Secret Hollows Part 16

"Was there anyone around who you thought could have been the murderer?" Bradley asked.

Shaking his head, Emil spread his hands out. "Why would anyone kill those little boys?" he asked. "And why would they want to blame me?"

Chapter Twenty-seven.

The crackle in the underbrush caused Ian to freeze in his tracks. He turned to his right and saw the white-tailed deer slip out of the woods and move toward the lake. He held his breath and remained still, hoping to enjoy this experience for a little longer.

"She has a baby," a young voice next to him spoke up.

Ian looked down to see the ghost of a boy standing next to him and involuntarily gasped softly. The boy's face was covered in mud, like it had been pushed into a lake bottom and held. Where the mud didn't cover, his skin was a mottled purple and brown, one horrific bruise after another. He took a moment to control his emotions and smiled at the boy. "Let's see if the baby will come out too," he whispered.

They stood together for a few minutes, watching the mother deer nibbling on some tree bark and soon saw the delicate fawn step forward, its long legs wobbly and unsure. Ian looked down at the boy and he grinned up at Ian. "Cool," he mouthed and Ian nodded in agreement.

After a few more minutes, the deer moved slowly away from them into the forest. Ian sat down on a log, next to the little boy. "Are you Ronny?" he asked.

The boy nodded. "How did you know?"

"Well, one of my friends, Timmy, told me about you yesterday," he explained. "And I came out to see if I could help you. My name's Ian."

"You talk funny," Ronny said, "like Scrooge McDuck."

Ian laughed. "Aye, Scrooge and I were neighbors back in the old country."

"Really?"

"Ach, no, but it makes a fine story, doesn't it?"

Ronny laughed again, but then his face dropped and the laughter died.

"Timmy said some things," he said slowly. "Told me to think about some things..."

He raised clear blue eyes to Ian. "Am I dead?"

Sighing, Ian nodded. "Aye, Ronny, you died a while back," he said. "And that's why I want to help you. I want to find out who killed you."

Shaking his head, he floated backwards, putting some s.p.a.ce between them. "I don't want to think about it," he said fiercely. "I don't want to remember what he did to me."

Ian nodded. "I can truly understand that," he said. "It must have been an awful thing that was done to you. And I don't blame you for not wanting to think about it."

Ronny's form s.h.i.+mmered and he moved a little closer. "I don't have to talk about it?"

"No, you don't," Ian said. "I'm only here to help you if you want help. You've had enough sorrow in your wee life already. I'll not put you through any more."

The boy moved closer. "If I tell you, how does it help me?"

"Aye, and there's the kicker," Ian said, placing his elbows on his knees and cradling his chin in his hands. "If you want to talk about it and if we're able to find the person who did this to you, then you'll be able to move on."

"Move on?"

"Aye, go on to heaven," Ian said. "Right now you're stuck here because you have unfinished business."

Turning, he looked out into the lake and stood silently for a few moments. "Can I see my parents again? If I help?" he asked.

"I don't know," Ian answered honestly. "We can try to reach them and ask them to come here. But, I can't promise you that."

Ronny turned back and looked into Ian's eyes. "Do you think I should try and remember?"

Ian closed his eyes for a moment as he felt competing emotions of sorrow, helplessness and rage wash over him. He'd like to catch the b.a.s.t.a.r.d that killed these boys and give him a chance to experience some of the horrors he had performed on them. He'd like to see the fear he could see in Ronny's eyes s.h.i.+ne in the murderous coward's eyes.

The sound of a soft whimper from Ronny brought Ian back to the issue at hand. Ronny had glided even closer and stood, waiting, his eyes wide and trusting.

"Aye, I think you should," he finally answered, his voice soft and sincere. "But it won't be easy and it won't be pleasant. He can't hurt you again, but it will be scary to remember all that happened to you. But, if you don't try, you won't find your way home."

Mike and Timmy appeared next to Ian and Ronny jumped back. "Oh, Timmy, you scared me," he said.

Timmy grinned. "Mike showed me how to do some really cool ghost things," he explained. "Like disappearing and going from one place to another, real fast."

Ronny looked up at Mike. "Can you teach me too?"

Ian saw Mike struggle with his emotions for a moment, as he looked at Ronny for the first time. Mike took a deep breath and nodded, smiling at the little boy. "Sure, kid, I'd be happy to teach you all the cool ghost tricks," he said. "But let's get some questions answered first, okay?"

Ronny nodded. "I told Ian I was going to tell him about the man. He said maybe I could see my parents again."

"You're being very brave, Ronny," Mike replied.

"Well, there's no time like the present," Ian said. "So, why don't we start at the beginning? What happened when you were taking your walk at the lake?"

Chapter Twenty-eight.

The old white farmhouse sat on the outskirts of the town of Lena. The road in front was paved with gravel and there were no sidewalks that ran in front of the house or along the side, the only thing that separated the yard from the road was a wide ditch.

Bradley parked his cruiser in front and looked up at the old house. The windows were covered with plywood and there were still remnants of police notices and yellow police tape scattered across the porch. The ornate wrought iron fence was peeling, it's former white glossy paint chipped away in large patches. The second floor windows were covered with boards and the small widow's walk was roped off. No smoke rose from the red brick chimney. The porch swing hung by a single chain attached to one arm. The rest of the swing lay broken and rotted below.

"This house looks lonely," he said.

"And sad," Mary agreed. "It's waiting for someone to live in it again."

Bradley turned to Mary. "So, do you think Emil is going to be able to come back?"

She sighed. "Only if we can prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he didn't do it," she said. "If not, even if he's released, he will always be the kid killer."

Nodding, Bradley opened his door and walked over to let Mary out. "We'll do it then," he said. "We've got to find the guy that did this."

He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area. "We really don't want to advertise that we've been here," he said. "Don't want to get anyone nervous."

Mary looked around. "Look at the flagstones along the other side of the fence line," she said, pointing to the large round stones. "They don't have any snow on them. We could use those and then cut across by the bushes. That would at least disguise any tracks we might leave."

"Good plan," he agreed, and he led the way to the porch.

"Okay, the key is under the stone," she said, once they reached the porch. "Question is... which stone?"

Looking around, there were a number of large stones scattered around the base of the porch. They ranged in color from black to off-white and they were all about the size of a five-pound bag of sugar.

"It's got to be the big black one," Bradley said, pointing to the one on the left side of the porch, near the steps.

She shook her head and saw one surrounded by other, smaller stones. "Nope, I'm going with speckled gray."

They both went to their stones and tugged to pull them up from the ground. After a few moments, Mary was able to pry it up from the ground and saw the black plastic box lying underneath. She turned to Bradley, in time to see him finally dislodge his stone. He turned to her and grinned until she flashed him the plastic box.

"Show off," he grumbled.

Laughing, she shook it at him. "Sore loser."

They turned to the porch steps and stopped. The treads of the stairs were rotted and warped and even Mary's lighter weight could cause them to give way. She turned to Bradley. "Any ideas?"

He pulled out his pocket knife, went over to the side of the steps and thrust the blade into the wood directly under the banister. "It's pretty solid here," he said. "If we hold on to the banister and climb up this way, we should be okay."

Nodding, she hurried over. "I'll go first," she said. "Then you can catch me if they decide to come cras.h.i.+ng down."

He smiled. "Another good plan."

Moments later they were standing by the front door. Mary pulled the key from the box and inserted it into the lock. She heard the latch slide, then turned the k.n.o.b and pushed the door open with a high pitched squeak.

"That was creepy," Bradley whispered.

"Yeah, like maybe there are some ghosts in here," she teased.

His phone's ring echoed in the quiet house and they both jumped. "Sorry," he said, pulling the phone from its holster on his belt, he looked down at the caller i.d. "I have to take this."

Mary nodded and stepped away from him. She pulled a small flashlight out of her purse and took her first good look at the house. She had to admit the house did look a little spooky. There were dust covers over the furniture and small beams of light s.h.i.+ning through holes in the old plywood made the rooms look like something from an old gothic horror show.

She started towards the stairs when a motion in the kitchen had her stopping in place. She quickly turned and started in that direction.

"Mary," Bradley said, stopping her. "We have to go. I have to get back to the office."

Torn, she looked towards the kitchen and back at Bradley.

"Why don't you go and I'll search for the trunks," she said. "I'll text Ian and have him pick me up."

Shaking his head, he walked to her. "I really don't like the idea of leaving you here alone."

"Why?" she asked. "Do you think the place is haunted?"

"Mary, this place has been abandoned for years," he said. "We can search it this afternoon or tomorrow."

She put her arms around his neck again and kissed him on the lips. "Bradley, I've done this kind of thing before, remember," she said. "I can take care of myself. Besides, you're only fifteen minutes away. I'll call you if I run into anything I can't handle."

He sighed deeply. "You make it very hard for someone to play the macho male protector."

"Oh, you don't have to play that," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "You are the macho male protector."

"Good line," he grinned.

She winked at him. "Thanks! Now go and be the hard-nosed police chief we all know and love."

"Call Ian," he said. "Now."

Tossing him a snappy salute, she then pulled out her cell phone. "Yes sir," she said. "Now go and make the world a safer place."

She closed the door after him and slipped the lock back in place; just to be sure she stayed alone in the house. Taking out her phone, she dialed Ian's number, but got his voice mail.

He's probably still at the lake, she thought, remembering the bad reception they had out there. She opened the option for texting. Ian, I'm at Emil Forrest's house and I need a ride back into Freeport when you're done at the lake. Take your time; I'm searching for some evidence. Thanks, Mary. She added the address and pressed send.

Now to the kitchen.

Chapter Twenty-nine.

Ian walked along the banks of the lake with Mike, Timmy and Ronny gliding alongside him. If anyone were to drive by, they'd see a lone man hiking in the outdoors, talking to himself. He wondered if he should slip his Bluetooth ear piece on, so it wouldn't look like he was crazy. Shaking his head, he decided that any man walking with three ghosts on a cold winter morning next to a lake probably was crazy, so why try to pretend otherwise.

"So what do you think?" Mike asked him, as the two boys hurried ahead.

"I think I'd like ten minutes with the guy who did this," Ian replied.

"See and that is what's wrong with you folks from the UK," Mike said.