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

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  I did.

  Gale said, “Okay, we can point fingers all day and into the night but we need to find out if you figured anything out from him. And,” she pointed to the chalked body that wasn't there, “we're gonna have to dig him out,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  I stood up, wiping grass and crap off my ass, pulling Jade over and giving her a soft kiss on the mouth. Right in front of the adults. They could suck it up; my girlfriend had saved the day.

  “Hey, why are you here anyway? At a secured crime scene?” The forensic tech asked Jade.

  She looked at Tiff, who shrugged.

  “I pulsed her,” Tiff said, rocking back on her heels.

  I looked down at her, leaning back. “That was speedy.”

  “I was close,” she said.

  Huh, have to ask why later.

  Jade and I walked over to the chalk lines that had outlined the body of the boy.

  I looked over at Tiff and she came over too, her hoodie a deep green, her skin echoing the color. She still looked like she wanted to barf out more cookies.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She looked at me. “I don't know, it was pretty effed-up I'm not gonna lie.”

  Yeah.

  I went down on my knees beside the silhouette lines of the body, my hand hovering over ground that was disturbed only by the tech's footprints in the grass.

  Gale watched me. “Where is he?”

  I twisted my head to the side, looking up at her. “Six feet under.”

  She laughed.

  I didn't.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I was all out of comedy for the moment.

  Garcia looked back at Jade. “How'd you happen to be so close?” his expression taking in the three of us.

  He suspected we'd blabbed. That pissed me off on principle.

  She shrugged. “I just was.”

  She had a bead on me. Empaths were cool like that.

  I smiled down at her and she grinned back.

  She had my back. It was just that simple.

  Garcia snapped his fingers. “I got it. She's an Empath. There's not much you can keep from her, huh?”

  “Pretty much,” I said, smiling without humor.

  Everyone was just standing around, so Garcia took things in hand, giving people tasks to accomplish.

  Finally, he turned to our loose group. “We still need to go to the original scene.”

  Tiff and I groaned. Seriously?

  He nodded, seeing our enthusiasm he smiled. “I know it's been a rough start—”

  Tiff laughed.

  He sighed. “Listen guys, we have to go to the scene straightaway and have you look it over, then we can get the bodies back to the morgue, cataloged, and finally put to rest properly.”

  Jade looked a little sick with all the cop-speak. To her, they were still kids. I wrapped her up against my body. “It's okay, we'll do the next part without you.” I whispered in her ear. “Thank you. I love you.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with what she felt for me. “I could feel your fear; I was so scared for you.”

  “Me too.”

  We looked in each other's eyes, a silent understanding of how close things had come to getting really bad.

  Jade looked around. “Okay, I guess I'll take off now, and let you guys, get to whatever you have to do,” she said.

  Totally avoiding saying the words: dead bodies.

  “How'd you get here?” Tiff asked.

  “My bike,” Jade said.

  “Pulse me later,” Tiff said.

  “Me first,” I said, giving Tiff a Look.

  She laughed. “Relax Hart, so territorial.”

  I pointed at her. “You got that right.” I grabbed Jade and kissed her one more time.

  Gale sighed. “Okay, enough PDAs, let's get movinʼ.”

  I waved at Jade and she walked off. I watched her leaving and Garcia watched me.

  “Man, you have it bad.”

  My gaze slid to his. “Wouldn't you?”

  He laughed. “I guess I would, she's a special girl.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  I walked down the hill with Tiff, the cruiser anchored at the bottom. Our ride to another death episode.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tiff and I looked at each other as we pulled up on that dirt road where there was hardly room to park and seeing it narrow, finally disappearing into the trees. That about undid me.

  I hadn't returned to this spot since June 13th (Friday the 13th to be exact) when the Graysheets lost all sense and came to take me. To do, God-knows-what, but whatever they had in mind, I didn't want.

  My friends and I had barely escaped by some lucky helicopter crash and now, through their exposure in the press, I had a break. For how long, I didn't know. Now here I was, back at the old cemetery again to relive the memories.

  Garcia's police cruiser slowed, gravel crunching under the tires and slowed to a purring stop. The engine idled and he turned around. “Okay. So, just to be clear: I don't want any corpses raised for the rest of the day.”

  Tiff did a slow blink.

  I jerked my thumb at her. “She can't.”

  “No, but she seems to help a lot.” He turned toward her. “No being an undead assistant today.”

  “Hey, whatever, Officer Garcia. But, if things get squirrelly, I'm gonna do what needs doinʼ.”

  He sighed, defeated. “Okay, listen, just don't try to do anything.”

  We nodded. He knew that was the best he'd get out of us.

  We walked up the road, little more than a path where it opened up to the graveyard. The space was as I remembered it but not. It had seemed silvered and gray, standing in the moonlight with the faded picket fence like shattered teeth in a sea of hair. Today, in the late afternoon light it appeared whitewashed, everything different shades of white in the glare from the sun.

  Tiff shielded her eyes. “Damn, it's bright.”

  I nodded.

  Then I saw it, a lone flag of red in between the grave markers like a spot of blood on linen.

  “Come on,” I said.

  Tiff tramped after me.

  There was a whole different crew at this scene, and I didn't recognize anybody.

  “Ah, here is our Null for serials,” Garcia said, pointing to a guy that looked like a grown-up Alex.

  We said hey.

  He stuck his hand out and I instantly liked him more than Williams, who had clearly been a tard.

  “John Smith,” he introduced himself, giving me one hard pump. He did the same for Tiff but maybe going a little easier on her hand.

  She looked kinda bemused, dropping his hand. “Is that your real name?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh... it seems so common,” she said in that off-hand way of hers.

  “Easy to remember,” he answered.

  True.

  “Okay,” Garcia rubbed his hands together, “let's get started.”

  Tiff and I walked the few remaining feet to the body, looking at the others all around, stakes marking their interment positions. Creepy.

  It was Brett's younger brother, laying there at my feet that I couldn't move my gaze from. He spoke the loudest.

  I looked at the Null. “You pretty good?”

  “I'm a five-point,” Smith said neutrally.

  Well hell, that rocked, my eyes widening. “How come you're working for the cops?”

  “It's not the money, that's for sure.” He winked while Garcia rolled his eyes.

  “Okay you two, get the ball rolling,” Garcia said.

  I looked back down at the body, then back at Smith. “I need you to tune out the others.”

  “The other cadavers?” he queried with his eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah, can you....” I began and his hand reached out, encircling my forearm and Tiff inhaled sharply.

  It was instantly silent. I tried to reach out with my fist of power, the fingers of that imaginary hand reachin
g out like flags whispering on a wind only I could see, but there was nothing.

  A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. He had me there. Damn, he was powerful. It also let me know what John would be when he was twenty-five.

  I smiled back. “I gotta say, you're doing okay.”

  He nodded. “How much?”

  “If you can control your focus, say, just to let me hear this one.” I pointed to the body that lay at my feet, the red clothing hanging off bones strung together like monkeys in a barrel.

  He nodded, a look of concentration overtaking his face, and just one whisper came to me then, “Rescue me.”

  That voice skipped over the surface of my brain, trailing its fingers on a chalkboard and at the same time it felt strangely good.

  I shivered.

  “What?” Tiff whispered.

  I shook my head, bending down, Smith hunkering down beside me. I was in the fog of the undead where background noises didn't interfere with the process.

  Garcia started talking and I heard only snippets of it, ...is okay.... can you help... don't let...”

  The words were swirling, white noise buzzing, because my hand was on that red sleeve, the weave rough underneath my fingertips and a flood of memories came into my mind like a river without a dam:

  Extreme dizziness, a spinning thing without end, laughing kids using their feet to push off.

  A male [presence] with candy, his face fuzzy...I could almost make it out then it fell out of my vision, the boy turning away, holding... candy...

  Frantic thoughts of a mother he could not find.

  A dark car that smells of trash and other things.

  Pain... no... no more...where is my mommy....

  Screaming, white heat... then blackness.

  The minute I regained consciousness, I woke up screaming with Smith above my face.

  He reached out and touched me, sending that current of memories streaming away into the ether and I was quiet and still.

  There was silence.

  My fragmented mind came back in jagged pieces like a glass jar being filled up with marbles. I could see Tiff, Garcia and Gale. Tiff's face told me so much. She looked worried, and for Tiff to be worried it was bad. I was on my back and that reminded me of Biology last spring. The frogs.

  I stuck my arms straight above me and Smith and Tiff each took one and hauled me to my feet.

  I staggered a little and put my hand on a gravestone, immediately snatching it back when a undead current snaked its way up my arm like a live wire.

  “Could youʻtune-upʼ one-hundred percent or something? I'm kinda having a moment,” I told Smith.

  He did, and it stopped.

  I released the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding in a shaky rush.

  I looked at him with all the gratefulness in the universe.

  Garcia glowered at the Null. “You couldn't prevent him from passing out?”

  Smith turned on him. “You try to hold the only five-point C-M and see how you do. How'd our boy Williams do over at Scenic? I heard that was a SNAFU!”

  Garcia strode over to him, their noses almost touching and Tiff and I took a step back. Were they going to kick each other's asses, right here?

  All the forensic people had stopped what they were doing, staring at the two of them.

  Gale, (who seemed to have uncanny adult radar) saw violence brewing and jogged over there, slipping between the two of them, putting a hand on either chest.

  “Knock it off, both of you. This isn't helping!” she said, disgusted. “We've got two teenagers over there risking themselves for this investigation and you two dogs have to run around peeing in corners. Figure it out!”

  Garcia took a walk and Smith came over to me.

  “Uh, what's going on?” I asked. I was still getting my act together, wiping a trembling hand over my mouth, trying to steady the quaking.

  Gale made a water bottle appear from nowhere, uncapping it and giving it to me. “No gulping. Small sips.”

  Right. I took a sip and felt a little better.

  He rolled his shoulders into a shrug, answering me. “Raul, I mean, Officer Garcia, and I don't always see eye to eye on stuff. And,” he said quietly, “he's pre-inoculation.”

  So? my look said.

  “Some cops feel out of control when they can't be a part of the process...” Gale shrugged.

  Garcia didn't like paranormals or...?

  Clearly interpreting my expression, Smith shook his head. “It's not like there isn't a lot of the prejudice out there for us, Caleb. It's more like helplessness. He wanted you to not get hurt and couldn't trust that this was part of the process for you to get information and I would safeguard you through it.”

  Oh.

  “You remember my partner, Officer Wade,” Gale said.

  Chuck, I nodded, remembering.

  “Well, he had some of the same issues. He felt like he was out of the loop when paranormal crap went down.” Smith raised an eyebrow, “sorry... stuff,” Gale waved away her borderline swear word, “and that is something he's getting used to now. Garcia needs—”

  “Time,” Smith said simply.

  “Well,” Tiff said, smacking fresh gum in her mouth, “he better get a handle on that ʼcuz he was gonna open a can of whoop ass on Officer Smith here.”

  Smith smiled. “I don't think we were quite there yet.”

  It'd looked plenty there to me.

  Garcia came back over, throwing a hard glance at Smith but saying nothing. “So, you doing okay?”

  No. “Yeah.”

  “What do you have for us?”

  I thought about it. “He was taken in a park.”

  “Do you know which one?”

  I nodded. “It's not there anymore. I mean, I don't know. I haven't been in,” I thought about it some more, Mom used to take me to that kiddy park... “maybe ten years now.” I shrugged. “It's by Meeker Middle School, or it was.”

  Gale nodded slowly. “I know the place. They took all the play equipment down, safety regulations.”

  Tiff said, “Kinda like dodge ball.”

  We laughed.

  The adults looked at us with a question.

  “Private joke,” I said.

  They looked away, talking among themselves and I noticed it was getting pretty close to supper. I knew because The Hunger was making itself known. Translation: my stomach was digesting my spine.

  Smith said, “I'll take the kids home.”

  Garcia looked like he'd start barking at the end of his chain or something.

  Gale put her hand on his forearm. “Raul.”

  He looked down at her, his gaze softening.

  Interesting.

  He looked back at Smith and those eyes cooled right back down. “Okay.”

  He turned to me. “Pulse me when you arrive. I want to make sure you're okay. And tell your folks we have a lead now, thanks to you,” he said, clapping me on the back.

  Smith, Tiff and I walked to his car and he unlocked it straight from his pulse. It was one of the new ones. It could probably wipe your ass if you wanted it to.

  So cool.

  I saw Tiff salivating over it from the corner of my eye and she mimed her thumb over an imaginary pulse, I mouthed back, I know...

  Smith caught us checking it out and said, “Want to see?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed.

  Tiff and I leaned over the pulse and she said, “John would have a kiwi if he saw this, being a tech-boy and all.”

  The pulse had one of the new fingernail-sized thumb pads that lets ya use a part of your finger for pulsing and, it had magnetized clipping. Some kind of your-organic-matter-syncs with the pulse. So no, in-the-pocket hassle. You just stick it against your hip and it sits there.

  “Okay, I'll show you guys the coolest thing.”

  He depressed his thumb (just barely ʼcuz it was a thumbnail pulse), and thought into it: attach, then he let it go. It hovered in the air for a second then attached to his hip. Totally
awesome!

  Tiff and I stared at each other.

  But something disturbing had occurred to me. Could it attach, like anywhere? I asked him that.

  He laughed. “You mean like...”

  “Some dumb-ass walking around with it stuck to their crotch,” Tiff said delicately, a bubble bursting, echoing slightly.

  Smith barked out a laugh. “Well, aren't you eloquent?”

  Tiff shrugged, snapping her gum.

  He gave me his attention, answering, “Ah, I guess you can attach it anywhere you want,” and his eyes swung to Tiff who stared blankly back.

  Unflappable.

  “But,” he continued, “most people just use the hip because that's where pulses usually go.”

  I didn't know about that, mine was always digging uncomfortably into my ass.

  We got into the back of his cop car and I noticed that his vehicle wasn't as gross as Garcia's.

  “This is a better ride than the G-man,” Tiff observed for me.

  Smith looked at Tiff in the rear view mirror like, huh?

  “Garcia,” I answered for her, and she held out her palm like I was insanely brilliant.

  “Oh. Well, he has a lot of criminals he transports, and I mainly hit crime scenes after the crime has been committed.”

  Made sense.

  We were quiet on the way to our respective houses and pulled up in front of the Weller house. Tiff's place was huge with a tree standing guard in the front lawn and a tire swing hanging from it. Toys littered the front yard in a distractingly colorful way.

  “Where'd you get that old tire?” I asked, knowing that sucker was way-illegal.

  Tiff's smile got wider. “A certain refuse station had a ton lying around.” She winked.

  Ah. The dump. Bry must have hauled the thing around in his crappy car.

  A little kid about five years old zoomed out the front door looking a lot like Tiff's mom, Shirley.

  Tiff opened the door and he leaped into her arms. “Tiffie!” he shrieked in a most annoying way. In that moment I was deeply glad I was an only child.

  “How many Wellers are there?” I asked.

  Smith looked on with interest.

  She looked at me, ruffling the kid's hair. “I have four younger brothers.”

  Geez, that explained a buttload about Tiff. She's always jockeying for position.

  “What? Your parents are trying to repopulate the world?” I asked.