by Josh Law
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
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JOSH LAW'S THANK YOU MESSAGE
Prologue
* * *
Before you go on and have a thrill ride in your imagination,
I just have a quick message for you
You can SCROLL TO THE END OF THE BOOK to read it or you could GO TO THE TABLE OF CONTENTS and CLICK "JOSH LAW'S THANK YOU MESSAGE"
I guarantee you that I’m not going to sell you anything or make you join a group or things like that
It’s just a thank you message that I know you deserve
* * *
The old Datsun glided through the graveyard like an angel of death. Its driver was a 36-year-old woman with long blonde hair swept back in a tight magenta bandana. The teenaged boy in the shotgun seat had his head bowed, fist pressed into his teeth. Too macho to cry, he wrestled Olympically with the tears.
“It’s okay, buddy,” said the lady, clapping a firm hand on his knee.
“I know.” He shrugged and lifted his head, emerald eyes still tinged the color of burgundy despite his efforts.
They reached the end of the mausoleum’s driveway. The boy hopped out first, and stumbled in the tan dead grass. The woman slid out a perfect bouquet of holiday colored blossoms cradled in her arms. She looked up at the ceiling of the tomb and cracked an elated smile.
“Check it, Alex! They put up lights!” Her voice was hushed, enraptured.
The tiny white Christmas light bulbs twinkled like a wink from the angels.
Alex sniffed, unable to force a laugh. With a shrug, he stumbled into the dim tomb. He didn’t look up as he ambled along. He’d memorized the path to his best friend’s marble plaque.
His heart stopped when he did at last look up.
“Renee!” His voice cracked. Vibrations of his piercing shriek echoed off the marble and glass-packed walls.
Renee flew to his side, face the color of an ashtray. Her eyes turned to globes when she saw what he had.
A marble plaque that read “Nicolas Avalon 1998-2015” was lying on its side against the wall.
“Oh God!” Renee sank to her knees, chewing her thumb to choke down vomit.
The tomb had been broken into.
* * *
The Durango Police Department flocked to the scene. The whole mausoleum was shrouded in yellow caution tape. Despite a rookie cop’s insistence, Renee and Alex were unwilling to leave.
“He was family! Sort of…“ Renee thrashed as officers tried to force her from the scene.
“You’re the foster home facilitator, right?” Police Chief Riggs grabbed the young officer by the shoulder, prompting her to wait.
“That’s right. Renee Vierra.” She tossed her head defiantly.
“Okay, she can stay.”
“The kid stays too. The boy they’ve grave robbed was his best friend.” Renee jutted out her chin, outraged. Alex stooped on the icy floor, lips turned purple more from shock than cold. The cop released Renee and she swooped to the kid, knelt beside him and protectively wrapped him in her arms.
“It’s okay, Alex.”
The forensic researchers arrived. Their voices were hushed as they peered into the tomb. Alex dug his fingers into the concrete floor until blood dripped from his nail beds. Renee gripped his shoulder to steady him. One of the forensics slid the coffin onto the floor. They were just checking for damage to it. Was this a robbery or a simple grave desecration? Who would want to desecrate the tomb of a 17-year-old boy?
The coffin’s lid flapped loose on its hinges. They eased it open, with suspicious glances at Renee and Alex. The kid started to hyperventilate, despite all attempts to look chill.
Silence pervaded. They stared into the coffin truly perplexed. It was empty.
Forensic Officer Braxton’s face transformed to alabaster. He traced his finger along the lid of the coffin, eyes growing wider by the second. He took a cotton swab to the lace that lined the bottom and came away with blood.
“The lid was pried loose by the toe of a male’s size 10 shoe driven into it. There are scratches that have traces of fingernail in the lid. The blood on the lace dripped from one of the gashes in the coffin’s ceiling. It’s 48 hours old tops.”
The Police Chief pushed his way forward.
“What the heck are you suggesting, Braxton?”
Braxton swallowed and looked apologetically at Renee and Alex.
“This coffin, sir, was broken open from the inside.” Braxton’s lips had turned blue.
“Sir, that’s a load of bull. The coroner’s report for Nicolas Avalon just pulled up in the computer. The kid got iced in a hit and run 7 months ago.” An officer spat, thoroughly disgusted.
“Want proof, Rogers? Get me DNA samples!” Braxton’s menacing eyes flashed. His ferocity told them that this was not a joke or even incompetence.
They slipped the droplet into a card and plugged it into the computer. Behold! A faded black and white photo of Nicolas appeared on the computer screen.
“My God!” The Police Chief’s knees began to knock together.
Rogers blanched.
“So, this means…” She wrapped her mouth in a shaking palm.
“Nicolas Avalon broke out of his tomb not more than 48 hours ago.” Braxton finished for her.
“Impossible!” said Officer Dawes.
“Look around you! What else do you need, a neon sign?! Lazarus has come forth, ladies and gentlemen. How and why? That’s what we got to figure out. Everybody head back to the station. Double time.” Chief Riggs snapped his fingers, herding the spectators away from the scene.
Chapter 1
The emerald 69’ Mustang Mach 1 rolled into Durango down main-street. It was headed for Santa Bianca’s Children’s Home right outside the city limits.
The Colorado dust swamped the sky. Like this were their Damascus road, the officers were blinded by the dust grit and were deafened by the roar of her engine.
She flounced out of the cab. Her pumps dug into the dust. The tails of her leather trench coat caught in the winter’s gale and blew up to reveal her tie-dye skinny jeans. John Lennon-style shades veiled her eyes.
Marilyn Avalon studied the lot of them, hands folded behind her back like a drill sergeant. They all waited for her to say ‘at ease’, but she never uttered the command. With a toss of her pinned-up dirt blonde hair, she did an about-face, headed for the porch.
“Is Renee Vierra where I can speak with her?” she asked the depressed blonde who leaned over the rails, a bottle of Coca-Cola pressed to her lips.
The blonde looked up and squared her jaw.
“You’re looking at her
?”
“Hello, Ms. Vierra. We spoke on the phone?” Marilyn smiled.
“Right. You’re the missing person’s private detective Dr. Swift was talking about.” Renee nodded, relieved to see her.
“Heard you’ve got a kid on the loose?”
“Ha! Yeah, that’s an understatement. Nicky’s a good kid, never hurt a fly, but he’s always been a bit of a handful. Likes to slip out the backdoor and hustle pool after curfew. Never thought I’d see the day when he’d break out of his own…His own umm…Well, his grave, ma’am.”
Avalon wondered if this might be a bad lip read.
“His grave?”
Renee laughed.
“No, you heard right. Thought it’d be easier to break that part to you in person. Nicky…He got killed about 7 months ago walking home from school. It was a hit and run. Police were calling it a vehicular homicide.” She shrugged and took a shaky breath.
“Going on 72 hours ago, he…The forensics seem to think he…uhh…Broke out. Like out of his coffin and the mausoleum we had him entombed in.”
Marilyn plucked her shades from her face, jaw dropped.
“You mean, like your garden variety Lazarus?”
“I had a hard time with it too, trust me. Losing him-Well, all of these kids are like my own, you know? You get attached to them. None more than Nicky. Honestly, I was in no frame of mind to hire you. No offense. But it’s gospel. The pediatrician that looks after all my wards recommended you.”
As if summoned, a tall, slender ginger appeared on the porch hands clasped in front of him, teeth set on edge.
“A word, Renee?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“It’s just, I’m worried about Alex. Think he might be bordering on catatonic. I’d like to have him committed until this all blows over.” The pediatrician smiled, knowing what he was saying sounded horrible.
“Oh God, no! He’ll kill me if I put him in the Psych Ward!” Renee gulped like she was trying to swallow a Globe.
“There’s no shame in it. Only for a few days?”
“Dr. Swift, I appreciate your concern. It’s just…I need my boy to be with me, okay?”
Swift held up a hand in mock surrender, a placid smile spread across his face.
“Understood. But he’s bad off. I’d go so far as to say cracked, at least ‘til further notice. Rest him up, understand? Oh, and if Nicolas shows around sooner than later, ease Alex into it, alright?”
“You got it!” Renee broke out in nervous giggles.
“Odd this. I’d bet my Grandad’s last dollar this is probably Lazarus Syndrome. Almost unheard of, and certainly never heard of after this long. Still is the only explanation I can figure.” Dr. Swift clutched his chin, eyes far off with trouble.
“Lazarus syndrome?” said Marilyn. She wondered if there was a medical term for ‘everything and the kitchen sink’.
The Doctor’s eyes lit up with ecstasy.
“Oh, hello, you must be Detective Avalon! I’ve always wanted to meet you. Huge fan of your blog!” He rushed to her and shook both her hands.
“Ah, well thanks. I wondered who those 3 readers were.”
They all laughed. Dr. Swift shrugged.
“I might be one of few, but I’m a devoted minority, Detective.”
“Please. Call me Marilyn.”
“Marilyn, then.” Swift was blushing. Marilyn found it to be adorable.
“You must be the patron saint of Durango? Except with that accent, I’d say you’re from West London.” Marilyn winked.
“Highest marks! But God no! I’m merely the doctor for the kids here. Lucas Swift. It’s truly an honor, Detective. I mean, Marilyn.”
She laughed and shook her head.
“What’s Lazarus Syndrome, Doctor?”
“Well, simply put, it’s when an inanimate person becomes vital on their own after all attempts at reviving them have been stopped. It usually only occurs in subjects that have been clinically dead for a few minutes. There have been a few cases of it happening days after the death, though. Still, it’s never been recorded as happening half a year after the subject expired. Long shot, I know. It’s my best guess either way.”
“Your guess is as good as mine here. I rest my case.” Marilyn hung her head in a mock pout.
“Not so fast. My boy’s out there traipsing through Wild Country. You’re the best bloodhound we’ve got on the job. Don’t let me down.” Renee smiled, happy for the first time in months. She motioned for Marilyn to follow her and lead her into the house.
* * *
In the center of the novel farmhouse, Chief Riggs sat in front of a squirming teenage girl. She popped gum loudly and rolled her smoky mascara-caked eyes.
“Look! I don’t know anything! That nerd died like ages ago. No one cares where he’s spooked off to!” She whined, drumming her fingers against her thighs.
“Well, I’d start caring if I were you, little miss. Because I’ve got to find him and I need your full co-operation.” Chief Riggs was rubbing his eyelids in exhaustion.
“Why don’t you ask his bestie?” She tossed her head with a snarky snicker and blew a bubble that burst obnoxiously.
“Wait, I forgot. That nerd’s not talking period. My bad!” She covered her pursed lips with her palm.
“Listen real careful like, doll face. I’d love to let you sit time out in the county jail until mold started growing off the bottom of your lips, but even I admit that’s a bit extreme. It’s really a simple question and when you’ve answered it you can go back to spray netting your freaky hair. Did you or did you not know Nicolas Avalon?”
Marilyn stopped in the hallway. She made a mental note that the missing boy had the same surname as she did. Good, it would be easy to remember.
“Sally! Straighten up for the Chief or you’re on bovine enema duty for the next 5 months!” Renee snapped her fingers.
“Oh God! Yes, officer. Yes, I totally knew Nick. Heck, everybody did. He’s…Uh, he was, like the valedictorian of our class up until the day he got made into roadkill.” Sally threw her hands up in surrender.
“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. I’m taking that means you knew about some of his hang out places. For starters, where do you think he’d go after freshly busting out of his tomb? Where does Nicky Avalon go to kick it when he’s cold, hungry, and casket sharp? “ Chief Riggs leaned over his knees in renewed interest.
“Like I’d know? Seriously, you should ask Alex.”
“Where’s Alex, then? I’ll ask him.” Marilyn stepped forward.
“Huh. Good luck. He’s turned into a robot.” Sally rolled her eyes.
“Just tell me where he is?” Marilyn folded her arms.
“Ah, so you’re the private investigator, eh? The Calvary has arrived and praise the Lord. Kudos to you if you can get the kid to speak. He’s upstairs, facing Mecca.” The Chief indicated with his head.
Marilyn took to the creaky staircase. The shadows fell long across the upstairs rooms, reflecting the sadness that had come to the foster home. Although she hadn’t known him, Marilyn could feel Nicolas’ absence. Apparently, in their own way, so did everyone. The kids smiled shyly at her as she passed down the lengthy hallway that ran between the east and west wings of the house.
“Hey. Alex’s room?” Marilyn stopped a tall boy in a football jersey.
“Which Alex, ma’am? There’s like 3?”
Marilyn swallowed.
“Nicolas Avalon’s friend?”
The boy’s eyes lit up.
“Prescott…Okay, yeah, you must be the sleuth chick Papa Vierra said was coming. Well, Alex can’t come to the phone right now. He’s…uh…wasted. Been staring out the east wing window for 12 hours, no joke. Just staring, stoned. Seeing Nicky’s box…He’s messed up.”
Marilyn felt the weight of this situation drive home. She nodded, shaking off the dust from the yard and the chill of dread that ran up her spine.
“All the same. Whatever freaky thing is aligning u
p in Space made this happen beats me. Nicky’s clearly not resting in peace. I need Alex to help me put a ghost to bed.”
The boy shrugged.
“Cool, I guess. I’ll take you to him.”
Of all the rooms in the dim farmhouse, Alex Prescott’s was the darkest. He sat with the shadows draped around him like fabric, forehead pressed against the frosted glass of the massive window beside his bed.
“Yo, Prescott! The sleuth chick’s here. Wants to talk to you!”
Alex didn’t move.
“Yeah, see, I told you. Hey, if you need something later, I’m Brandon.” The boy shrugged and left Marilyn alone in the dusky room.
“Hey, Alex.” She stepped closer, making a floorboard squeak.
To her surprise, Alex finally did look up. She stood transfixed. His fine-boned face was pinched like it would shatter into a thousand shards of porcelain. He clenched his teeth and his purple lips quivered spasmodically. His emerald eyes glowered with bloodshot veins. The spiked-bangs hairstyle he was sporting couldn’t hide the patches he ripped out of his scalp. These oozed blood like scarlet sideburns down the edges of his face. He had one of his fists pressed to the window pane. The knuckles were bloody. He’d chewed them to the bone.
A mess? What a severe understatement! Alex Prescott looked like Nagasaki after the bomb.
Marilyn held her breath. She went and embraced him out of instinct. He flinched but didn’t resist her.
She eased up off of him and took his face in her hands.
“We can get him back.” She peered down into his eyes, breath bated.
Trembling, he eased himself up tall and plucked his iPhone from his jeans’ pocket.
“He texted me.” Alex closed his eyes, hoarse and dizzy.
Marilyn took the phone, in shaking fingers. Silently she read:
“Alex, it’s Nick. New phone. It’s freaky, man. I blacked out and now I can’t remember much of what happened. Seriously, though, watch your back. There are people following me. I think I’m in trouble. Which if I’m in trouble, then you probably are too. Creeps usually go after family and friends, right? I’m going to head for ‘Castle Coyote’ from when we were kids. I’m not saying that you should come after me. I just wanted you to know that I’m okay. You’re probably freaked! Dude, I’m sorry.”