Kurkow Prison (Berkley Street Series Book 5) Read online

  Kurkow Prison

  Berkley Series Book 5

  Written by Ron Ripley

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

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  Keeping it spooky,

  Ron Ripley

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Kurkow Prison

  Chapter 2: An Honest Day’s Work

  Chapter 3: Gordon Capullo and the Prison

  Chapter 4: Meeting the Boss

  Chapter 5: More than He Bargained For

  Chapter 6: Getting Out

  Chapter 7: Giving a Little Lesson

  Chapter 8: Mulberry Street, The Adams House

  Chapter 9: Getting Help

  Chapter 10: Mulberry Street Isn’t Nice Anymore

  Chapter 11: A Chat Between Brothers

  Chapter 12: At Mont Vernon

  Chapter 13: Ollie Looks for an Angle

  Chapter 14: The Granite State Paranormal Society

  Chapter 15: George Gears Up

  Chapter 16: Running through the Prison

  Chapter 17: A Surprise Phone Call

  Chapter 18: Return to the Prison

  Chapter 19: Waiting

  Chapter 20: Disheartening News

  Chapter 21: Leaving the Nest

  Chapter 22: Finding the Woman

  Chapter 23: Pete's Surprise

  Chapter 24: By the Fire

  Chapter 25: Lost in the Storm

  Chapter 26: An Old Friend

  Chapter 27: Early Morning in Gaiman

  Chapter 28: Answering Some Questions

  Chapter 29: Merle Has Information

  Chapter 30: A Visit from an Old Friend

  Chapter 31: Helping Ollie Believe

  Chapter 32: The Last House on Mulberry Street

  Chapter 33: Health and Welfare Checks

  Chapter 34: With Ollie

  Chapter 35: Shots Fired

  Chapter 36: Pete Feels Wanted

  Chapter 37: Edmund Has Another Conversation

  Chapter 38: Shane Reaches Out to a Friend

  Chapter 39: Speaking with the Trapped

  Chapter 40: Getting to Ollie's House

  Chapter 41: Angry at the World

  Chapter 42: Becoming Concerned

  Chapter 43: Help Arrives

  Chapter 44: The Situation Begins to Change

  Chapter 45: Madness Reigns

  Chapter 46: Unfortunate News

  Chapter 47: Choices

  Chapter 48: Cat and Mouse

  Chapter 49: A Mystery

  Chapter 50: Cold and Hot

  Chapter 51: Marital Bliss Interrupted

  Chapter 52: Dazed, Confused, and Angry

  Chapter 53: No Good News

  Chapter 54: Going into Kurkow

  Chapter 55: Free Advice

  Chapter 56: Trouble

  Chapter 57: The View from the Safe Spot

  Chapter 58: Moving

  Chapter 59: Getting Out

  Chapter 60: Sights on Mulberry Street

  Chapter 61: Edmund has a Discussion

  Chapter 62: A Frenzy of Dead

  Chapter 63: A Final Conversation

  Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Kurkow Prison, April, 1982

  Bonus Scene Chapter 2: Nothing He Wanted to See

  Bonus Scene Chapter 3: At Home

  Bonus Scene Chapter 4: February 11th, 1974

  Bonus Scene Chapter 5: The Wrench

  Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Making a Decision

  Bonus Scene Chapter 7: The Antique Store

  Bonus Scene Chapter 8: At Kurkow Prison

  FREE Bonus Novel!

  Chapter 1: Kurkow Prison

  “It’s a steal is what it is,” Pete said.

  Ollie glanced at him. “How, exactly, is it a steal?”

  “Come on!” Pete grinned as he stepped away from the sedan. “Look at it, Ollie!”

  “I am,” Ollie said. “Damned thing looks like a money pit to me.”

  “No!” Pete said. He spread his arms wide as if trying to encompass the entire structure. “Look, part of the beauty of the deal is that we don’t have to fix it all up.”

  “What?” Ollie said, staring at his brother. “Pete, have you lost your mind? Honestly, what part of it looks like a good deal?”

  Ollie left the car then went and stood by Pete. “I’m going to tell you what I see, okay? I see acres of lead paint. I see miles of asbestos-wrapped pipes. I see lakes of foul, nasty water. The place is a superfund site without any funds to clean it up. What the hell are you thinking? Do you want to open a bed and breakfast? A museum? For God’s sake, man, what the hell do you want to buy this for?”

  “First,” Pete said, holding up a thin finger, “I want you to hold onto the bed and breakfast idea. Might be a great way to put a spin on it. And, second, don’t be mad, I already bought the place.”

  Ollie turned his attention away from the prison and looked at his brother. He tried to speak, but the words refused to exit his mouth.

  Pete took a step back, holding his hands up in front of him, palms out.

  “Oliver,” Pete said, “they were practically giving it away.”

  “What was the price?” Ollie hissed.

  “Well,” Pete stammered.

  “Price!” Ollie screamed.

  “Two!” Pete yelled.

  “‘Two’ what, Peter?”

  Pete loosened the collar of his shirt. “Million.”

  For the first time in his life, Ollie felt faint. He took a step back, trying to catch his breath. Pete reached out to help and Ollie snapped, “Don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “You already signed the paperwork?” Ollie asked, exhaling slowly.

  Pete nodded.

  “How much did they want down?” Ollie grumbled.

  “Twenty percent,” Pete said.

  “Twenty percent,” Ollie repeated. “Twenty percent!”

  Ollie straightened up and focused on the prison. The building was huge, stretching for two entire blocks. Three fences wrapped around the perimeter and each fence was topped with razor wire. Old guard towers were on each corner, and the prison was three stories tall. The windows, protected by heavy metal grating, were unbroken, and for that Ollie felt thankful.

  He turned and glared at his brother. “You used my part of the inheritance.”

  “I had to,” Pete said.

  “Fine,” Ollie said. “Fine. We’ll make a go of this, whatever the hell it is you’re thinking about. But this is how it’s going to work. You, my dear, stupid brother, are going to be in there, with the crews, going through the place. My inspector is going with you.”

  “What?” Pete said, crestfallen. “Gordy hates everything I do!”

  “I don’t care,” Ollie snapped. “Gordy won’t try and hand me a polished turd and tell me it’s a diamond. He goes with you. He’ll make notes. He’ll tell me whether or not your little plan is feasible.”

  “It’s a great plan,” Pete said, grinning. The grin vanished and was replaced with a somber expression. “You’ll see, Ollie.”

  “I better,” Ollie said, “or you are going to be in for a world of hu
rt.”

  Without waiting for his brother to reply, Ollie turned away from both Pete and the prison and walked back to the car. He sat down hard in the passenger’s seat and sent Gordy a text.

  Ollie closed his eyes and tried not to think about the financial mess his brother had gotten them into.

  Chapter 2: An Honest Day’s Work

  “What have you got going on today?” Frank asked.

  Shane looked up at him, the morning light causing the milky portion of his right eye to glow. A fine stubble of light brown hair had started to grow on the former monk’s head, and the scars on his face stood out crisp and sharp.

  Shane shook his head and shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve taken a break from any translation work. The past couple of months have been a little too much, physically and mentally.”

  Frank nodded, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  “Why?” Shane asked. “What’s up with you?”

  “When I left the Order I reached out to a few friends of mine,” Frank said. “Told them I’m looking for any work. Not too much, my knees can’t handle it, but I’ll do some day labor.”

  “Someone gave you a call?” Shane asked.

  Frank nodded. “Guy I knew in high school. Ollie, he wants me to work on a crew that’s going to look at demoing the old Kurkow Prison.”

  “Where the hell is that?” Shane leaned back in his chair, knocked the head off his cigarette and said, “I’ve never heard of the place.”

  “Old prison, upstate, New Hampshire. It’s a little town called Gaiman, right along the Canadian border.” Frank said.

  “That’s a long ride,” Shane said.

  “Yup,” Frank said, grinning. “So, you feel up to a little honest, manual labor?”

  “Hell no,” Shane replied. “But I’ll go anyway. I could use the work. Get out of the house for a bit. How much is your friend paying you?”

  “He hasn’t told me yet,” Frank said. “But I think he wants me to babysit his brother Pete.”

  “Hard to handle?” Shane asked.

  Frank shook his head. “Impulsive.”

  “Ah.” Shane stubbed out his cigarette and nodded. “Yeah. Alright. When do you want to leave?”

  “Soon as you’re ready,” Frank answered.

  Shane stood up. “I’m ready now.”

  As Frank got to his feet and Shane turned to leave, Courtney appeared in the doorway. She shimmered in the pale light thrown by the overhead kitchen lamp, and she had an expression of concern on her dead face.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  Her voice sounded strange, almost too faint.

  “I’m going out for a bit,” Shane said. He smiled at her. “Frank and I will be home soon enough.”

  “Take me with you?” she asked.

  Shane shook his head.

  Courtney’s form solidified as she demanded, “Why?”

  “I won’t risk losing you,” Shane said, his voice gentle but firm. “You are not a trinket for me to carry around and to lose.”

  For a moment, Shane thought she might yell, but instead, she vanished.

  When she did, Shane shook his head and led the way out of the house, pausing only for himself and Frank to grab their coats out of the hall closet. Once they were outside, Frank glanced over at him.

  “What’s going on?” the former monk asked.

  “Wish I knew,” Shane said. “Want to drive since you know the way?”

  Frank nodded and caught the keys with one hand when Shane tossed them to him.

  Shane felt sadness well up within him as he wiped the snow off his car on the passenger side. Frank did the same on the driver’s window. Shane brushed the snow off his hands, the flesh red from the cold, and felt his attention drawn back to the house.

  Courtney stood in his bedroom window, her crooked neck glaring in the morning light. A harsh and bitter reminder of her death at the hands of Abel Latham.

  “Hey,” Frank said, his tone gentle. “You alright?”

  “No.” Shane sighed and got into the car. Frank climbed in, started the engine and closed the door.

  “Want to talk about Courtney at all?” Frank asked.

  Shane shook his head, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of the young woman who had given her life for him

  Chapter 3: Gordon Capullo and the Prison

  Gordon Capullo sat in his Super-Duty pickup and waited, a cup of tea in one hand and the morning paper in the other. He had spent most of his adult life in vehicles, traveling from one job to another. Constructing homes and buildings, then inspecting the same. The interior of the Super-Duty reflected his nomadic job.

  A mint scented air-freshener was clipped to one of the vents over the radio. On the passenger side floor was a trashcan, strapped in with a bungee cord. His metallic green thermos, filled with traditional Chinese tea, protruded from a cooler packed with a variety of healthy snacks.

  Beneath the cooler was a copy of the day’s Boston Globe, another of the Boston Herald, the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the Manchester Union Leader. A reprint of the classic Batman by Bob Kane was tucked between the cooler and the back of the seat.

  The only items missing from the truck were his wife and his dog, and Gordon had buried both of them years earlier.

  Gordon took the Telegraph off of his lap, turned the page, glanced over an op-ed piece on one of the Presidential candidates, and wished Libby was still with him. He looked at the cell phone on the seat beside him and felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he remembered how he would never receive another text or call from her.

  Sighing, Gordon closed the paper, folded it back into its original form, and put it beneath the cooler with the others. He started up the truck to let the heater run for a few minutes, and he looked out the windshield at the prison.

  Gordon was old enough to remember the accident which had closed the facility. And the investigation into the incident. The wave of suicides that had followed.

  The crunch of wheels on snow caught his attention, and Gordon turned to see a small, black sedan pull in beside him.

  He didn’t recognize the man in the passenger seat. A bald man, perhaps in his forties, his face etched with lines of grief and anger. Scars climbed up out of the man’s shirt, sprawling across his neck and up the back of his head.

  The driver’s side door opened and Gordon laughed out loud.

  He turned off the truck’s engine and got out.

  “Frank!” Gordon called out.

  “Gordon,” Frank said, laughing and walking around the front of the car. “Ollie didn’t tell me he had you on this job.”

  The two men shook hands and hugged. Gordon stepped back and looked at the younger man.

  “Who else would he hire?” Gordon asked. “You look good, Kid. Better than I was led to believe.”

  “Oh?” Frank said, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s been talking smack?”

  “Who else?” Gordon sighed and shook his head. “Pete of course.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Peter.”

  The passenger side door opened, and the bald man got out. Frank stepped aside and said, “Shane Ryan, this is Gordon Capullo. The whole reason I joined the Army.”

  Gordon shook Shane’s hand, the other man’s grip firm and polite. “A pleasure, Shane. And, Frank, you best keep that information to yourself. Your mom’s not so old that she wouldn’t hit me upside the head with a frying pan.”

  “True,” Frank said, chuckling. “She’s got a good throwing arm too. I could never outrun her. Luckily, she only used the wooden spoons as projectiles.”

  “Anyway,” Gordon said, folding his arms over his chest to keep his hands warm in the cold air. “What are you doing up here? Last I heard you were in a religious order.”

  “I was,” Frank said, the humor leaving his face. “Things didn’t work out, so I left.”

  “You or them?” Gordon asked.

  “Me,” Frank said. “All me. The Order was gr
eat. They took care of me, I just couldn’t stay there anymore.”

  “Did Ollie call you, too?” Gordon asked.

  Frank nodded. “I had put the word out that I was looking for work.”

  “You’re going to help with the demo?” Gordon said.

  “Yup,” Frank answered. “So is Shane.”

  “Is this your regular line of work?” Gordon asked.

  “No,” Shane said.

  “What do you usually do?” Gordon said, and he saw Frank glance at Shane.

  Shane grinned. “Usually?”

  “Yeah,” Gordon said.

  “I kill ghosts,” Shane replied.

  The response caught Gordon off guard, and he let out a surprised laugh.

  Chapter 4: Meeting the Boss

  Shane had an instant dislike for Pete when the man showed up.

  After their brief conversation, Shane and Frank had retreated to the car, while Gordon had gone back to his truck. As the time passed other vehicles arrived. Pick-ups and vans, contractors ready to look at the property.

  The snowfall was light, and it was well after ten in the morning when a black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the small parking lot. The vanity plate on the SUV read, ‘P-Dawg,' and the man who got out of the vehicle swaggered as he walked.

  “That,” Frank said in a low voice, “is Pete Dawson, Ollie’s brother.”

  “Thus, P-Dawg?” Shane asked.

  Frank nodded.

  Shane and Frank got out of the car as Gordon and the men exited their own vehicles. Pete, Shane noticed, had on all new clothes. Jeans, work boots, and a Carhart jacket that looked as though they were fresh off the shelves. Pete looked like an unattractive male model in the working gear, someone unused to any sort of physical labor.

  His dark brown hair was clipped in the latest fashion, and his beard was trim and neat as well. It was cut to highlight the line of his jaw and to hide the weakness of his chin. The man’s brown eyes were narrow and close to one another.

  “Good morning!” Pete said, grinning, and his voice was grating, reminding Shane of the squawking of a duck.

  There were some grumbled replies, but Gordon returned the grin, saying, “Nice of you to show up, Peter.”