"Noah, man," Trent breathed, terrified as he walked amongst the marked chambers. "What the hell have you done?"
"Exactly what I set out to do," Noah Barkman replied.
Trent pulled his lips back in a grimace, baring his teeth. "Who are they?" he asked.
"I don't really see how that is of any consequ-"
"Who. Are they?"
For a moment, the two men stared each other down, Trent furious, Noah completely at ease. Finally, with a small laugh, Noah was the first to break the gaze as he turned to the first chamber.
"Tom Sloane, the First Born Son. Heir to a massive fortune until his younger sister began to poison him. He died, but not quickly. And certainly not without pain.
"Anthony DeMartino, the Torso," the billionaire continued, moving to the next container. "A teacher of meager means who sought to elevate himself financially through gambling. He lost a little too often for his bookie's tastes. I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on how much of him was left after an example had been made.
"Jodie Landon, the Bound Woman. Hard worker. Too hard. Owning one business is hard enough on a person. Owning seven and attempting to run them all at the same time without any help? They say the rope she hung herself with was the best money could buy.
"Daria Sloane, the Withered Lover. So tragic. Married to the good Mister Tom, she had to go when she found out about her sister-in-law's poisonous plans. The coroners were reasonably certain that it was her corpse found amidst the ashes.
"Michael Mackenzie, the Torn Prince. He might have ended up playing with the best of the NFL if not for the drunk driver that tore half of both him and his vehicle to ribbons. He never awoke from the eight month coma.
"Brittany Thompson, the Angry Princess. She managed to find at least five of the women with whom her husband had affairs. She killed them, one by one, then him, then herself, all done with a dull kitchen knife.
"Valerie Wilde, the Pilgrimess. A reporter for fashion magazines. Traveled around the world. Tried every single type of illicit drug known to man. Went on a trip one day and never came back, her body ravaged by all the various substances she had smoked, inhaled, shot up, and ingested.
"Fredrika Johanssen, the Great Child. Dearly loved her chocolate, our Mrs. Johanssen, despite the fact that she was a few hundred pounds overweight and had already lost one of her feet quite painfully to diabetes.
"Helen Morgendorffer, the Dire Mother. They say when her youngest daughter finally snapped, she continued to nag about everything, including the technique with which she as being repeatedly stabbed in the chest and abdomen.
"Tommy Sherman, the Hammer. Every bone in his body had been broken and reset before the end, but still he continued to run every football goal all the way in until he ran into the goal post, a wall, or any other inconvenient obstruction. Ironically, he was done in when a goal post fell on him.
"Charles Ruttheimer III, the Jackal. He started with women, but eventually his lust for blood no longer saw sex or gender. He was captured, locked up, but though they were able to keep him within the asylum walls, they were never able to keep him in restraints. He was still wearing a torn up straightjacket when he was caught in a fire that burned the building down.
"And finally, Buck Conroy, the Juggernaut!" Noah's eyes sparkled with wicked glee as he put a hand up against the wall of the last chamber. "No one knows for certain how many he killed. A mercenary for hire in life, he bathed his hands in blood. And his own death did not stop him. Still he raged and fought and killed until I captured his spirit and put it with the others in this, the machine that will grant me the greatest power imaginable!"
"You're insane," Trent spat as he advanced on the other man. "There ain't no way I'm gonna let-"
He stopped when Noah pulled a hidden sword from his cane and leveled the point at Trent's throat.
"My dear boy," Noah said, "don't make me spill your blood. Not just yet. I still need you." A maniacal grin spread across his face. "I still need to make my thirteenth ghost . . . "
