs near the curtained windows. When they were both seated, he asked, “How did it go?”

“Very well, thank you,” Sara said. “We got a full confession, had him arraigned, and now he’s waiting in a cell. I’m sure his lawyer will try to have the confession retracted, but the State’s attorney will have to battle that out.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Victor said.

“What about you?” Sara asked, leaning closer. “You look worn out. Have you been chasing this ghost without me?”

Victor shook his head, considered informing the detective about Stefan Korzh, but then decided to keep the information to himself. “No. Just worn out from parenting.”

“Ah,” she said and settled back into the chair. “Have you checked the news or anything?”

“No,” he replied. “I haven’t been looking at it.”

“There have been four more deaths,” Sara said. “People are being evacuated out of the area, and the state and federal government are sending in teams to test the air quality, water, and soil.”

“Four more drownings,” Victor murmured.

Sara shook her head. “Deaths. Three were drownings. One was deemed accidental.”

“Then how is it linked to the others?” Victor asked, confused.

“His brother was found face down in a stream,” she explained, “and all the evidence points to the accidental death occurring as a result of the boy running from something.”

“This needs to stop,” Victor said, anger rising within him. He stood up and paced the room, glancing at Tom to make certain he didn’t wake the boy.

“I agree,” Sara said. “The question is, what do we do when we find the object? Do we destroy it? Do we imprison it?”

“We’ll have to hold it,” Victor said, returning to his seat. “I’ll reach out to my friend again, see if he’s found any information. Other than that, I believe I’m all set for supplies. And I should have enough rounds.”

“I think we should split up the search,” Sara said after a moment of silence.

Victor looked at her, surprised. “That’s not the best idea.”

“I know,” she agreed. “But the situation calls for it. Whoever this ghost is, he’s getting stronger with each death. At least that’s what it feels like to me. Or else he’s getting more confident, what with multiple murders in a single day. So, while we’re putting ourselves at a disadvantage in regards to safety, I think we have to. Too many people are dying.”

Victor gave a short, bitter nod. He knew she was right.

“I’m not going to try and do anything heroic,” Sara added. “All I want is to find where the object is, then we can tackle it together.”

“I’ve got an extra shotgun in the car,” Victor said. “And I’m sure Tom packed a few items that will help as well.”

She shot him a concerned glance. “What?”

“Tom,” Victor said. “I’m sure he brought stuff as well. Iron, salt. I know he grabbed the lead-lined bag, so we can secure whatever the item might be.”

“No,” Sara said, shaking her head. “Not that. That I understood. My question is, is Tom going out?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tom asked.

The boy pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes. He stifled a yawn, then continued. “I’ve hunted them before.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sara said.

He waggled the stump of his arm at her, a grim expression on his face. “I am. Pick up my prosthetic.”

Sara raised an eyebrow, but she did as Tom said. She turned the false limb over in her hands and said, “It’s heavy. Wait, is this iron inlay?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

“He had it done so he could defend himself,” Victor said.

“What are you talking about?” Sara asked. “I am thoroughly confused.”

“Sit back, detective,” Victor said. “I’m going to tell you about myself and Tom, and how we got here.”

Victor waited until she laid the prosthetic back on the dresser and then he told her about Erin, Tom’s parents, and Stefan Korzh.

It was not a pleasant tale.

Chapter 37: At the Safe House

 

The home was small, nothing more than a bungalow tucked away in the middle of suburban Philadelphia.

Stefan waited until two in the morning before he pulled into the driveway and parked the car in the garage. His body shook from a mixture of muscle fatigue and caffeine tablets he had been chewing since leaving the vicinity of Fox Cat Hollow. When he let himself into the house, Stefan quickly punched in the security code and limped to the sink. He let the cold water run, leaned over and ducked his head under it.

The water was a balm against his skin, and he stripped off the eye-patch, massaging the tender skin around it. Finally, Stefan took a drink from the running tap, then turned it off and left the kitchen. Motion sensors responded to him, and the lights came on. A fine layer of dust coated everything, which Stefan ignored as he dropped tiredly into a chair.

He closed his eye and tried to wrap his thoughts around the situation.

For a long period, he did nothing, merely letting ideas and images move at their own pace.

Soon, a solid picture of the situation he was in presented itself.

My father, Stefan thought, has betrayed me. No big surprise there. The only surprising factor is Victor Daniels.

The memory of the man caused Stefan to frown.

Daniels was an amateur, a hack at best. And yet the man had gotten the drop on Stefan. If Daniels hadn’t been trying to save his son, Stefan had no doubt he would be trapped in whatever item his father had prepared for him.

The thought of his father brought Stefan thinking back to his family, and to the arrival of his half-sister. He grimaced at the prospect of Ariana and Daniels working in conjunction.

And that boy, Stefan thought, opening his eye and staring at the ceiling. That boy is a strong one. He’ll give me a run for my money.

A smile crossed Stefan’s face, and he shook his head.

He had a grudging admiration for the boy. Amateur or not, Tom Daniels had been fully prepared to blow up the warehouse.

He did blow up the warehouse, Stefan thought bitterly, remembering the blast. Then he stiffened and straightened up.

I didn’t secure the hard-drives, he realized. Everything’s on them.

What if they took the drives?

He shook his head, refusing to believe they would have had any interest in the equipment.

All Daniels wanted was his son, Stefan thought. Then he hesitated and asked himself, but what about Ariana?

A knock at the door launched him out of his chair and caused his heart to quicken.

The knock was repeated, and a stern voice declared, “This is the Burlington Police.”

Fuming, Stefan walked to the door, forced a bland smile onto his face, and opened it.

A tall police officer stood on the doorstep. The man was in his early twenties and taller than Stefan. Stefan watched as the officer glanced around the room, and his anger increased. The officer’s chin and the set of his eyes resembled those of Ivan Denisovich.

A glance at the officer’s name badge stated that the man was Officer I. Colette, 3 Yrs. Service as a member of the Burlington PD.

Stefan forced his heart to slow, his smile to widen.

Colette was the name of a family that specialized in antiques.

And his father had made many trips to Philadelphia.

Many, Stefan thought.

“May I help you, officer?” Stefan asked.

“We had a complaint that someone had broken in,” the man responded. “Do you have any proof of residency?”

“I do,” Stefan said, and a furtive look at the officer’s body-camera showed the red light, which would indicate if it was recording, wasn’t lit. Stefan smiled. “I do. I have my wallet and my contract in the drawer of the hall table behind me. If I may?”

The officer nodded, and Stefan was pleased to see that the man’s SUV was pulled up in such a way that the dash-cam wouldn’t record anything.

As Stefan turned away and walked to the table, he heard the police dispatcher call in, and the officer replied, “Roger, Two Alpha Five on site.”

Two Alpha Five, Stefan thought, opening the drawer. Within it was a small, .22 caliber semi-automatic with a suppressor. Stefan pulled the weapon free with an easy motion, turned and put a single round through the throat of the officer. The bullet tore into the left side of the man’s neck, and Stefan was impressed with how quickly the officer slapped a hand over the wound.

But his struggle to live meant he couldn’t draw his weapon, which was what Stefan had planned on. Two strides brought him back to the door, and as the officer reached out with his left hand, Stefan shot him twice in the right knee, dropping the man to the floor.

Reaching down, Stefan grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and dragged him into the house, and he kicked the door closed. He stripped the man’s radio off, and as Officer Colette struggled to get up, Stefan shot him through the left thigh.

Squatting down beside the dying man, Stefan poked him in the forehead with the end of the suppressor. Rage and fear warred in the man’s eyes, and Stefan was curious as to which would win out in the end.

“I bet your name’s Ivan, isn’t it,” Stefan said conversationally.

A slight widening of Officer Colette’s eyes told him it was.

“You don’t have much time here, Officer Ivan Colette,” Stefan continued, “so, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m fairly certain we’re brothers.”

The officer’s eyes fixed on him, and Stefan realized their eyes were identical.

“Yes, you see it too,” Stefan said softly. “Seems like dad got around far more than I ever suspected. As you can tell, I’m not a fan of the family. But brothers, well, we should certainly look like brothers, right?”

Stefan lifted the pistol, put the barrel at an angle against the man’s left eye, and pulled the trigger. As the eye was vaporized, the bullet thudded into the far wall.

I can’t forget to dig that one out, he thought as the officer writhed on the floor.

Stefan stood up, stepped back and looked down at the man.

“I hate you,” Stefan said. “I hate you all.”

And he emptied the pistol into the man’s groin.

 

***

 

Stefan knew the police weren’t stupid. The prisons and jails had a healthy population of individuals who had made that mistake, and Stefan refused to be a member of that group.

His rage had cost him any sort of rest.

Once the officer had died, Stefan had been forced to butcher the man in a quick and messy fashion. With the body’s remains secured in a pair of large canvas bags and wearing Officer Colette’s oversized clothing along with a backpack, Stefan loaded up the remnants into the cruiser. Humming to himself, Stefan then drove it to an abandoned building only a few streets away. He pried out the radio, took the man’s cellphone, and located the vehicle’s GPS system. Stefan took these with him as he left the vehicle and the body behind.

“Unit Alpha, respond,” the dispatcher said.

It was a male voice, one Stefan didn’t recognize from his earlier call-ins with the officer’s radio.

“This is two Alpha five,” Stefan said, pitching his voice low.

“Location?” the man asked.

Stefan rolled his eyes. I’ll never get it done if they keep harassing me.

He glanced around and saw an all-night convenience store at the corner. Smiling, Stefan said into the radio, “Dispatch, two Alpha five is about to take another twenty, corner of Hutch and 5 ^th Street.”

The dispatcher sighed. “Again?”

Evidently the dispatchers are little gossips, Stefan thought, frowning. “Bad stomach. Going to try to make it to the end of the shift. Two Alpha five, out.”

The dispatcher said something Stefan didn’t catch, but it didn’t matter.

He was almost done.

Three streets to the north and Stefan found the alley with the sewer grate he was looking for. The electronic devices went in, and off Stefan went to another alley, where he stripped the uniform off. From the backpack, he removed fresh clothes and sneakers and several bottles of lighter fluid. He spread the uniform out, doused it with fluid, and set it on fire. Stefan watched the flames briefly, then wiped down the bottles and tossed them into another sewer grate.

And now, he thought bitterly, I have to go and clean the damned house.

Stefan adjusted his eye patch, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and started the long walk home.

Chapter 38: Devolving into Despair

 

The house was huge and had it been made of wood instead of brick, it would have been one of the finer homes in the antebellum South.

Leanne sat on an overturned trash barrel in a small shed that stank of chemicals and grass clippings. From her perch, she could see the back of 125 Berkley Street. Several ducks glided on the calm surface of a pond, leaving small trails behind them. Tall cats’ tails grew along the edges and moved with the occasional breeze.

And at the edge of the water, sitting in a wooden chair and drinking from a tall glass, was the man she had to kill.

Power radiated from him, so strong she could almost see it with the naked eye.

She knew from the man’s appearance that he would not be an easy individual to slay.

His bald head was scarred, and his left ear was badly mangled. He was missing fingers on one hand, and his posture, even sitting in the chair, told her that he was a man accustomed to violence.

But it wasn’t the physicality of the man that concerned her, it was the sheer willpower that she could sense. The dominance of anything living or dead.

For the first time, Leanne was unsure of herself.

Never had she doubted her ability to take what she wanted, to defeat whomever she must, but the man in the chair made her do just that.

I have no choice, Leanne thought. There is no other strong enough. Not even close. I must siphon his if I am to kill Victor Daniels.

With a sigh, she settled in to wait.

 

***

 

Sweat dripped down Ariana’s back as she dried her face with a towel. She had pushed herself beyond her limits, and her muscles already ached.

I’ll feel this one in the morning, she thought ruefully as she walked into the kitchen. She took a Gatorade out of the refrigerator and opened it. Within a minute, she had emptied half of the bottle. She wiped her face again, then carried both the drink and the towel into her front room. Ariana opened the sliding door and stepped out onto her apartment’s small balcony.

The sun had crested the horizon, and she could hear cars start up as people began their working day.

She smiled as she thought about a normal job. One where she went into an office or some sort of establishment and worked for eight and a half hours.

I don’t have that discipline, she thought, taking a sip from her Gatorade. I’d hit somebody in the first hour. And customer service? Nope, no way.

Ariana finished her drink, put the cap back on and grinned.

I’ll stick with killing people and hunting ghosts.

The grin faltered, then faded as she went back into her home. She closed the door, drew the curtain and sat down on the couch.

Ghosts, she thought. More specifically one ghost.

Ivan Denisovich Korzh.

A blunt hammer of emotions slammed into her chest as she thought of her father and his betrayal.

His attempt to gather her unto his ghostly fold was understandable.

The murder of her mother was not.

I can’t confront him about it, she thought. He’s too strong. It will have to be done subtly, and without any hint as to my knowledge of the killing. And when it’s done, I’ll find Anne Le Morte and destroy her, too.

Ariana closed her eyes and fought back the desire to find the doll first, to learn where her mother’s spirit was being kept.

To do so might alert Ivan Denisovich, and she had no desire to do that.

No, Ariana thought. I don’t want my father to know until the last moment what is happening and why.

Her phone chimed and interrupted her train of thought. Frowning, she leaned over and picked it up.

It was a text from Victor.

Busy?

Always, she wrote. What’s up?

Drownings in Pennsylvania. A lot.

Ariana wrote, Sorry. I’m on my way out to a job.

Then, before she hit send, she considered her situation.

Victor had shown his determination at Stefan’s compound. And he could, if necessary, help her deal with her father.

She erased the message and wrote. Where?

He sent her the address of a hotel and Ariana went into her gear room.

As she surveyed the weapons, she thought about her half-brother.

He’ll have to go before our father, Ariana thought. I’ll have to talk to Victor about that too.

And she buried her feelings for the man beneath her mounting hatred.

 

Chapter 39: Restless Sleep

 

Monica Page lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her eyes traced the cracks in the plaster, lingering for a moment on the husks of insects in the ceiling lamp’s globe. She winced as the baby-monitor squawked into life.

Eliot’s cry broke the stillness of the room, and Monica let out a ragged sigh.

She pushed herself up, and the blankets fell down around her waist. Eliot whimpered, then went silent. Monica looked at the monitor, hesitated, then took her pack of Parliaments off the bed-side table and shook out a cigarette. She used the disposable pink Bic lighter to light the cigarette, and she drew the calming smoke into her lungs. When she exhaled, Monica glanced at the monitor again and saw the red light flicker, but she didn’t hear any noise.

Did he fall back asleep? she wondered, inhaling again. A vain hope formed in her chest, and she wondered if she might be able to sleep for another hour or two. Eliot had been up for most of the night with a fever and Monica had gotten precious little sleep.

I just want to finish this cigarette, she thought. Then I’ll lie down.

She had given him Tylenol at one in the morning, and it wasn’t due to wear off.

Eliot screamed.

It was a horrific sound that stabbed Monica in the pit of her stomach and launched her out of bed. Her half-smoked cigarette fell to the floor, and she ran out of the room, chest heaving by the time she reached Eliot’s open door.

The two-year-old boy lay face up in his crib, an empty bottle of water beside him, and another figure stood in the crib over him.

Without hesitation, Monica snatched up the Winnie-the-Pooh lamp by the door and hurled it at the invader.

But the light passed through the stranger and shattered against the far wall.

Certain that her eyes had played a trick on her, Monica glanced around the room, searching for a weapon. She spotted a large, framed picture of the cover for Goodnight Moon and she ripped it off the wall.

Turning to face the stranger, who now stood beside the crib, Monica was surprised to see it was a child, a boy of perhaps 10.

That fact did not stop her from lunging forward and swinging the picture at his head.

The frame passed through the boy, and the force of the intended blow twisted her around, caused her to lose her balance, and sent her down to one knee.

An impossibly cold wave of air wrapped around her and the boy leaned close.

“The child’s mother was on the ship, too,” the boy said in a distant voice.

Monica screamed as the stranger grabbed her by the hair and without another word dragged her out of the room. She stopped screaming and clawed at the walls and carpet, trying to seek some sort of handhold, some way to stop herself.

The child was incredibly strong, and each time she managed a grip, he gave a tug, and she howled as another fingernail was torn out of her and left in the wall.

Monica didn’t try to speak to the murderer, she was furious. Eliot, she knew, was dead.

And the boy dragging her down the hall, the cold, incorporeal child, had done it.

They reached the bathroom, and the boy threw her casually against the tub. The impact dislocated her shoulder and caused Monica to black out for a moment.

When her head cleared, she saw the door was open as the boy squatted down in front of the pedestal sink, examining the pipes.

Instead of trying to escape, Monica reached up, grabbed hold of the shower curtain and liner, and pulled them down with one hand.

With a shriek of rage, she launched herself at the boy, intent on smothering him.

But she passed through him, the child’s body so cold that she let out a scream of pain. She landed on her dislocated shoulder, vomited from the pain, and rolled on her back in time to see the stranger rip the flex-pipe out of the sink. Hot water splashed across her as the boy turned to face her.

“My mother fought for me, too,” he said. “I suppose all mothers do.”

With his free hand, he grabbed her by the face and then shoved the flex-pipe into her mouth. He smiled as he held her mouth closed around the hot material. Painfully hot water coursed down her throat and she understood that in a few seconds she would need to breathe, and it would be the water that filled her lungs.

“Did you sing to him?” the stranger asked. “I’m sure you did. My mother did.”

Monica struggled against the boy, but it was no use, she couldn’t free herself.

“My mother always did,” he whispered, and then he smiled and watched as Monica tried to take a breath through her nose.

“No,” he said, adjusting his grip to pinch her nose closed, “that’s not fair.”

And with that simple act, he forced her to inhale the water and start the long, slow process of drowning.

Chapter 40: Plans and Preparations

 

The phone rang, and Victor answered it when he saw Shane Ryan’s name.

“Victor,” Shane said cheerfully. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ll make it,” Victor answered.

Shane laughed and said, “Glad to hear it. So, listen, I reached out to some people and finally got a straight answer from someone who knows their stuff. You need to get a hold of the item, and you need to secure it, which I’m pretty sure you were planning on anyway.”

“Yes,” Victor agreed. “That’s step one.”

“Figured,” Shane said. “Now, step two is where it becomes iffy, and sometimes, well, it doesn’t always go as planned.”

“How so?” Victor asked.

“It really depends on how many spirits are bound to the ghost in the item.” Shane hesitated and then continued. “So, let’s say your ghost has ten people that it’s bound to. When you destroy the item, you’re going to free them, but the blast radius from the destruction of the object increases with each spirit. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“I think so,” Victor said. “Is there a basic formula?”

“I wish,” Shane said. “My friend said that you could expect a hundred-foot radius for every couple of spirits. Plus, if the ghost who imprisoned them is really powerful, those parameters are going to magnify. Basically, if you think this entity is strong, you figure out a way to destroy the item where no one else is around. And I mean no one. You might have to drive the damned thing out to Ohio or someplace else that’s flat and open.”

“Damn,” Victor said, sighing. “Thank you.”

Tom came out of the bathroom and sat down with his prosthetic. Victor gave a short wave to the teen, and the boy smiled and waved back.

“Sure,” Shane said. “Just a quick question, how many people are trapped now?”

Victor thought about it, then said, “Fourteen at last count. Probably more by now.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “When you get your hands on it, and you’re ready to destroy it, let me know. I might be able to help.”

“Alright. Thank you again,” Victor said, and he ended the call.

Looking over at Tom, he asked, “How are you doing?”

Tom looked up from adjusting the prosthetic and said, “Okay. I was going to take a walk.”

Victor almost asked Tom if he had his iron with him, but he smiled, remembering the inlay and nodded. “Sounds good. Be back in an hour or so, alright?”

“Sure,” Tom said, and he left the room, holding the door open for Sara. The detective greeted the teen and then closed the door behind him.

Her eyes were dark with lack of sleep, and she yawned as she leaned against the wall.

“Where’s he off to?” she asked.

“A walk,” Victor answered.

“I might do the same in a bit,” Sara said, “see if I can wake up.”

Victor nodded, and the two of them sat down as the morning sunlight streamed in through the open slider. “I requested some help.”

“From your friend?” Sara asked. “The one who might know about the spirits bound to others?”

Victor shook his head. “No. Although, I did hear back from him. He told me that if we destroy the item, then the others will be released. Unfortunately, we’ll need to make certain we do that in an open area.”

Sara frowned, and Victor added, “When the item is destroyed, there will be an explosion. A release of energy. The stronger the ghost, and the more spirits attached to it, the bigger the explosion will be.”

“How big?” Sara asked.

“My friend suggested that we find an open space in one of the Midwest states,” Victor answered.

“Wow,” Sara said. Then she shook her head and asked, “Alright, if you weren’t talking about him, then who were you talking about?”

Victor hesitated before he answered, “She introduced herself as Betty.”

Sara was silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “Can she help?”

“That is a definite yes ,” Victor said. “I could explain how, but it would take too long. The woman is exceptionally skilled.”

“She is an exceptional pain,” Sara retorted. “But I’ve worked with difficult people before, and the whole point is to get this ghost secured, and the others released.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Victor said.

“When is Tom coming back?” Sara asked.

“Within an hour,” Victor replied. “I’d like to use that time to map out the deaths that we know of and get our equipment ready.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Sara said.

“I picked this up this morning from the lobby,” Victor said, picking up a foldout street map of the area. He spread it out on the small table and picked up a red pen. “I also spent a good chunk of time finding out where the different people died.”

Using a notepad, Victor began to mark the different streets and house numbers where people had been killed. In addition to that, he placed a number beside each death with Nancy as victim one.

“These are the fourteen that we know about,” Victor said, “and all the deaths radiate from Nancy’s house.”

“Which means the item is either in her place or nearby,” Sara said.

Victor nodded. “We can start with her house and do a more thorough search.”

“I’ll take her house,” Sara said, “you and Tom can take her next-door neighbor’s.”

“I’d like to wait for Betty,” he said, almost saying Ariana instead.

“We don’t have time, Victor,” Sara said. “I’m not saying let’s get this done, so I don’t have to deal with her. I’m saying let’s get this done, so no one else dies.”

“Yeah,” Victor said, “you’re right.”

“I’ll grab my gear and bring it back,” Sara said, standing up. “As soon as Tom’s here, we’ll take a ride out to Nancy’s place and start the search.”

“Okay,” Victor said and picked up his phone as Sara left the room. He sent Ariana a text to let her know the change of plans and then went to his suitcase. Victor unlocked it, moved his clothes and removed his shotgun.

The cold steel felt good in his hands, and with a growing sense of anticipation, he carried the weapon to the table and waited for Sara to return.

Chapter 41: An Interview

 

Tom kept to the left side of the road as he walked, birdsong and squirrel chatter loud in the trees. He reached a small bridge, paused, then turned off the road to follow a weathered path down to the banks of a small and sluggish stream. The banks were surprisingly free of litter, and there were only a few random lines of graffiti on the concrete pylons and bridge supports.

Tom sat down in the dew-damp grass and picked up a handful of small stones. He tossed them one at a time into the water, enjoying the way the ripples vanished as the stones sank.

When he reached down for another handful, he felt a cold breeze caress his back and gooseflesh appeared on his arm.

With a shiver, Tom straightened up and glanced around. He looked back to the stream and stopped.

A boy stood a few feet in front of him. Tom had no doubt it was the ghost they had been searching for.

The child’s clothes were outdated by a century or more, and while he was almost fully formed, there were parts of the boy’s body where Tom could see hints of the water through him.

“Hello,” Tom said, keeping his nervousness in check.

“Hello,” the boy answered. He squinted and asked, “What’s wrong with your left arm?”

Tom raised the arm and showed the dead boy the prosthetic. “It’s a false arm.”

“How did you lose it?” The child’s question was one of polite interest, with nothing sinister behind it.

“An accident,” Tom answered vaguely. “My name’s Tom, what’s yours?”

The boy ignored the question. A frown settled over his face, and he stated, “There were no one-armed people on the ship. Not a one. You won’t do any good.”

The ghost began to fade, and Tom asked, “What ship?”

For a second the dead boy lingered, half-formed, then he became solid again.

“The ship that sank,” the boy replied. “We were there, hundreds of us. We tried to get off the ship, but it went down too quickly. But everything will be better soon.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom asked, and he tried to think of a way to question the dead boy about what he might be bound to.

“Yes,” the child beamed. “As soon as I have all of the passengers, then we’ll finish the trip.”

“Really?” Tom struggled and then blurted out, “Why?”

“Because I want to,” the boy stated. An angry look flashed across the child’s face. “I wanted the trip. I liked it. I had my ticket. But I’m going to finish my trip, just as soon as everyone’s on board.”

The dead child vanished, leaving Tom on the bank with a thundering heart.

Could it be a ticket? Tom thought, getting to his feet. Was the trip that important to him?

He hesitated, unsure as to whether or not the information was significant.

I need to tell Victor, Tom decided, turning around and following the path back up the road. He’ll know what to do.

He always does.

Chapter 42: Hunting the Dead

 

“A ticket?” Sara asked.

Tom nodded, and Victor powered up his laptop. Sitting down in front of it, Victor selected images and typed in the name of the ship and the word ‘ticket’ into the search engine.

The results came up a moment later.

“This,” Victor said, turning the screen to face Tom and Sara, “is what we’re looking for.”

“All this death,” Sara murmured, leaning closer, “attached to such a small thing.”

“Yes,” Victor said. “Are you ready?”

“Who can ever say they’re ready for something like this?” Sara asked. “Want me to drive?”

“Please,” Victor answered.

They packed up their equipment, and Victor made certain to tuck away his lock picking tools. He doubted he would find the house unlocked.

“Tom,” Victor said, and the teen looked over at him. “Come here.”

Tom walked over, and Victor embraced him, the boy giving him a strong hug back. He gave the boy a quick kiss on the top of his head, “You are my son, and I love you.”

Tom nodded, wiped his eyes and said in a husky voice, “I love you, too.”

Detective Sara Milton opened the door, and the three of them left. They moved quickly down the hall and took the stairs to the first floor. The ride in Sara’s rental car was short, and when they arrived at Nancy’s house, the street had an odd sense of desertion to it. Some of the doors on the houses were sealed off with red tape, and at his questioning glance, Sara answered, “Quarantine. They’re not sure what’s going on, so they’ve sealed the buildings. Let’s hope they haven’t put any sensors in.”

“Would they do that?” Tom asked, surprised.

Sara shrugged as she shut off the car and they got out. “They might. I don’t know how serious the federal government is taking the matter. My new friend on the police here doesn’t know. Seems like they’ve been cut out of the loop.”

“Only one way to find out,” Victor said.

Sara nodded. “I’ll take Nancy’s house as we agreed. You two search her neighbor’s, I think his name was Gilbert, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” Victor said. “Good luck.”

“Same,” Sara said, and they split up.

Tom walked close to Victor as they crossed the sidewalk and went around to the door that led into the man’s garage. It was locked, and in far better shape than Nancy’s had been.

“Do you want to try this one?” Tom asked.

“No,” Victor said, shaking his head. “The police are supposed to have stepped up patrols. We’ll try the back door.”

With that said, the two of them walked around the back together, and Victor led the way up the stairs to the porch. He pulled out his lock pick set and had the door open in a few minutes.

“Wow,” Tom said, “you would have made a good thief.”

Victor felt his face flush with a mixture of pride and embarrassment as he put his tools away. He took out his shotgun and looked over at Tom. An expression that was part anticipation and fear overtook the boy’s face, and had Victor feel afraid for him.

As skilled as Tom was, he was still a boy.

But Victor didn’t falter. Instead, he asked, “Do you have what you need?”

Tom lifted his prosthetic, and in the false hand, he held the lead-lined bag. On his right hand was an iron ring, and Victor knew they were as ready as could be.

Feeling as though he was about to step into a pool of murky water, Victor entered the dark house.

 

***

 

Sara Milton shivered as she crossed the threshold of the front door into Nancy’s house. The temperature was colder than the previous time she and Victor had been in the building.

She paused to zip up the hooded sweatshirt she had worn, and to tug on the white cotton gloves Victor had given her. In her left hand, she held a Zip-lock freezer bag filled with salt. If she found the boarding pass, she’d need to stuff it in and hope the salt contained the ghost.

I don’t need to run outside with it, she thought. I have to secure it and set it down. Then we can transfer it to Victor’s bag.

She had no doubt that the ticket would be in Nancy’s house. All the evidence pointed to it being in that location. Nancy had been the first death. The dead had gathered in the woman’s home. It was a simple and logical process. Which was why she had sent Victor and Tom into the neighbor’s house.

Sara couldn’t bear the thought of having Tom’s death on her conscience.

Victor’s would be bad enough, she thought, heading for the stairs. But the boy, that would be too much.

After a moment of hesitation, Sara placed the heavy bag in one of the sweatshirt’s pockets. She would need both hands for the shotgun Victor had insisted on. Sara remembered her first encounter with a ghost, and with King Kincaid carrying a shotgun loaded with rock-salt. The old man had been a skilled shot, and he had proven that the weapon could be used successfully for offense or defense.

But Sara preferred offense.

Aggression suited her best.

Holding the gun easily, she climbed the stairs. Her teeth chattered with every step, and her breath billowed out of her mouth in great white clouds. When she reached the hallway, she stopped and looked in surprise.

All she could see were the dead.

Each one turned to face her, their eyes dull and confused.

And there were far more than fourteen.

Chapter 43: Poor Decision-Making Skills

 

Leanne limped along the edge of the road and then cut across the unkempt lawn of the large brick house. The sun had risen only a short time before, and her body was in pain from the uncomfortable position she had remained in while sleeping in the shed.

But the reward would be well worth the aggravation.

She had watched the house for most of the night, and the owner had gone to sleep well after midnight. He had been drinking the entire time.

Leanne had no doubt that the man would be dead drunk in his bed, and there was no one else in the home with him. Of that, she was certain.

Several times she had thought he had company, but Leanne hadn’t been able to see anyone. Even when he was on his porch and having a conversation with some unseen person.

Someone I should see, Leanne thought bitterly. There was a sense about the property, as if the dead lurked about the building and the landscape. The fact that she could not see them stung bitterly, and her mouth twisted into a grimace.

The man had continued drinking.

He’s a fool, she thought, creeping toward the basement door. Albeit a powerful one. Perhaps he might even sense the presence of the dead. Regardless, it will be a mercy to kill him.

His drinking had left her feeling disgruntled, as had his chain-smoking.

The man’s flesh would be far too foul to eat.

Focus now, she thought. I may have to use some of my strength to force the door.

Leanne cleared her mind as she reached out and touched the doorknob. She twisted it once and nearly gasped in surprise.

The knob turned, and the door swung in on silent hinges.

She suppressed a joyous laugh and eased into the basement. Closing the door gently behind her, Leanne allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

The basement was surprisingly devoid of clutter, consisting mainly of a washer, dryer, water heater, and a furnace that looked as though it might once have powered a steam engine. Pipes and wires crisscrossed the wide beams of the ceiling, and a set of stairs led up to the main floor.

Leanne limped toward it, pausing every few steps to listen.

Not a single sound reached her ears.

Smiling, she climbed the stairs, paused at the closed door at the top and then eased it open inch by inch. Soon, she found herself standing in a large kitchen, one that smelled of cigarettes, alcohol, and coffee. A single plate, knife, and fork stood in the drying rack at the sink, and they confirmed Leanne’s belief that the man was alone in his home.

Now, she thought, glancing up at the tin ceiling, where are you sleeping in this great big house of yours?

She tried to smell him, but there was nothing to smell. Not a trace of sweat, or any peculiar odor. The stench of cigarettes was heavy, but it permeated everything and offered nothing by way of a trail.

Frowning, Leanne set off towards the center of the home.

She had made it a short distance from the kitchen when the door to that room slammed shut and locked itself. Above her came the creak of floorboards and Leanne looked around for a place to hide. An open doorway, a few feet to the right, caught her eye, and she limped toward it, slipping over the threshold before the owner of the house came to a stop somewhere on the upper floor.

Leanne found the doorknob and eased the door closed, leaving it open an inch so she might peer out and keep watch.

After several seconds, she heard him start to walk again. He descended a flight of stairs, the sound of his steps drawing closer. She gathered the last of her strength and prepared to throw open the door and launch herself at the man after he had passed by.

The footsteps reached the door and continued down the hall, and there was no one to see.

Not a soul.

Leanne almost let out a laugh, and she stepped back from the door.

A ghost, she thought. And why shouldn’t there be a ghost in a house this large?

The door closed itself, and a male voice that spoke English with a thick German accent said, “You, Madam, should not be here.”

A ghost, Leanne thought. Nothing more.

“Open the door,” she commanded in a low voice. “I’ve no business with your kind this morning.”

“Whether you have business with me or not is not yours to decide,” the unseen ghost said from her left. “This is the home of my friend, and you are not welcome here.”

Leanne ignored the dead man and approached the door, intent on letting herself out.

A cold hand took hold of her arm and stopped her, and no matter how she tried to twist herself free from his grasp, Leanne could not. She considered using her strength to escape, then rejected the idea.

No, she thought, taking a step backward. The ghost released her arm, and Leanne found a chair to sit in. This can work to my advantage. He will bring his living friend to me soon enough, and then I will be able to escape this place. I will not squander the little strength that remains.

“What is your name?” the ghost inquired.

“Leanne Le Monde,” she replied. “And yours?”

“Carl,” he answered. “I shall speak with my friend and tell him that you are here.”

Yes, Leanne thought, closing her eyes and gathering her strength. Tell him I am here. I want to see Victor Daniels sooner rather than later.

 

***

 

Stefan sat on the back step of his safe house and rubbed tiredly at the muscles around his empty eye socket. He had slept fitfully after scouring the house of all evidence of the policeman he had murdered. In his hand, he held the .22 round that had passed through the man’s eye and into the wall.

The police had yet to follow up with him, but Stefan knew it was only a matter of time. Law enforcement was predictable and effective because of it. Given time, they would realize that Stefan was responsible, or at least knew something about Officer Colette’s disappearance. Stefan would need to wait until they reached out to him. Leaving before that would make him look guilty.

Anything will make me look guilty, he thought, pocketing the mashed bullet into his pocket. It’ll be a fine line to walk, but I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.

He tried not to make killing police a habit. All it would take was one rogue police officer to decide Stefan was guilty, and then Stefan would wind up dead, the victim of a suspicious carjacking.

He grinned at the thought, stood up and went back into the house. In the living room, where he had murdered Officer Colette, several candles burned on the mantle. The cloying scent of honeysuckle filled the air, and the flames were reflected in the glass of a picture. Behind the glass was a black and white image of an old woman with glasses and a kindly face.

The scented candles hid the stench of cleaning chemicals and the photo, purchased in New York years earlier, would be passed off as one of his grandmother’s.

Who died ten years ago today, officer, Stefan thought, practicing his lie. Each morning he would light the candles, and each morning he would prepare to tell that lie until either the smell of the chemicals was gone, or he had left town.

I can’t leave town, he thought. Not yet. I need to find out where Daniels is living and pay him and his brat back for ruining everything. Everything!

And after them, he thought, regaining his composure. Well, I’ll take care of Ariana and Ivan Denisovich.

Someone knocked on his door, and Stefan smiled. He glanced at the unknown woman on the mantle, feigned a grimace of sorrow, and opened the door.

A pair of Burlington police officers stood on the step, and Stefan asked in a soft voice, “May I help you?”

Chapter 44: The Gang’s All Here

 

Sara felt as though she was wading through snow as she walked down the narrow hallway of Nancy’s second floor. The dead looked at her, some with understanding and others without. An older man, looking as though he had been ready to go to bed when he was murdered, shook his head and hissed, “You need to get out, young lady!”

“Why?” Sara asked, coming to a stop.

“He’s here,” the dead man replied, “and he’ll take you too!”

For the first time, Sara felt fear overwhelm her. It struck her in the pit of her stomach with the force of a fist, and she understood the real danger she was in. And how foolish she had been to not want to search in groups.

I’m not in a group, she thought, nodding and turning away from the dead man, I’m alone.

Sara stepped toward the stairs and froze.

A young boy stood before her, his form frightfully more solid than those of the others. The ghosts around him shrank away, some openly weeping at the sight of the boy.

“Hello,” the dead child said, taking a step closer toward her.

Sara brought the shotgun up, but before her finger could squeeze the trigger, the boy flickered and was in front of her. His small hand touched hers, and she screamed in both shock and pain as the cold pierced the cotton gloves. Her fingers went numb and she dropped the weapon.

“Have you come for the trip?” he asked.

“No,” Sara said, straightening up.

“That’s a shame,” the boy said, frowning. Then he smiled. “But you’ll come anyway. I need another woman, and besides, everyone else is coming. It will be a wonderful time.”

Sara tried to back away from him, her mind scrambling, seeking a path out of the house that didn’t require passing him.

A window, she thought. Better a broken leg than being dead.

The dead boy smirked, and two of the doors in the hall slammed closed.

As the third swung on its hinges, Sara dove for it and found herself rolling across the floor of Nancy’s bedroom.

The first sight to greet her eyes as she stood up was the master bathroom.

And as she watched, the faucet in the sink turned on, and water exploded into the basin.

She spun, eyes fixed on a window beside the bed, and she ran for it.

Yet the dead boy caught her by the back of her sweatshirt and she gasped as the breath was ripped out of her lungs. He jerked Sara off her feet and dragged her limp body towards the bathroom.

“I would tell you it isn’t bad. Drowning,” the boy said. “But that would be a lie, and I was told I shouldn’t lie. So, I won’t. Drowning is terrible. A heavy weight in your lungs. I can remember when I died. There were so many people in the water. Someone stepped on my head as I tried to swim up. I think they were trying to stand on me, which was silly. The water was too deep.”

“Stop,” Sara gasped, trying to free herself.

“No,” the boy answered.

He dragged her into the bathroom, wrapped a hand in her short hair and leaned in close to whisper.

“I won’t make you suffer,” he said softly. “At least not that much.”

And he shoved Sara’s face into the bitterly cold water.

 

***

 

Ariana didn’t recognize the car parked in front of the address Victor had given her.

She shrugged, got out of her own vehicle and removed her shotgun. A glance up and down the street left her unsettled.

There was no movement.

Nothing.

Not even a mailman or someone out walking their dog. No wandering cats. Even the birds and the squirrels were silent.

Bad, Ariana thought. This is bad. Worse than I thought it would be. What the hell has he gotten himself into?

She took out a bandolier of extra shells and slipped it over her neck and shoulder. Finally, Ariana pulled on a pair of gloves laced with iron filings and flexed her fingers.

Right, she thought. Let’s get this done.

Ariana crossed the sidewalk, strode up the walkway and let herself into the house.

“He’s killing her!” a voice snapped, and Ariana jerked around, her finger tight on the shotgun’s trigger.

The ghost of a tall old man stood in the shadow, his back straight and a look of command about him.

Ariana didn’t ask him who.

“Where?” she demanded.

“Master bathroom,” he replied, and Ariana raced up the stairs.

No other ghosts were visible, but from an open door, she heard running water.

She barreled through the doorway, the shotgun’s stock tucked into her shoulder. As she turned the corner of the room, she saw the bathroom. The ghost of a young boy held a woman against the bathroom sink with one hand while he kept her head pressed down into the rising water with the other.

Ariana pulled the trigger.

 

***

 

Sara fell back, vomiting water and gasping for air. Her lungs screamed for oxygen and her back and arms burned with a rough pain.

She collapsed onto the bathroom floor and drew in great, shuddering breaths.

A stranger, armed with a shotgun and a bandolier of spare shells, approached her, squatting down beside Sara and grinning.

“Hey there,” Betty said. “I’m betting this didn’t work out the way you thought it would.”

“No, Betty, it didn’t,” Sara said hoarsely.

“Call me, Ariana,” the younger woman said. She glanced around and asked, “Where’s Victor?”

“At the neighbor’s house,” Sara said, struggling into a sitting position.

The sound of a shotgun cut off Ariana’s response.

Chapter 45: Visiting the Neighbor

 

Victor reloaded the weapon, and he and Tom remained still. With his ears ringing from the blast of the shotgun in the close confines of the house, Victor’s eyes darted around the room.

The two of them were in the kitchen, the far wall of which was now perforated by rock-salt.

Victor had seen a shape, a fast-moving ghost the size of a child and he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled the trigger.

The enormity of their task suddenly made itself known.

We have to search this house and find one ticket, he thought. A single item the size of a driver’s license.

How are we going to do that?

“Are you okay?” Tom asked in a low voice.

Victor nodded. “Really wishing we had a way to locate the boarding pass before this ghost kills us.”

Tom gave a dry chuckle and nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The boy moved forward and quickly searched the cluttered countertop. Then he stopped and let out a laugh.

“What?” Victor asked, confused.

“Hot and cold,” Tom answered, looking at him. “Like the game you play, when you’re little. Something’s hidden, and one person looks while somebody else gives clues.”

“Hot you’re close, cold you’re not,” Victor said, nodding.

“But in this case, cold means we’re close,” Tom said.

Victor jerked the shotgun back up and Tom dove to the floor. The ghost hurled itself across the room, and Victor shot it again. He hastily reloaded, not sure as to how long the ghost would take the second time.

“I’ll take the lead,” Tom said, getting back to his feet.

“No,” Victor said, his eyes darting around the room.

“I have to.” Tom’s tone was serious. “I can feel it. Him , a lot better than you. You have to trust me.”

Victor nodded, worried his voice would break with fear for the boy.

Tom closed his eyes, and Victor forced himself to remain calm.

“This way,” Tom whispered, opening his eyes. He turned, and Victor followed. The air grew colder as they moved further into the house.

And despite the morning sun beyond the walls, the interior became darker.

Victor tightened his grip on the shotgun and waited for the ghost to appear.

 

***

 

Sara’s lungs ached, and her stomach felt as though someone had stabbed a saw into it and twisted her guts around. She kept pace with Ariana, yet it was difficult. The woman moved quickly and confidently, and Sara understood that she was dealing with a professional. She remembered the irritation she had felt when she first met the young woman, and she was pleased that she hadn’t tried to physically stop her.

Ariana’s every move was as graceful as it was deadly. No motion was wasted, and nothing escaped her sight.

They exited the garage, heading towards Gilbert’s house.

Instead of moving to the front, Ariana went around to the back. Sara almost asked why, but then she realized it would have been a stupid question.

Police, she thought. As mild as Victor Daniels was, he certainly wasn’t a fool.

They turned the corner of the house, and Sara saw that the back door at the top of the porch was open. Halfway up the stairs, a shotgun sounded again, the windows of the house rattling in their frames.

Ariana ripped the door open and barreled into the home. A heartbeat later, as Sara followed her, the other woman’s shotgun roared.

Sara crossed the threshold, and a voice screamed, “You’re dead!”

Cold hands grabbed her around the waist and threw her. She hit an interior wall with enough force to knock pictures down, and the last sound she heard was another shotgun as she slipped into unconsciousness.

 

***

 

“Victor!”

He paused and glanced down the stairs. “Up here, Ariana!”

As his gaze swung back to Tom, Victor saw the teen lash out with his prosthetic and the dead boy who had materialized vanished.

“Where is it?” Victor asked. Three doors lead off from the hallway, and each was closed.

“The door at the far end,” Tom answered. Ariana’s footsteps pounded on the stairs.

“Look out!” she screamed, but it was too late.

A cold, hammer-like blow struck Victor in the small of the back and sent him to his knees. The force of the impact knocked the breath out of him and left him struggling, his chest heaving as Ariana fired her shotgun again.

He reached out, put his hand against the wall and tried to get to his feet, but his legs refused to support his weight.

In a moment, Ariana was at his side, helping him to his feet and supporting him, her face absent of any emotion. Her eyes danced with mad glee, a bloodlust that he hadn’t seen in them before. With one hand, she leveled the shotgun at the ghost as the boy appeared again and pulled the trigger.

But the child was smarter than Victor had believed.

A second before the shotgun fired, the dead boy flickered out and then reappeared.

“No,” the boy hissed, and he punched Ariana in the chest, sending her backward.

Victor fell with her, and then, as the ghost stood over them, Tom swung his arm.

The iron laced prosthetic passed through the dead boy, and the child screamed. Victor saw Tom shudder and stagger back.

“Get to the room,” Victor said, his voice hoarse, “find the ticket.”

“What about you?” Tom asked, and Victor heard the fear in his son’s voice.

“We’ll be fine,” Victor said. His lower back ached, and his legs tingled. “Go.”

Tom nodded, turned around and hurried down the hall. Victor watched Tom open the door and walk inside.

Ariana struggled into a sitting position, her face pale and drawn.

“Broken ribs,” she said through clenched teeth. “At least two. Another hit like that and he might drive the damned things into my lungs.”

“Where is he?” Victor asked, refusing to acknowledge the rising panic his legs were producing.

“He’s a smart kid,” Ariana answered. “He’s learning. And I think he’s figured out that we’re not the threat.”

The door at the end of the hall slammed shut, and the house shook.

“Oh no,” Victor whispered, and he began to drag himself down the hall.

Chapter 46: Alone, in the Room

 

Tom could feel the ticket as he stood in silence.

The room stank of old sweat and bad breath, of dirty clothes and half-forgotten meals.

It was the room of a bachelor who no longer cared about himself, and somewhere, hidden in the debris of a dead man’s life, the boarding pass for the Lady Elgin waited.

The door slammed closed, and the room’s temperature sank.

The boy appeared near the bed and looked at Tom warily. After a short time, the dead child said, “Hello. I am beginning to wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Tom asked, trying to focus on the location of the pass.

“Whether I should bring you with me for the trip,” the dead boy said. Tom watched the ghost walk to the bed and then sit down on it. “He was a pig.”

“The man who lived here?” Tom asked.

The dead boy nodded.

“I didn’t like him. I still don’t like him,” the child stated. “I am going make him stay under the water when we go out. What do you think about that?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t really have an opinion one way or the other.”

The dead boy smiled. “Yes, you should come with me on the trip.”

Tom hesitated, then asked, “Don’t you want to move on? To go to heaven?”

“Of course, I do,” the ghost said, his voice serious. “My mother’s in heaven, and I want to be with her.”

Tom started to speak, but the dead boy interrupted him.

“I want my trip first,” the child snapped. “And I can’t have it until everyone is onboard.”

Silence filled the room, and in the hallway beyond, Tom heard someone moving towards the door.

The bed, Tom realized. The boarding pass is under the bed.

He tightened his grip on the lead-lined bag as the dead boy asked, “Do you think you can stop me?”

“Yes,” Tom said, and he meant it.

“How?” the ghost asked. “You can send me away, for a moment or two, when you strike me. But I always come back.”

“And what about the shotguns?” Tom asked, stepping towards the bed and keeping his eyes fixed on the dead child.

“Shotguns?” The ghost looked quizzically at Tom, then understanding dawned in his eyes. “Oh, yes, the fowling pieces. Those are curious. I didn’t think they would do anything. There was one man who tried to shoot me when I came for him, but it didn’t amount to much. But your friends, their pieces are different.”

Tom reached the bed, and the person in the hall arrived at the door.

Whoever it was tried the doorknob and distracted the ghost long enough for Tom to drop down onto the carpet. A quick glance showed the underside of the bed to be filthy and cluttered.

And somewhere within it was the boarding pass.

“What are you doing?” the dead boy asked curiously.

“Wondering why this man didn’t clean anything,” Tom lied.

“Because he was a pig,” the boy replied.

“Tom!” Victor called through the door.

“Is that your father?” the dead child asked.

Tom nodded.

“Good,” the ghost said, grinning. “He can come with us.”

The boy vanished, and Tom dove into the mess under the bed.

Chapter 47: A Return to Consciousness

 

Sara awoke with pain in her head and right shoulder. Her stomach churned with the intensity of her injuries, and she got to her feet carefully.

I have to focus, she thought, putting one hand against the cold wall to steady herself.

“Tom?!” Victor yelled, panic in his voice.

Sara heard the rattle of a doorknob, and she knew Tom Daniels was in danger.

With legs that were weak and wobbly, she climbed the stairs.

“Victor,” Ariana hissed, and then a shotgun went off.

Sara reached the second-floor hallway, and her eyes instantly took in the situation.

Ariana was propped against the back wall across from the stairs, her shotgun in her hand as she fumbled to reload it. Victor was crumpled against a door at the far end of the hallway.

And the dead boy stood between them, a pleased smile on his face.

“When we’re all done,” he said, looking from Sara to Ariana, “I am going to drown all four of you in the bathtub, just like kittens. Won’t that be fun?”

Ariana’s response was to pull the trigger, and the boy vanished.

“Are you alright?” Sara asked, limping to the other woman.

“Nope,” Ariana hissed, shaking her head. “Couple of ribs are busted. I can’t move. Not yet. Tom’s in the room at the end of the hall. Victor’s–”

“Here,” the man said groggily. “Here.”

Victor straightened up and reached for the doorknob.

And the dead boy appeared behind him.

“My father never cared this much,” the child said, and Sara winced as Ariana’s shotgun misfired.

The boy looked over his shoulder, grabbed the back of Victor’s head and drove the man’s face into the door, causing it to shudder in the frame.

Victor slid down to lay limply on the floor.

“You are all boring,” the ghost said, skipping a few steps toward them. “Bang, bang, bang. That’s all you do. You shoot me. You punch me. But I keep coming back. I’m dead. I can’t be dead again. The only one of you who is interesting is Tom. I like Tom. He’s going to be my friend. He’ll ride up top with me in the wheelhouse when we go back on the Lady Elgin .”

The dead boy stopped several feet in front of them and asked, “What do you think of that?”

“I think,” Ariana said in a low, pained voice, “that you should be drowned again.”

Anger filled the child’s face, and he pointed a shaking finger at her. “You’re going to drown. And then, I’ll bring you back, and I’ll drown you again!”

“Sounds good to me,” Ariana whispered. “Just do me a favor and shut up. You’re annoying as hell.”

The boy screamed with rage and took a step forward. “I am going to kill you forever.”

Sara interjected herself between the dead child and Ariana and instantly regretted it.

Almost as an after-thought, the boy grabbed Sara with hands colder than anything she had felt before. Sneering, he half-turned and threw her down the hall and into a door. The cheap wood cracked beneath the impact and Sara fell into a bathroom.

Terror swelled within her and she grabbed hold of the edge of the filthy tub, trying to pull herself into a standing position.

A second later Ariana was thrown into the bathroom as well, smashing into the sink and sagging to her knees. Sara heard the terrible wheeze the other woman’s lungs made as she struggled to breathe, and once more Sara understood that the dead boy would kill them both.

The child appeared in the doorway, smirking.

“There is nowhere for you to go now,” he said, stepping into the room.

Ariana tried to stand, and he threw her into the bathtub.

“Stop,” Sara begged.

“No,” he replied, and pushed her into the tub on top of Ariana.

The hateful squeak of a faucet rang out and a moment later water poured forth from the bathtub’s faucet.

Panic drove Sara to her feet and she swung clumsily at the boy.

He ducked the blow easily, laughed, and then shoved her back into the tub.

“You’re weak,” the boy said, keeping Sara in the tub without any difficulty. “And I am going to enjoy this. We will play all night. Again and again. And when you are too tired, well, I will get the father and the son in here, and they will play, too.”

The dead boy grinned and asked, “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“You shutting up sounds wonderful,” Ariana muttered, the sound of her voice taking her by surprise.

“I mean,” Ariana continued, “if we’re being perfectly honest here. You’re a whiny little brat. You sound like a pig, did you know that? All I here when you talk is, oink, oink, oink!”

The boy screamed, and Sara clapped her hands over her ears as the room reverberated with the sound.

He stepped forward, pushed Sara aside and reached for Ariana’s head.

“Here we go,” Ariana whispered with a weak grin. “The most spoiled child in the history of children is going to have another tantrum.”

Pure hatred filled the dead boy’s eyes, then he stiffened, twisted around and yelled out, “No!”

 

***

 

When Tom’s hands fell on the boarding pass the cold bit into his fingers.

With a gasp of pain, Tom jerked his hand back and shook open the lead-lined bag. Grimacing, he picked up the boarding pass as the dead boy yelled from the hallway.

Too bad, Tom thought, you murderous little psychopath.

And he stuffed the item into the bag and closed it with a twist.

Warmth rushed into the room and Tom dropped his head to the floor in relief, exhaustion, and fear for his father.

Chapter 48: Safe and at Home

 

Tom’s snores could be heard in the kitchen, and the sound made Victor smile. His lower back continued to ache, despite the fact that it had been three days since Tom had saved them all.

“What’s the smile about?” Sara asked before she took another bite of steak.

“My boy,” Victor replied. “It’s good to hear him.”

The detective nodded, chewed her food and then asked, “Have you heard from Ariana?”

“This morning,” Victor answered. “Tom and I will be traveling up to see her tomorrow. She’s going to look at the information we took from Korzh. She’s hoping we might be able to track him down, get a jump on him.”

“You shouldn’t tell me any more,” Sara said. “I don’t want to know about a possible crime.”

Victor nodded.

“And after you see her,” Sara said after a moment. “What will you do?”

“I thought we might take a trip,” Victor answered. He looked at the lead-lined bag that rested between them. “We may go up to Nashua. Stop in and see our friend Shane. I’m hoping he’ll be able to help us with this ghost.”

“Nashua’s not that far from Concord,” Sara said. “Think you might want to come on up for a visit? I don’t get much company.”

“I’d be happy to,” Victor replied. “I know Tom will be, too. We’ve enjoyed your company the past few days.”

“Especially since we’re all alive,” Sara said. “Do you think Shane will be able to help you get some place to destroy the boarding pass?”

“I hope so,” Victor said. “I don’t want to do it alone, but I don’t want Tom with me either. If something were to go wrong – well, I wouldn’t be able to deal with Tom being hurt because of it.”

“I understand,” Sara said. The woman glanced at her watch. “I need to go in a few minutes if I’m to get back to the hotel at a decent time.”

“Do you want a cup of tea before you go?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sara said, smiling. “That would be nice.”

Victor stood up, cleared the dishes and started the teapot. Tom’s snores continued to ring out from the bedroom, and the sun began its slow descent.

 

***

 

A vibrancy had returned to the neighborhood, despite the number of people who had mysteriously died. Sara could hear the songs of night-birds, and she saw the occasional deft swoop of a bat as she pulled her rental car to a stop in front of Nancy’s house.

With the car still running, Sara looked at the building, gripped the steering wheel and finally managed to turn the engine off.

She climbed out of the car, jingling the keys nervously in one hand. Walking up the narrow, grass-choked walkway, Sara felt the rising sense of panic within her.

Death had nearly claimed her in Nancy’s house, and the memory of the imminent drowning was forceful.

But the unknown child was trapped, and Sara needed to go in.

She had to.

When she let herself into the house, she met the same, tall ghost who had warned her before.

“You’re back,” the man said in a surprised but pleased voice.

“I am,” Sara answered, refusing to close the door behind her.

“Excellent,” he said. “You caught the little monster?”

She nodded.

The dead man frowned and asked, “Then why aren’t we free?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Sara explained. “To let you know that it should be soon. We have to destroy the boarding pass, and it needs to be done far away.”

For a moment, it looked as though the man might question her, then he shrugged and said, “Fine. No reason for me to be upset. I’m already dead.”

A chill wafted down the stairs, and Sara glanced up.

“Don’t go there,” the man said in a gentle voice. “If you tell them what you told me, why, it would only upset them. I know the ones who understand that we’re dead. I will speak to them. The others can wait. This is all a dream. Some good, some bad. We’ll let them make their own determinations on that, alright?”

Sara turned her attention back to the old man and nodded.

“Alright,” she said.

“Go home, get some shut-eye,” the dead man said, grinning. “You look just about done in.”

“I feel it,” Sara said, and then stifled a yawn.

“Yes,” the old man said, fading as he spoke. “Go and sleep. You’ve done well.”

Sara waited only a moment after he disappeared before she turned and left the house, closing the door gently behind her. In a few minutes, she was backing her car into a parking space at the hotel and wondering if she would be able to sleep at all before her flight home.

 

Chapter 49: Beyond Their Understanding

 

Stefan slipped on his loafers, adjusted his belt and smiled at himself in the mirror.

He looked exactly as he had intended; as another member of the suburban population. A father who was a mid-level executive in an accounting firm. He picked up a weathered and faded brown-leather wallet and flipped through it. There were pictures of two kids in soccer uniforms. He had his imaginary family’s backstory memorized, and he even had a couple of business cards for a small firm in Boston. Stefan paid the owner a small amount to keep his false identity on the books as an employee.

It worked out for the best. The owner had Stefan’s salary on the accounts, but all of the money went back into the man’s own pockets.

And he knows, Stefan thought, adjusting the collar of his salmon-colored polo shirt, that I’ll gut him and let him bleed out if he backstabs me.

Stefan picked up a wig, added a small amount of adhesive to the interior, and slipped it onto his head. He corrected the placement, then picked up a hand mirror so he could see the back of the wig as well.

The hairpiece was not flattering. It was a light brown with gray mixed in, and it gave the impression of standard, male-pattern baldness.

Satisfied that he looked as dull as possible, Stefan left the room. He glanced out the window and saw the unmarked police vehicle up the street.

They were watching him, to make certain he didn’t leave without their knowledge while they looked for a way to link him to Officer Colette’s murder.

Too bad they found the body parts so soon, Stefan thought, sighing. He picked up his eye patch, put it in his pocket and put on a pair of sunglasses.

The police knew he only had one car and so they were focused on that.

But this man, Stefan thought, walking into the kitchen and opening a cabinet. Mr. Jon Dinsmore, CPA for Long and Sons out of Boston, Massachusetts, well, he has a car as well.

Stefan took down a pair of keys, one for a deadbolt and the other for a Master Lock and left his house by the back door. He walked to the side of his garage, entered through a small door, then exited through the back.

Quick steps carried him to a small path that ran between the fences of the houses behind him, and he maneuvered through the warren of tall grass, discarded bottles, and tight corridors as he moved farther from his safe-house.

When Stefan stepped out onto the sidewalk several streets away, he whistled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his beige slacks. He allowed himself a slow and steady gait as he traveled to his destination, a warehouse tucked into the end of a street. The building was divided into units and was truly nothing more than a glorified storage facility.

Stefan rented a small space, under the name of Jon Dinsmore, and he kept some necessities in it.

He used his key to unlock the deadbolt of the battered steel door and flicked on the lights as he entered. A tall, military surplus wall-locker stood against the wall behind a dark green, Volvo station-wagon.

Going to the locker, Stefan used the other key on the Master Lock and opened the doors. He removed the key to the Volvo as well as a small, .38 caliber pistol. Like the car, the weapon was legally registered to Jon Dinsmore, and Stefan even had a concealed carry permit.

Finally, he took out a new phone and turned it on.

Smiling, Stefan closed the locker, secured it again, and walked to the roll-up garage door that would allow him to drive the car out. Stefan punched in the four-digit passcode and waited for the door to rattle and roll up towards the ceiling on its tracks.

Looking out at the street beyond, Stefan’s smile widened into a grin.

Time to go back to Fox Cat Hollow, he thought, getting into his car. And kill Victor and Tom Daniels.

Humming, Stefan eased the Volvo out into the morning.

Chapter 50: A Furnished Apartment

 

Ariana sat propped up on the couch, a bag of ice held against her broken ribs and a bottle of Advil on the table beside her. Against her doctor’s orders, there was a new bottle of vodka alongside the medicine.

Tom and Victor sat in a pair of over-stuffed easy chairs, and the teen was adjusting the straps on his prosthetic.

The two of them had arrived early in the morning, and they had spent most of the day with her, making sure she had everything she needed. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that she was more than capable of looking after herself, or that she enjoyed their company.

Ariana had spent the majority of her life being self-sufficient, and she was embarrassed to find that she was pleased with Victor and Tom’s consideration.

“Have you heard back from Shane Ryan?” she asked.

Victor shook his head. “I left a voicemail, and I sent him a text message. I figure he’ll get back to me when he can.”

“Make sure you put the boarding pass in something a little more durable than your bag,” Ariana said. “The last thing you need is for that little sailor to get out and try to shanghai you.”

Tom snorted out a chuckle, and Ariana winked at him.

“Agreed,” Victor said. “What are you going to do?”

“For now,” she said, wincing as she adjusted her position on the couch, “I’m going to heal up. If you want to leave the thumb-drive with me, I’ll see what I can get off it. Then we can hunt down my half-brother and have a little chat.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tom said.

“You’ve got a little bit of bloodlust,” Ariana said.

“A lot,” Tom corrected.

She nodded and looked from the man to the child and smiled. “I shouldn’t be out of action for too long. In fact, I’ll probably start looking through the information on the drive as soon as you guys go. Just do me a favor.”

“What’s that?” Victor asked.

“Don’t go after him on your own,” she said. “And don’t go back to the warehouse.”

“Why not the warehouse?” Tom asked.

“Anne Le Morte,” Ariana answered. “Best case scenario, she’s still out there, trying to get someone to be her new caretaker.”

“And worst case?” Victor asked in a soft voice.

“She’s looking for us,” Ariana answered, and silence filled the room.

 

***

 

Behind him, the scouts grumbled and complained, and Mark Richards bit his tongue.

They all need this damned badge, he thought, guiding them along the trail. Like I want to be out here when it’s humid, and the mosquitos think I’m the best dish on the buffet.

“Mr. Richards,” Mel Centage said.

Mark rolled his eyes, forced a smile onto his face and glanced over his shoulder. “What is it, Mel?”

“Do you hear singing?” the chubby boy asked.

Mark started to say no, then stopped.

He did hear singing.

A beautiful voice sang out loud and clear.

Mark knew he should leave the singer in peace, but he had to see who it was. He had never heard such a beautiful sound produced by a person before.

Without waiting to see if the scouts were following him, Mark turned off onto a smaller trail and moved towards the song.

Behind him, the boys complained and hastened to keep up.

Within a minute, they became silent, focused on the singer as well.

Mark soon stepped out into a small clearing where a tent was pitched off to the left. The remains of a campfire lay dull and black within a circle of soot marked stones, and a pile of broken and burnt bones lay off to one side. Trash littered the ground, but not near the opening to the tent.

Mark approached it with heavy feet, his eyes focused on the tent, his mind determined to see the singer.

As he reached the tent, Mark peered in.

He couldn’t see anyone, but the singing stopped, and a woman spoke to him in French.

It was an archaic form, nothing like the French he had learned from the sisters at Holy Trinity School. But Mark grasped what the woman said.

“Pick it up,” she said, her voice sweet. “Will you do this, for me?”

He nodded dumbly, bent down and picked it up.

Mark turned around to face the boys.

Mel Centage blinked and asked, “What’s that for?”

The shotgun roared, and the boys began to scream.

 

Chapter 51: No Trust

 

“She’s dangerous,” Carl said in German.

“I know, Carl,” Shane sighed, replying in the same. He lit a fresh cigarette and shook his head. “I can tell she’s dangerous. I’m just deciding what I should do with her.”

“She is an old woman,” Carl began.

Shane shook his head. “We know what people can do, regardless of age or gender.”

It was Carl’s turn to sigh, and the dead man did just that. “Then what do you suggest?”

Shane rubbed at the back of his head, tracing old scars with his fingers. “You know what, she’s had enough time to cool her heels. I’m going to grab a shot or two of whiskey, maybe smoke a few more cigarettes. Then, we’ll meet back here, and we’ll have a little chat with her.”

“Why not allow me and perhaps one of the others to escort her out of the house?” Carl’s voice had a note of hope.

Shane shook his head. “She’ll only come back if she really needs what she’s after. And, to be honest, it seems like she really needs what she’s after. Best to finish it.”

When the dead German didn’t say anything, Shane nodded and walked toward the kitchen.

“My young friend,” Carl called out.

“What?” Shane asked over his shoulder.

“How much whiskey?”

“One or two shots,” Shane answered.

“Tomorrow then?” Carl asked.

Shane’s laughter filled the hall and he replied, “Yeah. Tomorrow then.”

 

***

 

Leanne had been in the room for days.

Bread and water had been left for her, but nothing else.

The door could not be forced, nor could the windows. She had not bothered wasting her energy on trying to break out.

Her stomach grumbled and her mouth salivated at the thought of fresh meat, and Leanne felt as though she was descending into madness.

None of that, she chided herself. He’ll show up eventually. Why else would he feed me?

But there was a nagging sense of doubt.

She wondered if the dead hadn’t tricked her into coming into the house. If they hadn’t known what she was after.

Leanne pushed the thoughts away.

Calm, she thought. I will remain calm, and I will seize my moment when it comes.

A key rattled in the door lock, and Leanne smiled.

And it looks like that moment is now.

She straightened up and waited for the door to open.

 

***

 

Stefan Korzh stood in Victor Daniels’ kitchen and sighed.

No one was home.

There wasn’t any sign of where they had gone to.

He had been through the entirety of the small house, and not only were they not home, but there wasn’t even anything interesting to steal or destroy.

Stefan stood in the basement, near a rough and poorly equipped station set up to load shotgun shells and work on weapons. The sawed-off lengths of a shotgun’s barrel lay on the floor; the hacksaw it was done with on the workbench.

As Stefan turned to go back to the first floor, something caught his eye.

A small bag lay on a shelf, half in shadow beneath the bench. It seemed as though it had been shoved in hastily, and without much worry as to its discovery.

Stefan leaned over, reached out to pick it up and waves of cold emanated from it. After a moment’s pause, he plucked it off the shelf and felt the weight of the fabric, which was far more than it should have been.

Cold and heavy, Stefan thought, grinning. Is this one of my family’s items? Something I let loose into the world?

And it’s come back to me?

Stefan chuckled and tried to think what he might have recently sent out.

Oh, he thought, laughing. You’re from the Lady Elgin. All those dry-land drownings. Well, I think you’ll come home with me. Maybe we can drop you off somewhere else, hm?

Still holding the bag, Stefan left the basement and reached the kitchen with a smile on his face. As he considered the bag in his hands, he heard a pair of voices. Male and female.

“Matt,” the young woman said on the other side of the door. “You are such a brat.”

“Hey,” Matt replied. “That’s what big brothers are for.”

He drew his .38 and waited.

The deadbolt was unlocked, and the back door swung open, revealing a young woman and a young man.

They froze, surprised at the sight of Stefan.

“Hello,” Stefan said, and he shot each of them in the chest.

They collapsed against one another as they fell, and Stefan stepped over them as he left the house. He paused once and shot each in the head.

No witnesses, he thought, heading for the path that would take him to the back of the Fox Cat Hollow library. No witnesses ever.

Humming, Stefan holstered his weapon and tossed the bag from one hand to the other as he vanished into the woods.

 

*  *  *

 

Bonus Scene Chapter 1: At the Estate Sale

 

Felix hated yard sales, estate sales, flea markets, and everything else that had the potential to require haggling. He knew it was a tried and true past-time of the New Englander. But he wasn’t a New Englander, at least not by birth; and the fact that Melissa seemed to thrive on negotiating the price of everything left him questioning his life choices.

But Melissa was seven months pregnant, and he would rather be disgruntled in silence than harass her about antiquing.

“What do you think of this?” she asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“Hm?” Felix looked at what she held in her hands and saw it was a silver baby’s rattle. He hated it. Smiling, he said, “I think it looks great. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she replied, dropping her free hand to her extended belly and rubbing it absently. “I think she will, too.”

“I’m sure she will,” Felix said, and he turned away to look for the sports memorabilia that had been advertised. Behind him, Felix heard Melissa begin her negotiations. He rolled his eyes and wandered out of the room. Other people pressed against him, and no one, not a single individual, excused themselves. Each was focused on some unknown goal.

It’s like they’re robbing the dead in here, he thought, stepping into a small study. The room appeared to have been struck by a tornado. Papers littered the floor and desk, books lay on their sides and stacked haphazardly on the study’s shelves. He could smell old pipe tobacco, and the room was stifling. Sunlight streamed in through a dirty window, and Felix wondered how long it had been since someone had bothered to clean the house.

Probably before I was born, he thought with a dry chuckle.

He poked around for a few minutes in the study, then with a shrug, he exited the room and went to find Melissa.

She smiled and waved at him while a bored teenager wrapped the silver rattle in a piece of newspaper.

“Anything?” she asked when he came to a stop beside her.

“No,” he answered.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Felix said. “Do you want to stop and get a hot chocolate and a donut on the way home?”

Melissa’s eyes lit up, and she nodded.

She had been a compulsive coffee drinker before the start of the pregnancy, and she had been forced to switch to hot chocolate because of the caffeine in the coffee. Melissa drank at least three cups of hot chocolate a day, sometimes more if she was feeling particularly bad. Both he and the doctor had warned her about gestational diabetes, but Melissa didn’t care about it.

And Felix knew that he shouldn’t give her more sugar, but he didn’t want to listen to her complain either.

“Here,” the teenager said, handing the bag to Melissa.

“I’ve got it,” Felix said, accepting it from the teen.

Melissa beamed at him, and they left the house together.

Felix shifted the bag from one hand to the other, wondering why it had suddenly grown colder.

 

***

 

Felix yawned and deleted his browser history before he turned off his laptop. Leaning back against the couch, he glanced at the silver rattle, then he picked it up and held it up to the light. A pair of initials and a date, E.S. 1915, were engraved under the ball-shaped top, and Felix wondered how much the silver might be worth. He had hoped to find a maker’s mark on the item, some clue that would allow him to research it a little more.

Felix didn’t think it would be worth enough to get them out of the Hesser Apartment complex, but it was nice to dream.

Sighing, he returned it to the table and rubbed his hands together. The silver felt abnormally cold, and it irritated him when he held it.

He had the feeling someone was watching him whenever he did so.

Felix stood up, went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet over the refrigerator. He moved aside several cookbooks, reached back and felt around for the pint of whiskey he kept hidden there.

Melissa had banned all alcohol from the house the day she had found she was pregnant. And in theory, but not practice, Felix had agreed with her. He had agreed with her reasoning that they needed to stop acting like they were teenagers, and he had helped her pour all the liquor out.

Then he had stopped at the package store and purchased himself a pint.

He wasn’t acting like a teen, he just liked to have a drink now and again.

Felix didn’t bother getting out a glass. Instead, he unscrewed the top and drank right from the bottle. When he had his fill, he put the cap back on, returned everything to the way it had been, and walked back to the sofa. Easing himself down, he glanced at the rattle.

That’s not right, he thought, frowning. It should be there.

The rattle was gone.

Felix slid off the couch, got on his hands and knees and peered under the table.

The rattle was there.

He reached out, then jerked his hand back, surprised at how painfully cold the small item was.

What the hell? he thought, pushing himself into a sitting position.

His brain moved sluggishly, wading through the whiskey as he tried to figure out what to do.

He turned around and stopped, surprised.

A young woman stood a few feet away from him. Her face was slightly round, her cheeks plump. The girl’s hair was gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore what looked like a maid’s outfit, similar to those worn on the BBC shows Melissa made him watch.

“Are you the child’s father?” the young woman asked in a thick, Irish brogue.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded, getting to his feet.

“Father or not,” she said, “the babe doesn’t need the likes of you. No child needs a father. You teach them nothing but bad things.”

“You better leave,” Felix said, taking a step towards her. “I’m going to call the cops.”

She frowned and looked up at him. “You’d be a terrible influence.”

“Right,” Felix said, reaching out for her arm. But his hand passed through her, and he jerked it back, his skin feeling as though he had soaked it in ice for an hour.

“What the hell?” he asked, stepping away.

The back of his knee hit the coffee table, and he fell over it, crashing to the floor. As he tried to get up, she sprang onto him. Her left hand pried his mouth open, and she whispered, “Terrible influence.”

She drove her hand into his mouth, and he screamed. The pain was beyond anything he had experienced before.

He could feel her cold fingers wriggling down into his throat, digging into parts of his body that he hadn’t known existed. Felix let out another, desperate shriek as her fingers wrapped around his innards and began to pull.

His screams became muffled as the first of his intestines were yanked out of his mouth.

Bonus Scene Chapter 2: The Information Highway

 

The ringing of the phone was a welcome distraction from work, and Victor Daniels answered it happily.

“Mr. Daniels,” James Moran said. “How are you, sir?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Victor replied, relaxing into his chair. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” the other man said. “Unfortunately, it is not with pleasant news that I’m reaching out to you.”

“What’s wrong?” Victor asked.

“I seem to have a problem,” James stated. “You see, when Jeremy Rhinehart was still alive, well, he was the man to whom I would go with my concerns and issues. I was hoping I might do the same with you.”

“I don’t know how qualified I am to assist you,” Victor said. “But I’m honored that you think I am.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Daniels,” the other man said. “You’ve done remarkably well for an individual thrust into a world few people know of, let alone survive.”

“Alright,” Victor said, grinning, “tell me what it is you need help with.”

“An item has appeared in Massachusetts. In the town of Groton, to be precise,” James said. “Do you know of the place?”

“I do,” Victor said, painful memories of Erin flashing before him. “What’s this item?”

“A silver rattle. For a baby,” James said.

Victor leaned forward, took a pad of paper off his desk and jotted down the information. “And what does this particular item do?”

James cleared his throat, then said, “Do you have access to the dark web, Mr. Daniels?”

“I do,” Victor answered.

“Then my suggestion would be to access it and search for Groton and Felix Ulster,” James said.

Victor added the name to his notes. “And who is Felix Ulster?”

“The victim, I am afraid. And,” James added, “unless you have a strong stomach, I would avoid searching for any photographs of the crime scene.”

“Alright,” Victor said. “I’ll do what I can.”

“As an aside, Mr. Daniels,” James continued. “I would leave young Tom home.”

“He’s off camping with his girlfriend and her family for the weekend,” Victor said. “But I thank you for the advice.”

They said goodbye and Victor ended the call. He pulled his chair closer to the desk, accessed the dark web, and did as James Moran had suggested.

But when the crime scene photos were accessible, Victor looked at them.

Felix Ulster had been a pudgy 29-year-old who had been living with his pregnant girlfriend. She had been the one to discover the body, and the sight of the corpse had sent her into premature labor. According to the police report, she remained hospitalized. The labor had been stopped, but she couldn’t be moved.

Felix, Victor saw, had died on the couples’ couch, and he had not died well.

The man’s intestines had been pulled from his body and strung about the room. They hung from the ceiling fan and were draped along the back of the couch.

The most disturbing aspect of the scene wasn’t the intestines, but the fact that whoever had done the crime had managed to do so by pulling the organ out of the man’s mouth.

There was no incision in the stomach.

The medical examiner listed death as a combination of shock and suffocation.

Unwillingly, Victor went back to the crime scene photos and clicked on them, enlarging them and poring over each.

Then a bit of silver caught his eye, and a grim smile spread across his face.

Beneath the coffee table, tucked into a shadow, was a small, silver rattle.

Victor returned to the police report, searched through it and found confirmation that Felix’s girlfriend, Melissa Landry, wasn’t expected to be released from Lowell Hospital for at least another week.

Victor wrote down the address of the couple, shut his computer down and went to pack.

He would leave as soon as he was ready.

Victor paused when he reached the doorway to his room, gripping the doorframe tightly. His body still ached from the recent events in Connecticut. The struggle against the ghost of the old woman had been brutal and although it had been days since the encounter, Victor felt it might be several more before his body healed entirely.

Why do I keep doing this? he thought. But as soon as the question arrived, it was answered.

Because of Erin , Victor thought, the memory of his wife leaping to the forefront of his thoughts. Everything is for her.

Sadness swept over him and Victor swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. With his thumb he wiped away the few tears that escaped and let out a long, mournful sigh.

Well, I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight, he thought, going into his room. Not at all.

The memory of his wife flickered and vanished, replaced by the vicious images of the crime scene.

Bonus Scene Chapter 3: Frustration and Annoyance

 

Gary Corriveau was half-asleep in his chair when Shannon walked in.

“You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Feel like garbage.”

She gave him an understanding smile. “Well, she’s asleep.”

Gary managed a weak grin. “Good. She was up most of the night.”

“So were you,” his wife said, coming forward and giving him a kiss. “Thank you for staying up with her.”

“Hey,” he said, “you have a presentation this morning. I don’t. I have plenty of sick time, and work can just deal with it.”

“They love you,” she said, laughing. Then she winked and said, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, babe,” Gary said. “She still asleep?”

Shannon nodded, adding, “Make sure you turn on the monitor before you pass out, okay?”

“You got it,” he said, and he waved as his wife left for work.

Gary listened to the tumblers fall into place as she locked the door and he picked up the baby-monitor from the side-table. He turned it on, raised the volume, and smiled at the sweet sound of Sonia’s delicate snores.

Gary returned the monitor to the table, extended the foot-rest of his chair, and wished he could go and lie down in his own bed.

That would be a mistake, he thought, closing his eyes. Even if he brought the monitor, the comfort of his bed would make getting up almost impossible to achieve. Better to rest fitfully than risk not hearing his two-year-old.

Gary yawned again, crossed his arms over his chest and let his head sag to the right. Around him, the apartment building went through its morning ritual, and the familiarity of those sounds helped lull him to sleep.

The sound of singing woke Gary up, and he blinked, not quite sure if he had dreamed it or not.

But the red light on the baby-monitor fluttered and flickered, the song soft as it wavered. He listened for a moment, then smiled.

Probably getting interference from something, he thought, closing his eyes again.

“Yes,” a woman said in a gentle voice, “you’re a sweet girl. Look at that red hair of yours. Why it's piled right on, isn’t it?”

Gary straightened up, his heart thundering in his chest.

Sonia had deep, red hair.

He launched himself out of the chair, stumbling as he fought for his balance, bouncing off the wall as he turned down the hallway. In a few steps, he reached Sonia’s nursery and came to a stop.

His daughter lay on her back, sleeping.

But by the crib stood a short woman, the morning sun passing through her as if she were nothing more than a piece of dark gauze hung over the window.

Shock swept over him, but fear for his daughter’s safety propelled him into the room.

The creature that stood beside the crib turned around and faced him, and Gary saw that it had the face of a young, teenage girl. She wore an old maid’s uniform, and her face had a serious expression on it.

“Are you the child’s father?” she asked.

Gary’s mouth worked for a moment before he could answer her. “Yes.”

“A child doesn’t need a father,” the woman said stiffly, tilting her head up disdainfully.

“You need to leave,” Gary said. His mind tried to grasp the flimsy nature of the creature before him, and all he could drag up from the depths of his sleep-deprived mind was a vague memory of a vampire movie he had watched as a teenager. “You can’t be in my house. I didn’t give you permission to be here.”

“Are you daft, man?” the stranger asked incredulously. “What in goodness’s name do you think I am?”

“You’re a vampire,” he stuttered. “You need to get away from my daughter.”

The young woman let out a surprised and pleasant laugh as she shook her head. “No, you great idiot. I’m dead, not undead.”

Gary frowned, not sure what to say.

“My name is Bridget O’Faolain,” she said. “And I’m a ghost. And you, you foul thing, you’re the worst beast a child could meet. A father.”

“What?” Gary asked, shaking his head.

“I’ve seen what fathers do,” Bridget said, her voice becoming low and cold. “I’ve felt them.”

A dark, brutal fear washed over Gary, and he shivered.

“You need to leave my little girl alone,” he said, his voice shaking. “You get away from her. Do you understand me?”

“I won’t hurt her,” Bridget said, taking a small step towards him. “You needn’t worry about that.”

“Then leave,” Gary said, forcing himself to stand his ground. She can’t hurt me. She’s just a ghost. There’s nothing she can do to me.

“I’ll leave soon enough,” Bridget said. “But not until I’ve taught you a lesson.”

She reached out and grabbed his upper arm, and Gary bit back a scream as a shooting pain exploded through the muscle. His eyes flickered to Sonia, and when he looked again at Bridget, there was an expression of pure malice on her face.

“Come,” she whispered, “let’s not wake the child.”

Before he could respond, Gary was jerked off his feet. Bridget dragged him out of the room and down the hall, and he struggled the entire way. Nothing he did freed him from her grasp, and she never slowed.

When they entered the family room, the ghost hurled him across it, and he smashed into his chair, knocking it over. He rolled over it and slammed into the wall. Adrenaline pumped through him as he tried to get to his feet, but Bridget was there.

She slapped him across the face with enough force to send him to the floor in a heap. Stars exploded around his eyes, and his ears rang. He tried to pull away as she grabbed him by his arms and flipped him onto his back.

The ringing lessened in his ears as she leaned over him, a grim smile on her face.

“In my father’s house,” she said in a low voice, “I was a maid. I was his illegitimate child, and it was the desire of his wife that I be employed by him. So his sin might ever be before him. When he finally decided that he had had quite enough of the lot of us, he ground up glass and fed it to his wife and my mother, and his daughters, legitimate and otherwise. Do you know what glass feels like, in your stomach?”

Gary could only shake his head.

“It feels,” she whispered, moving her face closer to his, “as if someone took your stomach and ripped it out through your mouth.”

Bridget shoved her fist down his throat, and the baby-monitor came to life.

Sonia’s cries echoed through the house, drowning out the muffled shrieks of her father.

Bonus Scene Chapter 4: The Right Place

 

Victor sat at a small café, an untouched bagel and a half-empty mug of coffee in front of him. Through the plate glass window, he was able to look at the old Victorian that had been turned into an apartment building, and at the police officers who had cordoned the property off. There were several State Troopers, and each member of law enforcement Victor saw wore an expression of disturbed concern.

“We normally don’t have this much excitement.” The barista had come out from behind the coffee bar and stood near the door, arms crossed over his thin chest.

“No?” Victor asked.

The young man shook his head, blonde hair flopping as he did so. “No. Police aren’t saying what happened, but that’s two deaths in the same building. And in two days. Kind of freaky.”

“Is it a gas leak or something?” Victor asked, playing dumb.

“Don’t think so,” the barista said, stroking his goatee and then shrugging. “I mean, if it was, wouldn’t the gas company be here? And besides, it was just the dad, at least that’s what one of the regulars said. She heard the baby crying, and when she went over to the apartment to see if everything was alright, no one answered, and the baby kept on screaming. They finally called the police, and that was when they found the father dead.”

“That’s terrible,” Victor said.

The young man nodded, then glanced at him, saw Victor hadn’t touched his bagel and asked, “Everything okay with the food?”

“Yes,” Victor answered, smiling. “I thought I was hungry, but it turned out I just needed a little more coffee.”

“Ah,” the barista said, nodding with understanding. “Gotcha.”

He stood silently for several more minutes, seemed to grow bored with the drama across the street and returned to his position behind the bar.

I know why they’re not saying anything, Victor thought, sipping his coffee. Because people would lose their minds if they thought they could spontaneously vomit their intestines out.

Victor settled into the chair and waited for the police to leave.

 

***

 

At 6:17 PM, the last of the police at the building left, and Victor had walked the better part of Groton, which wasn’t a large town. He had explored the old cemeteries, visited the library, and eaten lunch and dinner at a small Chinese restaurant.

Victor had also had the opportunity to examine the back of the apartment building, and he had been pleased to see that the rear entrance could be accessed without a key.

Victor’s phone rang suddenly, but it was a private number and he had no desire to speak with anyone.

Not now, he thought, putting the phone back down. No distractions now.

Victor reached into the back seat of his car and removed the lead-lined bag and his handmade lock picks. The tools were heavy in his hand. Not from any real weight, but rather from the knowledge that if he was caught with them, he would have a difficult time explaining why he had them.

In a building where two people had died gruesomely, he added.

Well, Victor thought, getting out of his car. He who dares wins.

With that motto in his forethoughts, Victor approached the rear of the apartment building with a long, purposeful stride. He knew that any sort of hesitation, any hint that he might not belong there, would catch someone’s attention. And with people on edge, it meant an instant call to the police.

But he had done some research as well. He knew who the pregnant woman was. Who her boyfriend had been. Victor had also seen where a photograph of the couple had been on the dresser and should anyone question him when he came out of the apartment, he had a solid cover story.

Or so he hoped.

I’m getting the photograph for Melissa, he told himself. She wants it at the hospital. I’m a friend of Felix. I was his history professor at the University of Massachusetts in Lowell.

He knew it was a thin story, but Victor doubted if anyone knew much of anything about the couple, since they had only moved into the building a few months earlier.

But I need to get into the apartment first, he thought, entering the building.

He hurried up to the third floor, sweat gathering at the small of his back as his anxiety increased. There was a thrill of excitement, that guilty pleasure he couldn’t rid himself of when he thought of opening a door closed to him.

And then he was there. Apartment 3A.

The crime scene tape had been removed, for as far as the police knew, no crime had been committed. In the report Victor had managed to read online, there was no evidence of a foreign object used to eviscerate the man via his mouth.

Felix had been murdered though.

Just not by anyone living.

The sounds of people talking and watching television drifted into the hallway as Victor leaned in close to the door. He slipped a pair of picks into the deadbolt and carefully maneuvered them until the lock clicked. Then, with his heart beating against his chest, Victor eased the picks into the doorknob’s lock.

A moment later it too clicked, and Victor let himself into the apartment.

Cold air washed over him, and he knew the rattle was still there.

He closed the door gently and locked it behind him. Quietly, he crossed the main room, stepping over bloodstains on his way to a tall window that looked out over the back of the building.

Victor unlocked the window’s catch and slid the sash up. The gentle noises of Groton rolled into the room, and Victor opened the screen as well.

He looked at the fire escape, saw that it seemed to be in good condition, and hoped that would be the case if he needed it.

Twisting his iron ring around his finger nervously, Victor took a deep breath, removed his white cotton gloves from his pockets, and pulled them on.

It was time to retrieve the rattle.

Victor opened the lead-lined bag, turned around and almost dropped it to the floor.

The ghost stood before him, her hands clasped behind her back. Her head was tilted to one side as she looked at him. Then, with an air of resignation, she reached up and adjusted the small-cap she wore and asked, “Who are you?”

“My name’s Victor, miss,” he replied.

Her mouth twitched with humor.

“Miss, is it?” she asked, and he heard an Irish accent.

Victor wracked his brain, for when he was younger, he had attempted to learn Gaelic and failed for the most part. But there were phrases and odd words he still remembered.

“Yes,” he said, then, in halting Gaelic, he added, “And I this evening is pleasant.”

She chuckled. “That was a fair try, and I appreciate it, I do. But goodness, you sound like a man choking on a mouthful of bones.”

Victor blushed but smiled as well.

“I don’t speak it,” he apologized.

“You don’t say?” the dead woman said. “Now, you who cannot speak the tongue of all decent folk, tell me, why are you here?”

“I’ve come to take you with me, miss,” Victor said.

The humor vanished from her face.

“And where would you take me?” she demanded.

“Home with me,” he explained. “My son and I live in Pennsylvania.”

“Your son?” the dead woman inquired.

Victor nodded.

“Then you’re a father?” she asked.

And the murders clicked.

Felix had been a father-to-be.

The second victim’s child had been screaming, which is how they found him.

No one else had been touched. Only the fathers.

“I am,” Victor said in resignation, clenching his hand into a fist.

“I’ve no use for fathers,” the dead girl said in a low growl. “None at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor said.

“Not yet,” she hissed, “but soon enough.”

He stood his ground as she approached him, the temperature plummeting as she drew nearer. Victor’s breath exploded out of his mouth in great white clouds, and she reached out a small hand towards his face.

And he struck her with his fist, the iron ring passing through her and snapping her out of the room and back into her rattle.

No sooner was she gone than Victor threw himself to the floor, eyes questing for the possessed item beneath the table. He reached for it, and she was there, her foot stomping down on his forearm.

Pain shot through him, and he bit back a groan, forcing his hand toward the rattle despite the excruciating agony it caused.

A cold hand reached down, snatched him by the hair and jerked his head back as he closed his fingers on the rattle.

“I will make you suffer,” the dead girl whispered to him. “I will drag your belly out by inches, and you shall scream, my fine father.”

Grinding his teeth together, Victor jerked his arm back and dragged his iron ring through her foot. Her howl of rage ended as soon as it began, and his head dropped down with the sudden disappearance of her hand.

Victor rolled onto his back, gasping for breath, his thoughts clouded by the pain in his arm. His right hand was numb, and he had to look down at it to make certain he still had the rattle. A pained grin spread across his face and vanished a moment later as the dead girl appeared at his side.

She didn’t waste any words.

Instead, she kicked him in the right thigh, the toe of her boot passed through the muscle, and his entire leg spasmed. Victor tried to roll away, but she took him by the arm and jerked him back.

“I always thought cats were cruel creatures,” the dead girl murmured, a sly smile appearing. “But now I see the joy in prolonging the kill. What say you, mouse?”

Victor swung the lead-lined bag through her arm and grimaced at the high-pitched shriek that escaped her lips. She staggered back, clutching her head, her eyes closed tight in pain, and Victor seized the moment.

He forced his numb right hand to open the bag, and as the dead girl focused on him once more, he stuffed the rattle into the opening.

The ghost reached him as he went to close it, and she kicked viciously at him. Each blow shook him, his entire body trembling as he fought to tighten the straps of the bag before she beat him to death.

Or before he became too weak to resist her.

She paused once, let out a triumphant laugh and asked, “What will you do when I string your guts around the room like so much garland?”

Victor didn’t have the strength to speak.

But he had enough to close the lead-lined bag.

The dead woman vanished, and he was alone, on his back, in the middle of a stranger’s apartment. He stared at the ceiling, listened to a car pass by with its music blaring, and he smiled.

I’m alive, he thought, still too battered to move. Victor managed to lift the bag a little, its weight comforting.

And you’re in here, he thought. He lowered the bag to the floor and slowed his heart rate, allowing his body to recover. His right hand remained numb, although feeling seemed to be returning to it. Victor’s right thigh was a knot of pain and had her foot been solid, he was certain she would have broken the bone.

As he lay on the floor, Victor listened for sounds that might hint at the imminent arrival of the police. Or of anyone, for that matter.

Only the sounds of banal normality reached his ears, and Victor smiled.

He remained where he was for a few more minutes, then he pushed himself into a sitting position, caught his breath, and got to his feet. Victor struggled to the door, unlocked it and opened a crack. He straightened up as best he could and stepped out into the hallway.

Victor didn’t bother locking the door behind him.

It was more than enough to put one foot in front of the other and limp his way to the stairs, the lead-lined bag clutched in his left hand, and pain replacing the numbness in his right.

He was alive, and that was more than some.

He managed a weak smile, and the dull haze of pain that wrapped itself around him blinded him to the small hole in the lead-lined bag.

A hole that widened with each step he took.

 

*  *  *

 

Enjoy the following preview of Death Rattle (Haunted Collection Series Book 9)

Death Rattle Preview Chapter 1: No Rest for the Wicked

 

“You just can’t seem to catch a break.”

The detective put a bottle of water in front of Victor and then sat down across from him in the small room that the man had euphemistically referred to as, ‘the waiting room.’

Victor knew it for what it was.

An interrogation chamber.

“Thank you,” Victor said, and offered the man a weak smile. Victor twisted the cap off the bottle and took a drink of the tepid liquid.

“Your housemate was killed in the diner,” the detective said, and for the first time, Victor looked at the man.

The detective seemed to be in his 30s, perhaps older. His stomach was pushing the limits of the button down, off-white dress shirt he wore, and the man’s tie-pin was an enameled emblem of the Fraternal Order of the Brotherhood of Police. Behind a pair of old bifocals, the man had an almost comical appearance, and Victor felt certain it was something the man tried to cultivate.

The intelligence behind the detective’s gray eyes was sharp and devious, and Victor knew each word he spoke had to be chosen carefully lest the detective turn on him.

Detective Corbett, Victor thought, struggling to remember the name the man had given him. Victor took another drink. Yes, that’s his name.

“Yes,” Victor said, putting the bottle back on the table. “Jeremy Rhinehart was my housemate.”

The detective nodded, took a piece of gum out of his shirt pocket, peeled back the silver wrapper and placed the gum decisively in his mouth. He chewed it for a moment, then said, “And your boy, how’d he lose that arm?”

“An accident,” Victor said, realizing for the first time that he had never thought of having a backstory for Tom’s injury. “And one that is a little too painful to discuss.”

Detective Corbett smiled. “Sorry. I’m sure it is. Did you know that Iris and Matthew had a key to your house?”

Victor nodded.

“Her parents didn’t,” the detective continued. “Seemed to think it wasn’t quite so serious between Iris and your son.”

Victor didn’t answer. His heart ached too much for Tom’s loss.

“Well,” Detective Corbett sighed, “I suppose that’s neither here nor there. It looks like they surprised a burglar in the act. We found a window that had been forced open. The screen cut and all of that. Nothing was taken though?”

“No,” Victor managed to say. He had done a walk through with the detective and another officer, and nothing had been missing.

Nothing except the bag with the drowned boy in it.

“I reached out to your friend, the one who you said you were with that morning,” the detective said. “And to the other one. Do those ladies know about each other?”

Victor jerked his head up, anger jumping onto his face and he saw a gleam of satisfaction in the detective’s eyes.

“Yes,” Victor said tightly. “We were all together earlier in the week.”

“Indeed,” Detective Corbett said. “Indeed. Everything you told us checks out. The hotel, the hospital trip. Which brings me back to my original statement. You just can’t seem to catch a break.”

The detective leaned back in his chair, rubbed his chin and then folded his arms over his chest.

“See,” the man said, “what confuses me is your basement.”

Victor took a drink of water and waited.

“I mean, I’ve seen people load their own shells,” the detective continued. “Hell, I did it myself when I still hunted. But I used 18 gauge. You, you’ve got it all. The press, the powder, the scale. And all you have for shot, well, it’s rock salt. You’ve got a lot of rock salt, Mr. Daniels, and I’m extremely curious as to why.”

“Raccoons,” Victor answered without hesitation. “Just enough kick to get them away from the trash.”

Detective Corbett’s lips curled into a smile. “Funny, you saying that. There isn’t a raccoon problem on your street.”

“I didn’t say there was,” Victor replied. “I said I used it to get them away from the trash.”

“So, the raccoons only bother with your trash?” the man asked, doubt thick in his voice.

“What can I say,” Victor said, “they like my garbage.”

“That,” the detective said, “is the only lie I’ve heard you speak today. And I want to know why.”

Victor looked at the man and said, “Detective, I have a problem with raccoons. Large raccoons. And the only way I can deal with them, well, that’s with salt-rounds.”

Detective Corbett smiled at him.

“Mr. Daniels,” the man said, “one of the individuals you used as part of your alibi is a detective from New Hampshire. I reached out to her boss, and to the head of her union’s chapter. She’s a stand-up individual. A hardworking, no-nonsense type of cop. I appreciate that. I asked her why you had shotgun rounds loaded with salt. Would you like to know her answer?”

“Sure,” Victor replied, too tired to worry about what Sara’s response may have been.

“Her answer,” the detective said, the smile fading from his face. “Was that it was none of my business, or hers, as to why you might want to use salt rounds on a damned raccoon.”

Victor almost laughed, but he suppressed the urge. Once, while in the hotel, she had joked about using raccoons as a scapegoat, and she had remembered.

“I know for a fact,” Detective Corbett continued, “that neither you nor the detective have spoken, texted, sent smoke signals, or had any other form of communication since the death of Iris and Matthew. And, if I didn’t know for a fact that you don’t have a raccoon problem, I would be inclined to believe that this wasn’t something you had gotten together about.”

The man shook his head, took his glasses off and cleaned them with the end of his tie. He squinted as he looked at them, then slid the arms back over his ears.

“As it is,” the detective said, “I am not inclined to believe you. There is something unnatural about the whole situation. And it’s something I may have to dig into.”

Don’t dig too much, Detective, Victor thought, taking a drink of water. You won’t like what you’ll find.

“Detective,” Victor said after a moment. “May I go now? My son is distraught over the death of his girlfriend, and I’d rather be there to comfort him.”

“Yes,” Detective Corbett said, smiling again. “Of course. You’re not under arrest. Not even a suspect. But I will be back around to speak with you about those salt rounds.”

“That’s fine, detective,” Victor said, getting to his feet. He picked up the water bottle and said, “I don’t suppose you’ll let me know when you plan on stopping by?”

“No,” the man said. “It will more than likely be a spur of the moment decision.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Victor said. “Well, I’ll keep a pot of coffee on, just in case.”

He left the detective sitting in the room and left, grief pressing down upon him and wondering how Tom was holding up.

 

Death Rattle Preview Chapter 2: A Brief and Cold Conversation

 

Stefan sat in his safe house in Burlington, Pennsylvania, tossing the lead-lined bag easily from one hand to the other. He considered his options as he did so.

In theory, he could put the item within, whatever it might be, up for sale again. The risk with that wasn’t so much the threat of the ghost attached to it escaping, but rather the interception of his mail by the Burlington PD. Stefan didn’t suffer any delusions about where he stood on the department’s list of suspects in the death of officer Colette.

A package of any size might be seized and opened, and while it would be interesting to see what sort of havoc a ghost might wreak in the police station, it would nonetheless tip the hand of his half-sister and Victor Daniels.

The thought of those two particular individuals brought a frown to his face, and he placed the bag on his lap.

Both had almost gotten the better of him at different points in time, and he had a nagging suspicion that if they worked together, they might catch him.

The idea was decidedly unpleasant.

Thus, mailing the package out had its own risks, none of which Stefan was willing to accept.

Negotiations then, he thought and steeled himself for the encounter.

Without removing the bag from his lap, he opened the neck of the bag slightly. He kept his hands on either end of the drawstring, making certain he would be able to close the lead trap quickly if need be.

With his back against the wall, Stefan waited.

A couple minutes passed. Then 10 and then 30.

Stefan didn’t move.

He merely waited.

Two hours had ticked by on the clock before the ghost made its appearance.

Stefan found himself looking at the dead boy who had drowned aboard the Lady Elgin .

The boy appeared cautious and wary, his undead eyes darting about the room, as if confirming that Stefan was alone.

The boy’s gun-shy now, Stefan thought, repressing a grin. I should thank Victor Daniels, if I get the chance.

The dead boy kept his distance from Stefan, eyes searching Stefan’s hands.

Iron, Stefan realized. The boy’s searching for iron.

Finally, the boy took a cautious step forward and glared at Stefan.

“Who are you?” the child demanded in a high, imperious tone. His eyes darted around the room, and he added, “Where are those wretches who were trying to harm me?”

“I don’t know,” Stefan answered. “And I don’t care. And neither should you.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest and awaited Stefan’s explanation.

He gave it to him a moment later.

“They’re not looking for you,” Stefan stated. “No, that’s not true. They don’t know where to look for you.”

“Where am I?” the boy asked.

“Does it matter?” Stefan asked in reply.

The dead child grinned. “No.”

The ghost stepped closer, and Stefan prepared to close the sack. He knew how the boy liked to kill, and there was far too much water in the house for Stefan to feel comfortable.

But the dead boy stopped a moment later and asked, “Why have you released me?”

“Because I’d like to help you,” Stefan explained. “And, in turn, I will be helping myself.”

“How will that happen?” the dead boy inquired.

“You like the water?” Stefan asked.

“Yes,” the child said cautiously.

“Wouldn’t you like to be closer to it?” Stefan asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Wouldn’t you much rather be at a port than in some landlocked town?”

The boy nodded, his eyes wide.

“Of course, you do,” Stefan whispered. “I know of a wonderful place. Ships and open water. And people. Oh, so many people.”

A smile crept across the boy’s face, and he asked, “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing,” Stefan answered, smiling. “Not a single thing. I will bring you there, and I will leave you there. And you will do whatever your heart desires.”

The dead boy’s curiously pink tongue licked his lips, and he asked in a soft voice, “What is the name of this place?”

“Mystic.” Stefan grinned. “Mystic, Connecticut.”

Death Rattle Preview Chapter 3: Unencrypted

 

Furious.

Ariana couldn’t think of a better word to describe her mood.

Every breath she took was agony as her ribs healed at an abysmally slow rate. The chair in the questioning room was uncomfortable and only exacerbated her injury. And, just to rub salt in the wound, there was the fact that Stefan had broken into Victor’s home and stolen the dead boy.

The child who had only been contained because he had been intent on drowning her and Sara Milton.

Calm down, she thought. I need to focus.

It was easier said than done.

The police had stopped by the apartment she had been renting, and they had questioned her about the brother and sister Stefan had murdered in Victor’s home.

Ariana didn’t like being questioned. Especially not by the police.

As soon as they had exited the building, Ariana had left.

At home she was safe. No one knew where she was.

Okay, she thought. Let’s see what my dear half-brother had on his computer.

Ariana inserted the thumb drive into the USB port and let her security software scrub the drive before pronouncing it safe and free of malware.

When she accessed the drive, she was impressed with Stefan’s organization. Each file was named and numbered, some with an alpha-numeric code attached.

Probably allowed him to access a hardcopy index, she thought, wincing as she leaned closer to examine the names.

Safehouses, PA1_3.

Ariana clicked on the file, and four additional files appeared. Fox Cat Hollow, Uniontown, and Burlington .

Well, she thought, clicking on the Burlington file. I already chased you out of Uniontown, and you abandoned Fox Cat Hollow, so I think it’s safe to assume that you’ve gone to Burlington, especially since you’re recuperating from the destruction of the warehouse.

When the file opened, she found an Excel spreadsheet and a Word document. She accessed them both and smiled as she eased herself into a more comfortable sitting position.

Mr. Jon Dinsmore, CPA, is it? Ariana thought. I think we’re going to pay you a little visit, Mr. Dinsmore. And it won’t be to discuss our taxes .

Picking up her phone, Ariana sent Victor Daniels a text.

Death Rattle Preview Chapter 4: A Dangerous Discussion

 

“And you’re sure?” Shane asked in German, lighting a cigarette.

Carl sighed in exasperation and once more Shane was impressed that a dead man could even manage to sigh.

“Of course, I am sure,” Carl said. “My young friend, when have I ever not been sure about such things?”

“True,” Shane replied.

The two of them stood in the main hallway, Shane smoking and Carl half-formed in the shadow beside him. Around them the other ghosts of the house had gathered, curious as to what would be done with the prisoner Carl had been keeping in the first-floor study.

“She is here for some dark purpose, and she is dangerous,” Carl continued. “Weak, but dangerous. She is not to be underestimated.”

“I won’t,” Shane reassured the dead man. “I would like for you to come in with me. If she is stronger than you think I’ll need help getting out of the room. And, if she’s that strong, I’ll want the dark ones to deal with her for a bit.”

Carl’s expression was one of surprise.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said with a grunt. “If she’s as dangerous as you say then they won’t do too much damage.”

“And what if she damages them?” Carl asked.

“Then I’ll go upstairs, get my .45, and blow her brains out,” Shane replied. “I won’t take any chances. Now, are you ready?”

“What else would I be?” Carl retorted.

Shane grinned, walked to the study door and unlocked it.

The room was bright, filled with morning sunlight that streamed in through the windows. Near the fireplace, in one of the grand club chairs, the old woman sat with her eyes closed as she basked in the warmth of the sun.

Her dishes were stacked neatly on the tray that they had been delivered on and all the food had been eaten.

Shane’s eyes roamed over her wrinkled features, saw the cruelty stamped on her face, and knew in his gut that this woman was more dangerous than his dead friend knew.

I might have to kill her, Shane thought, walking to a chair across from the one she occupied. It might even be best to do it now.

Instead of turning around and retrieving his semi-automatic from the library, Shane sat down across from the woman and settled down into the comfort of the chair. He finished his cigarette, lit another off it and continued to wait. Another minute passed by and she opened her eyes.

The smile she gave him was predatory, and he grinned at her.

“Damn, but you’re a bad one, aren’t you,” Shane said, exhaling through his nose.

“You’re observant,” she replied, and he detected a New Orleans accent.

In Cajun patois, he asked, “So, what are you doing here in my house?”

A flash of surprise showed on her face, but only for a moment.

In the same patois, she responded, “You know how to talk.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Now, why are you here, in my home?”

“I’ve come to see you,” she answered.

Shane looked at her and asked, “And why is that?”

“You have something I need,” the woman said. “And it is also something I want.”

“Mind telling me what that is?” Shane asked. “If I don’t need it, well, maybe I can give it to you. Get you on out that door.”

“I need your power,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“My power?” Shane shook his head. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why do you need my power?”

“Revenge.” The word came out harsh and brutal and had it been able to take physical form it would have struck Shane dead.

He lit another cigarette off the one he had been smoking and crushed out the butt in the ashtray, shredding the remnants of the cigarette. Shane let the smoke curl out of his mouth, and then asked. “Alright, one more question for you before we get down to the brass tacks on this deal. Who are you trying to get?”

She turned her nose up slightly and said, “That is none of your business.”

Shane looked at her and saw she was playing for time. Her eyes darted about, taking in every aspect of the room, planning her attack on him.

“Sure, it is,” Shane said. “You want my power. I think it’s only fair that I know who you’re hunting.”

“You don’t know him,” she snapped.

“Listen,” Shane said, pointing at her with the cigarette, “I’m not asking your age, so cough up the information. I can walk out of this room, and you can stay in here for another week and think about whether you want to talk to me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he braced himself to fight. He had no illusions about the woman. Carl had been right. She was dangerous, and she seemed to gather strength as they spoke. In the few minutes he had been in the room, Shane had seen her back straighten, her shoulders square themselves, and her eyes become clearer.

She was preparing herself for an attack and every moment became more dangerous for him.

But he wanted to know.

The woman decided.

“His name is Victor Daniels,” she hissed, “and I will have his head on a wall.”

Shane chuckled and shook his head.

“Why do you laugh?” the old woman demanded.

“Victor and Tom Daniels?” he asked. “Hell, woman, they’re friends of mine.”

She shrieked and launched herself out of the chair.

 

***

 

Leanne had not only grown weary of the conversation with the bald man but with the disinterested expression on his face as well.

An expression that didn’t shift at all as he threw himself out of his own chair, moving far faster than she had suspected him to be capable of.

She spun to face him, her body throbbing with the last reserves of power she had carefully marshaled, and saw him standing by the fireplace.

But with her increase in power came the ability to truly ‘see’ her environment.

They were not alone in the room.

A tall, bespectacled ghost stood beside the living man, and the look upon the dead man’s face was one of disgust.

Leanne threw herself at the bald man and let out a scream of rage as the ghost plucked her out of the air and held her aloft. She swung her fists and kicked, yet it was sheer and unadulterated futility.

“What’s your name?” the living man asked.

She snarled at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Interesting name,” he said. “Mine’s Shane. So, Madam Arrgh, my friend here is going to carry you into the basement.”

The ghost shot a look of surprise at Shane, and the man grinned.

He said something in a foreign language to the dead man, and the ghost shrugged.

“As I was saying,” Shane continued. “You’re going to go into the basement. I have an old coalbin that should suit you fine. I will feed you, of course, but I need to warn you. There are far darker creatures in the basement than my friend here. And they will be more than happy to harm you. In fact, I’ll probably have to convince them not to. Anyway, I’m going to reach out to Victor and Tom, and then you can all get together and hash this out.”

Leanne stopped flailing about, exhaustion settling in and confusion creeping over her.

In patois, she asked, “You’re going to arrange a meeting between myself and the man I want to kill?”

He nodded. “Wanting to kill him and being able to kill him are two different things entirely.”

She smirked as she hung in the air, almost a foot off the floor.

“Oh,” Shane said, lighting a fresh cigarette, “don’t get me wrong. I have no doubt that you can kill, have killed, and, if the situation presents itself, will most likely kill again. I was, as the saying goes, born at night, but not last night.”

He smiled at her and exhaled through his nose.

“Now,” he added, “I’m going to suggest that you behave yourself while we wait for Victor.”

“And if I don’t?” Leanne was unable to resist the urge to ask the question.

The smile remained on Shane’s face as he answered her.

“Then I’m going to blow your brains out and leave your body to rot,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ve done worse. Far worse.”

He nodded to the dead man and Leanne was carried out of the room.

As the last dregs of her power faded, she saw the multitude of ghosts lining the hall. For the first time, she realized she had made a mistake entering the man’s house.

One, she understood, that could be her last if things went badly.

 

*  *  *

 

In this final installment of the Haunted Collection series, Victor and Stefan must come face to face. And only one man will live to see the dawn. Click below!

 

Death Rattle (Haunted Collection Series Book 9)