Holy hell, did I understand him? “Your dog is at the pound?”
His smile was macabre, but his relief was so apparent I ignored the fact that he looked like he was hungry and wanted to take a bite out of my face.
“Great,” I said, and then I really thought about it. Was I going to have to take John to the dog pound with me to find his dog? The thought of another dog was a little overwhelming, but I wasn’t against it. I’d always wanted to have pets. However, taking John to the pound was iffy. I certainly didn’t want to break in at night. A daytime visit could be dangerous… for me. I knew I wasn’t crazy. But if I accidentally conversed with John, my small town would talk. I’d already been the talk of the town for a while after Steve’s death. I didn’t want to go there again. I had to live here.
“How about this?” I said, trying to figure out if I was being stupid. “If I hug you, you can show me your dog in your mind. I’d also appreciate you letting me know the dog’s name so I don’t screw it up more than I already will.”
John stared at me in confusion.
“Oh right,” I said with a laugh. He had no clue what I was talking about. “I’ll go to the pound and adopt your dog. Will that make you happy?”
“Yausssss,” he grunted, looking as grateful as a dead and decomposing individual could. “Mooooorah.”
“You have more than one dog at the pound?” I asked, wrinkling my nose in thought. I could handle a few. I had a lot of property and with the insurance money coming in soon, vet bills and dog food were doable. I did wonder why all his dogs were at the pound though. Were they violent?
“Naawwwooo. Mooooorah.”
“To your story? More to what you need from me?” I asked.
Donna barked and wagged her tail. I’d gotten it right. Part of me was a little sad John didn’t have more than one dog. If I went to the pound on my own and adopted a pack, that would be bad and embarrassing. If I did it for a dead person it would be fine. My logic was mind-boggling even to myself. Whatever. I didn’t have time to dissect my crazy.
“Let’s go over what we’ve got so far,” I said, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. The chance that I would forget a detail was high. I had way too much going on. “You did not commit suicide. You have a dog at the pound. I’m going to adopt the dog, but there’s more to the story. Right?”
“Yausssss.”
“Hang on,” I said, grabbing my phone and pulling up the local obituaries. While my laptop internet took forever, my phone was quick. I just didn’t want to use up too much data.
Scrolling for a hot second, I found it. His name was John Dunn. He was survived by his wife, Sarina Dunn—no kids or other relatives. Sad. However, the obit was strange. It mentioned the cause of death was suicide. No one put that in an obituary even if it was true. Who in the heck wrote this?
“Your name is John Dunn,” I said.
He nodded and slouched in his chair.
“And your wife is Sarina?”
John grew agitated and angry. His head shook as if he had a violent tic and gibberish flew from his papery lips.
“John,” I said firmly and loudly. “Stop. Now. You’re freaking me out. I want to help you, but you have to calm down.”
Gripping the edge of the kitchen table with his semi-transparent hands, John relaxed his dead body and got hold of himself. I could tell the hold was tenuous, but it was better than the Exorcist thing that just went down.
“Maauuury,” he grumbled.
“Mary? Your wife’s name is Mary?” Maybe he wasn’t the banker, but everything else matched up. Was he confused? Did he have another wife tucked away somewhere? Ewww, I really didn’t want to get involved in junk like that.
“Naawwwooo, maauuury.”
“Murry?”
Donna growled. I was incorrect. Again. It was looking like we were getting closer to hug time. I knew it wasn’t smart, but getting to the bottom of this could take a week at the rate we were going. Gram’s warnings clanged in my head, but she wasn’t here. She didn’t see John’s pain. Something was very wrong here.
I didn’t have time to sleep for sixteen hours again. Maybe it got easier with each dead man mind-dive. I should get a t-shirt made…
“Waauufff maauuury,” he said, narrowing his lifeless eyes in the hollowed-out sockets.
“Shut the front door,” I said, squinting in disbelief. “Your wife got married. Already? What the heck is that crap?”
I glanced at the obituary again to see if it said former wife. Nope. Wife. John was dead which probably meant he wasn’t quite right in the head—not that I was either, but I needed to remember that I was dealing with the deceased.
“Sooooooonha.”
I understood that one. It was tasteless but made a little more sense. I couldn’t even think about dating and it had been a year since Steve had died. Stan of the Hairy Back didn’t count. I couldn’t imagine someone getting married right after a spouse died—even if it was a terrible marriage. That looked seriously bad. We lived in a small town in the South, for the love of everything gossipy. This Sarina was an idiot.
“Got it,” I told John. “I’m sorry about that.”
John looked down and began to rock back and forth, a keening sound coming from his mouth. It made me want to cry. His hand made jerky motions across his neck over and over. I stared mesmerized. It was like watching a train wreck. What was he doing?
The movement accelerated in speed. I couldn’t look away. I felt trapped.
At one point, John’s hand became a huge kitchen knife. It was brief, but all too sickeningly real. Yesterday I would have blown the image off as my unstable imagination. Today? No way.
“You were murdered,” I said, not even believing it myself.
John stopped moving and slowly raised his eyes to mine. “Yausssss, waauufff kaulll
“Your wife killed you?” I shouted. “Are you kidding me? And now she’s getting married?”
“Yausssss.”
What the hell was I supposed to do with this information? I was enraged for poor John, but it wasn’t like I could go down to the police station and tell the cops I’d chatted with a dead man whose wife killed him and got away with it. That wouldn’t really end all that well. I was sure of it. I needed facts and proof.
Shit. I was going to have to hug him.
“Was it for insurance money?” I asked, feeling a sick tightness in my chest.
He nodded.
“Well, then she’s going to be waiting a long time,” I hissed growing more furious with this woman. “Insurance companies don’t pay out for suicide, and I know you didn’t kill yourself,” I assured him. “However, your wife is stupid. She didn’t do her research.”
“Stooooopaud,” John grunted and then laughed.
At least I thought it was a laugh. He had an amazingly intact sense of humor considering he was murdered by his wife a week ago.
“Your wife dropped your dog at the pound,” I said, shaking my head. Sarina Dunn was a nasty piece of work.
“Yausssss.”
I sat for a moment and thought. I could definitely adopt his dog. As far as getting his wife put away for murdering him? That was a long shot.
“John, I’ll adopt your dog today,” I promised. “I’ll love the dog and take care of it always. You don’t have to worry about that. Okay?”
He nodded and smiled. “Thaauanuak yooouah.”
“Welcome. Now the bad news. Not real sure what I can do about your murderous wife,” I admitted. “You’re pretty dead, and I have no solid evidence or proof.”
John began to speak gibberish like a speed demon. I had to slap my hands over my ears, it was so loud and angry.
“Hold up, dude,” I shouted. “Stop.”
Thankfully he listened. He also looked contrite. I truly appreciated good manners.
“This is probably not smart,” I told him. “However, I’m going to hug you. I’ll be able to see inside your mind. I do not want to hang out in there too long. I should be a
ble to understand your voice if you talk to me—at least that’s how it worked with Sam.”
John nodded and held out his arms to me.
“Hang on a sec,” I said, putting my hands up. “First show me your dog and tell me the dog’s name. Then tell me… or show me… any proof you have that your piece-of-shit wife killed you. If it’s something I can get and show to the authorities, then I will.”
That might still be hard depending on what he had to show me. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. I’d already told him I wasn’t sure I could do anything about his murder.
The dog? No problem.
“Okay, John. I’m going to hug you now. Donna, stay close. I won’t be long and I need you to pull me back. Cool?”
Donna barked and wagged her bottom. She hopped up onto the kitchen table and pressed her fuzzy red body to mine. I couldn’t believe I was letting my dog stand on the kitchen table. However, times were weird. And weird times called for unsanitary measures.
Or something like that.
Chapter Thirteen
Getting murdered was not a good time.
The trip into John’s mind wasn’t as scary as when I went into Sam’s, but I knew what to expect. Not that I would ever be comfortable, but I was fairly sure I wasn’t dying. John, on the other hand…
The cold. The cold went all the way to my bones and tore through my body like sharp, frozen daggers made of ice. Trying to catch my breath, I gasped for air but stayed calm.
My head pounded violently and every single cell in my body screamed for oxygen. I knew it was momentary, but it still sucked.
My mind went numb and I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore.
“John,” I choked out, closing my eyes like Sam had taught me when I was inside his head. “Can you hear me?”
“I can,” a soft and kind male voice answered, sounding wildly surprised. “Daisy?”
“Yep,” I replied with a small laugh as I tried to regulate my breathing. “Show me your dog.”
“Her name is Karen,” John said with great fondness.
Pictures raced across my vision so quickly I couldn’t make them out. Again, it was like an old, static-filled black-and-white TV screen was inside my head. Catching glimpses of a smiling man and a happy dog, I relaxed.
“She’s umm…” I said, not finding the right words without sounding rude.
A black lab with partially crossed eyes sprinted around a very expensive-looking living room. She was doing zoomies—major zoomies.
“A little wild,” John agreed with a chuckle. “She’s not quite right in the head, but she’s the most loving dog around.”
“Not quite right in the head will work out fine at my house,” I assured him. “Does she get along with other dogs?”
“Absolutely,” John said. “Karen loves everyone she meets.”
I watched the images zip by of Karen licking a laughing John. Karen digging a hole in the grass. Karen knocking the trash can over and eating the garbage.
“You’ll need to secure your trash,” John said with a smile in his voice.
“Will do,” I told him, already in love with the dopey dog. “I’ll take good care of her. I promise.”
“Thank you, Daisy. Honestly, that’s all I need.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing there was so much more if he chose to share it.
“Do you want proof of my murder?” he asked, his voice growing weaker with each word.
“Do you want me to have it?”
John was quiet for a bit. “Yes, I would like someone to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t kill myself.”
“I already believe you, John,” I said, feeling unsettled about what was coming. “But if you think I can help you find justice… show me.”
John began to cry. It was awful to hear. My instinct was to comfort the man, but we were not in any kind of normal reality right now. I wasn’t even sure exactly where he was… or where I was.
Without another word from John, the pictures began to flash again. This time they were not adorable and happy. There was a woman screaming and sneering at John, who held flowers and chocolates in his hand. His face went from hopeful to dejected as the woman continued to scream. The woman was his wife.
Scene after scene flashed by of John trying to please a woman who seemed to despise him. The house looked large, and I suspected John was wealthy. I wondered if that was why the woman had married John in the first place. She was a good deal younger than he was.
However, the worst was yet to come.
“John, you’re useless,” Sarina’s voice snarled. “In life and in the bedroom. If you didn’t make a good living I’d be gone. Just remember that.”
“Honey,” John said, shaking his head. “You don’t mean that.”
Her eyes narrowed and she smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “Oh, but I do.”
She left the room, and I watched John hit record on his phone. “This is probably ridiculous,” he said into the screen. “But if I need proof that she’s unstable in a court of law…”
“Drink this,” Sarina said, offering John a glass of what looked like whiskey. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch. It’s just that Cindy got a new Mercedes. I want one too.”
“Maybe after Christmas when I get my bonus,” John said, taking the glass from her hand.
DON’T DRINK THAT. I wanted to yell and tell him something bad was about to happen, but he already knew that. He was dead. It was like I was watching a bad B movie… except it was in staticky black and white and it wasn’t a movie at all.
Sarina’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her false smile stayed fixed on her filler-enhanced lips. Why in the heck had John married such an awful gold-digger? Wait. Not my problem.
John took a healthy sip—and began to cough and choke. Waving his hands, he begged for help. Sarina simply watched him and smiled.
“Hang on,” she purred. “I know how we can fix it.”
John pushed his phone into the side of the chair cushion. Amazingly, the camera still caught the action, but it was obscured from regular sight—or Sarina was simply too crazed to see it. John continued to cough and choke. It was hideous.
Sarina entered the family room with a large butcher’s knife in her hand and the expression of a deranged woman on her face. I really did not want to see the end of this God-awful movie, but I would watch it for John. It had already happened. He was dead and his wife had gotten away with it… so far.
She circled the chair and came up behind him. She laid clear plastic over and under her husband’s body. Her face and upper body were captured by the phone camera perfectly. And sadly, so was John’s.
Grabbing his hand and putting the knife in it, she smiled. “It’s so nice of you not to ruin the furniture, darling,” she said with a deranged giggle. “This will only take a moment.”
Placing her hand over his, she violently raked the butcher’s knife with sickening accuracy across John’s neck. The sound was wet and disgusting. I’d never heard anything like it in my life.
The blood came—dark and red. It was thick and fairly slow. I’d always thought a slit throat would spurt. John gasped and fought as his trachea was severed and he began his awful descent towards death. The poison from the drink dulled his senses and made it impossible for him to fight for his life. I could only hope it had also dulled the pain, but it certainly didn’t look like it.
The sound of escaping air from his windpipe made me want to retch. I’d never seen anyone die before, and I never wanted to see it again. I held my breath as John’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body convulsed. The blood ran steadily from the grotesque slit in his throat.
His thrashing went on for a couple of minutes and then it stopped. Sarina watched in rapt fascination the entire time. It was the most inhuman behavior I’d ever witnessed.
“Whoops,” she said with a hollow laugh. “I didn’t realize you were so depressed, John. Suicide is such a coward’s way out.”
The screen w
ent to static, and I had never wanted to get out of a place so quick in my life.
Donna’s bark was loud and welcome. I followed the sound and found myself right where I was when I’d left—at the kitchen table sitting across from John.
“You think the phone is still in the chair?” I asked him, having a hard time making eye contact after witnessing his violent death.
“Yausssss.”
“And the chair is still in your house?”
“Yausssss.”
That was all I needed. It seemed a little doubtful that it was still there, but there was a chance John was correct. I’d get that damned phone if it was the last thing I did. Although, I hoped it wasn’t the last thing I ever did.
I was exhausted, but it was different this time. My body felt heavy and lethargic, but I didn’t feel dead on my feet.
“I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I’m going to do something,” I promised John as I stood and tested my limbs. “First I’m getting Karen out of the dog pokey and then I’ll…”
What was I going to do? Break and enter again? I didn’t know the layout of the house. And I would bet my favorite running shoes that Sarina didn’t work during the day—or at all. She was probably at home right now planning her wedding to the next old rich dude she was going to murder.
Don’t try to save them.
Gram’s words rang in my ears. She was right and she was wrong. I couldn’t save John. He was already dead. But I could save the next guy and make sure that no one thought John had killed himself.
Grabbing my phone and my purse, I headed out the front door. I almost grabbed my glasses but grinned when I realized I didn’t need them. Getting older was good. I liked it.
“I’ll be back later,” I yelled over my shoulder to the ghosts. “I’ll glue your parts on tonight. I promise.”
I rolled my eyes as I got back into my car. The things I was saying lately were stranger than strange.
Face it. I was stranger than strange… but I planned to wear it well.
“Hi, I’m Daisy,” I said, staring at Sarina Dunn and willing myself not to tackle her and beat her murdering ass to a pulp. I prayed that the smile on my face looked sincere and not like my teeth were gritted together because I hated her. “I understand you’ve been recently widowed.”
It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book One Page 13