The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Our respective parents pressed their thumbs to the consent form that illuminated Gale's pulse-pad, then leaned back in their seats where Garcia was spreading the crime photos like a deck of cards in front of us.

  A fan of dead bodies splayed out before me, my first thought was: definitely not like a movie.

  Tiff paled a little, and I gave her the guy clap on the shoulder.

  She steadied right up.

  “This is pretty graphic, so if someone needs to leave and take a moment...” he looked at the adultsʼ faces, finally settling on mine and Tiff's.

  She nodded, we're okay.

  It was utterly horrible and...very real.

  One photo in particular caught my eye, and there was something about it that stirred a memory I'd had it last year too. A flash of red and some concrete.

  Garcia's eyes were pinned on me. “Have you thought of something Caleb?”

  “This body.” I pointed to one that had the remnants of some clothes around it.

  “The one with the red sweatshirt?” Gale pointed.

  She and Garcia looked at each other.

  “What?” Tiff asked, her faced a pinched mess, it was getting to her.

  “This is the oldest body and...” she looked helplessly at Garcia.

  “The child was reported missing about ten years ago. And, we have made a positive ID.”

  Who? What was with all the cloak-and-dagger shit?

  Garcia said, “It was Brett Mason's younger brother.”

  WTF?

  Tiff and I gaped at each other. Brett had a younger brother!? News to me.

  Mom said, “I remember hearing about that, because the boy was so close in age to Caleb, but I didn't make the connection.” She covered her mouth, looking shell-shocked.

  Us too.

  Dad had the thinking-about-Science-thing look. “The boy would be—how old now?”

  Gill said, “Isn't that the family that has all the domestic...”

  “Stuff,” Shirley answered, nodding confirmation.

  “Could it be,” Tiff began, “the dad,” she whispered.

  “No,” Garcia said. “He's been cleared, he has an alibi.”

  Too bad. He was a putz, and needed to be put out of his misery.

  We all started talking at once and Gale said, “Guys!”

  We stopped, looking at her. “We need to think about this as a local job.”

  Wasn't it local?

  She saw my expression. “We hadn't excluded the possibility of a transient. Someone that lived here for a time, but moved on. But we know now that it is someone familiar with the area, someone who may have contact with kids by profession or some other means.”

  Hell, that sucked.

  Tiff and I looked at each other. Sure would have been easier if it had been Brett's dad. Or even better, Jade's I thought dreamily. That'd rock.

  Garcia bent toward me, using the well of silence that Gale had produced to ask me, “You looked like you were remembering something.”

  I nodded. I'd had that same fleeting fragment of memory edging around my mind that first day I pointed out Jade to Jonesy. He'd elbowed me and it'd slipped away.

  I told Garcia what I remembered.

  “But what does this have to do with the dead body?” Tiff asked.

  I shrugged, I wasn't sure but somehow, they felt connected. The photo reminded me of the memory.

  Gale was nodding. “It's possible that somehow you're having a death-connection.”

  Garcia looked at her. “Non-paranormal speak, please. Just humor us mundanes, would you?” Garcia had a little edge to his voice.

  I guess there was a learning curve getting used to the paranormals. Or, maybe it was just Gale. She'd take some getting used to. She was definitely her... all the time. Whether ya wanted it or not.

  She blushed a little. “Ah, there's this thing we're trying, with some of the AFTDs where, they get some vibes or whatever, that they can connect to a real-life incident.”

  She looked expectantly at us and we stared blankly back. What?

  Dad stepped in. “Let me try—do you mean that if there was a time in Caleb's life, that he ever met the victim, then said victim,” he paused, “passes, he can connect the memory to the death?”

  She exhaled. “Yes, kinda. I mean, it's the AFTDs who are great murder/trauma locators that are good at this ʻdeath-connectionʼ thing. And, of course, they have to actually have a memory to connect. Not everyone is lucky enough.”

  She looked at me. “Or unlucky enough to have stumbled on the victim when they were alive to have the memory connection after their death.”

  “You mean that I looked at the photo and immediately connected it to that memory and my AFTD ʻknewʼ it was related.”

  She visibly relaxed. “Yes.”

  Wow, this just kept getting weirder.

  Fine, now what. “So now what do I do?”

  “We want you to touch all the bodies and see if you have more connections.”

  Tiff huffed next to me, “Why do you need me then?”

  “You're his amplifier, right?”

  Tiff nodded. That was a swift nameplate for her.

  “You can help him connect.”

  “He has to touch dead bodies?” Mom queried, looking ill.

  “I could raise them, they'd have to, ya know—answer me.”

  Garcia rubbed his chin back and forth, like a nervous habit. “How old would you say this memory is?” he asked without answering me.

  I thought about it. “Old.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  I thought more. “I wasn't in school for sure, I don't know, maybe earlier.”

  He looked at Mom. “Maybe we could get you to think of places you may have frequented and narrow down the most public. We're sure that some of these kids were abducted in everyday locations, in broad daylight, right under their parentsʼ noses.”

  Shirley's hand flew to her mouth and Mom gasped. “Do you think...?” she began.

  Garcia was nodding. “I do. I think it's plausible that Caleb may have witnessed the abduction and somehow seeing Jade connected it even before he saw this.” He tapped the photo of the broken body on the table, the neck twisted, the clothesʼ brightness faded by age and the dirt that had caressed them for a decade.

  Wait a sec, something didn't add up. “What does Jade have to do with it?” I asked, a worm of worry burrowing through my body, my palms growing clammy. It made me want to pulse her this second. I would the minute we were done here. Brother, creep-factor one hundred.

  The cops stood and so did the parents. More hand-shaking while Tiff and I silently communicated by a silent glance how fast this had gotten bad.

  Garcia was talking to us and I had missed it, my thoughts consumed with Jade. I wanted to make sure she was okay. It wasn't rational but the hell with it, I would calm down if I could pulse her.

  “....and then you can....”

  “What?” I asked. The Parentsʼ eyebrows lowered into that uni-brow position that's code for perk up or die. Right.

  “Excuse me?” I corrected. The eyebrows relaxed.

  One lecture avoided.

  “I was saying,” he looked at me, knowing I'd been off in dreamland, “that you and Miss Weller should come down to the station and check out the bodies.”

  No problem, Mr. Officer, just let me pencil you in so I can come do a little corpse-grope. Geez.

  Out loud I said, “Okay. When,” I looked at Tiff, who shrugged noncommittally, “do you need us to come in?”

  Garcia thought about it for one second. “Tomorrow would be great.”

  “We know that you just started high school but—” Gale added.

  “We know how important this is for—” Dad started.

  “—Everyone,” Shirley finished and the dads nodded.

  “Okay.” I said. “We'll do it.”

  The cops walked to the door and Gale turned. “Remember, I'll be there too, you're not going to have to do it on your own, Caleb.�
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  “I know,” I said and looked at Garcia.

  “Oh.” He slapped his forehead. “Yes, you could raise one of the victims but, there is a theory about that.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “They're not sure if traumatic-victims remember their attackers. The same thing that allows AFTDs to find them may disallow a Cadaver-manipulator to get a confession or whatever.”

  We'll just see, won't we?

  “Okay, but, since I can—I should.”

  “Have you ah...” Gale asked as her hand landed on the doorknob.

  “No, I took the summer off,” I said.

  She looked relieved. “After the year you had, raising zombies probably didn't sound so hot.”

  I shook my head, it didn't sound so hot now either.

  The cops looked at us. “You can't tell anyone. This is a police matter and if word of the investigation were to get loose...” Garcia trailed off.

  “It could endanger you guys,” Gale said.

  “How?” I asked.

  “It's like Sophie said, ʻthe murderer isn't gonna want us breathing if he knows you're on to him.ʼ ” Unhelpful-much Tiff, I thought, seeing Mom's expression.

  “They already know we're gonna be working with ya,” Tiff said.

  He nodded. “Yes, but they don't know details. Impress upon them the need to stay quiet. Especially with Mr. Jones, who seems like a loose cannon.”

  Loose cannon. My parents looked at each other with the mention of Jonesy.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Garcia looked first at me, nodding, then turned those cop eyes on Tiff.

  “Yeah, I won't talk,” she answered.

  “Good,” he said, tipping his hat to all the assembled parents, the silver shield winking in the low light of the end of the day.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tiff and I met at the door of the Kent Police Station at the same time. She had a wad of gum stuffed in her mouth and could snap, I swear, ten ear-splitting bubbles one right after another. Like she was doing now.

  “Tiff... please...” I said, my ears in pain.

  “Calm down, you should try it, Hart, settles your nerves.”

  Yeah, it was so calming. And monkeys fly out of my ass.

  “I think I'm gonna be okay, after all, it's a bunch of the dead ...” I said while I held open the door for her.

  Slipping through, Tiff ripped her hood back as she came through. She stopped suddenly and I almost plowed into her, throwing my hands up to keep my balance as I went on tiptoe.

  She had her pulse in hand, her thumb depressed, nodding her head.

  “What?” I said, kinda irritated.

  “It's Bry. He wants to know if he can bring the chick he's been digginʼ on to the hide-a-way Friday?” she asked.

  I had to peer around the mammoth bubble to see her.

  She snapped it and suddenly, hazel eyes filled my line of sight. Geez... with the gum.

  “I guess. Wait—is she okay?”

  Tiff shrugged. “Don't really know her. Kinda girlie, kinda annoying.”

  “Why ʼcuz she's ʻgirlieʼ, or ʼcuz ...”

  Snap. “Yeah, all of that.”

  “You like Jade.”

  Tiff looked at me. “She's cool, even if she wears pink.”

  That was a crime, I guess. I liked the way Jade dressed. Huh.

  We walked in, and I scoped the receptionist's desk. An older gal sat behind the desk with a huge pulse-screen in front of her and three thumb pads. She saw us and held up a finger, her other hand with her thumb depressed on a huge thumb pad the size of my credit card-sized pulse.

  Tiff and I waited as she popped her gum. I think that's what finally got the gal off her pulse conversation. Who could think with all that noise? But whatever, it was sure effective.

  She looked up at us. “What do you kids want?” eying us up and finding us lacking somehow.

  I leaned forward. “We're here to meet with Officers Gale and Garcia.” Mom would have loved that.

  She straightened in her chair, looking us over again. “You're the AFTDs?” she asked, a look of suspicion on her face.

  I was used to that, didn't even faze me. I had been through too much to be intimidated by—my eyes flicked to her name tag, Lovestein—and her opinions of people with Affinity for the Dead. Besides, she had a lame name, I noticed uncharitably.

  I let what I was feeling show on my face.

  She pursed her lips. “I'll let the Officers know that you're here then.”

  Lovestein swiveled in her chair, pressing an aggressive thumb on the pulse. Staring at us disdainfully she turned away, lifting her thumb, then depressing it again.

  “Officers Gale and Garcia will be with you momentarily,” her eyes wandered to a hardass bench against a wall flanked by a plastic plant. “Take a seat, kids.”

  I didn't like the way she said kids.

  We huffed over there and threw ourselves down on the bench, our butt bones protesting.

  “Geez. What was her problem, the enraged cow?”

  “No, that's reserved for Griswold.” I scolded Tiff, knowing that there wasn't another Griswold in the world. She was one-of-a-kind.

  Tiff barked out a laugh. “True, dude.”

  Garcia came jogging up which made me sit up straighter. “Hey kids,” he said, his smile preceding his greeting. He might be okay for an adult.

  “Is somethinʼ goinʼ on?” Tiff asked.

  “Yes, we have not transported all the other bodies yet, thought we'd take the squad car over to the cemetery and get a gander at them there.”

  A gander?

  He looked at us and we looked at each other.

  “Not that it's not really cool to have a cop car ride and all—” Tiff began.

  Garcia's eyes narrowed.

  Nice intro. I interjected, “But maybe going back to the cemetery with all the fun ghost and Graysheet memories. Maybe, we're not feelinʼ it.”

  Garcia looked around, saw Lovestein giving us her full attention (I noticed how she suddenly didn't have any pulse answering to do) and said quietly, “Why don't we head to my office real quick and we'll talk more there.”

  We got up and as I passed a staring Lovestein, I had an insane urge to stick out my tongue. I swear it had been years since I'd felt that impulse. As I turned back to follow Garcia, Tiff stuck her tongue out at Lovestein.

  It was a moment.

  We left Lovestein back there with the open mouth, gasping fish look.

  Tiff looked at me, never breaking stride and I mouthed, nice.

  Garcia shut the door behind us and I looked around.

  His office was all homey and I raised an eyebrow. I thought he was a man's man, his office looked all metro-sexual.

  He shifted uncomfortably and said, “Gale and I share this space.”

  Gotcha, I was down with that.

  “Oh good.” Tiff did a mock-wipe-the-forehead, “You had us worried,” she said with a straight face, and I laughed.

  “Anyway,” Garcia said, frowning slightly, “we figure that you kids may get a better ʻreadingʼ if you're where the bodies were dumped.”

  I guess that made sense, but I didn't like going back there. A lot of Bad Bullshit had happened there and I had an aftertaste still.

  Tiff looked uncertain, “Is Bobbi gonna be there too?”

  “Yes, we have the whole forensic team there.”

  I said it out loud, “You must have had to pull some bigtime strings to get two minors on a crime scene this big.”

  Garcia started working over his tie, smoothing it down, cupping his hand and running it down the length, doing it again, finally, “Yes, ah, actually—there's been a lot of pressure from the brass to get this thing solved. And that's not the only pressure we've received. The only source.”

  “They want us to solve it. They need our help.”

  He nodded. So, the adults needed us.

  I liked it.

  Tiff turned and grinned at me, she liked it too.


  “Okay, we're in,” I said.

  ****

  We left the police station and got into the disgusting police car.

  I had to ask, “Don't you guys ever get these things cleaned?” I looked around, not able to make purchase on any surface because they were all mucked up with mystery stains, again.

  Garcia's brown eyes met mine in the rear view mirror. “Every week,” he said neutrally, and pulsed the engine on.

  He began backing out of his stall when another cop ran up frantically, knocking on the glass, the rapping causing Tiff and I to jump.

  Garcia opened the window. “What is it?”

  His wide eyes were panicked. “There's another one.”

  Garcia just stared at him. “Where?”

  “Scenic Cemetery.”

  “Damn. Okay.” He looked at the two of us kids. “I'll be right there.”

  Officer Cline looked at us. “What about these two?”

  “I'll figure that out.”

  He looked at us dubiously. “Okay, but—”

  Garcia shot him a glare. “I said I'd figure it out.”

  Cline threw up his hands, begging for mercy. “Fine, whatever, it's your ass.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He pulled away from the curb and got moving, throwing the lights on the cruiser, speeding toward my home away from home.

  “What's goinʼ on?” I asked.

  His eyes slid to mine, going back to the road, then back again. “Detour.”

  “What's happened?” Tiff asked.

  He exhaled loudly. “We've got another kid.”

  “A dead one?” I asked stupidly.

  “Is there another kind?” he asked.

  Tiff glared at him.

  “Sorry, it's just—this case is getting to me.”

  His eyes looked at us again. “Listen, you two wait in the car here. We're not cleared for you to be at a fresh crime scene.”

  “Oh, come on!” Tiff wheedled. It must have been effective ʼcuz I saw Garcia wavering.

  He pulled up, still eying us.

  “Let me get a verbal.” Whipping out his pulse, his thumb landed on the pad, and I knew he was gonna work his cop-magic.

  “What time is it?” Tiff whispered.

  I looked at my old Timex, the crystal busted during all the Cemetery Fun last year. I tilted my wrist back and forth until I could tell. “Straight up four o'clock.”