Dead Man Running (Raised Book 1)

by Stevenson, Sharon

  “Balls! You’re an A.I.”

  He didn’t bother confirming it for me. I wondered how much she’d miss him if I got rid. She’d never have to know. Sometimes they go faulty and run off. Aye, that was it.

  “Come here, you,” I groped about in the drawer until I had the squawky little twit firmly in my grasp. He flapped about and pecked at me with his sharp beak. It didn’t hurt enough to make me drop him. My evil plan formed and I got up, heading across the hall to the bathroom.

  “Miss Chase!” He roared at the top of his metal lungs. “Miss Chase! I’m being man-handled by a dead thing!”

  “Shut it, you.” I stood with him over the toilet pan. “Say goodnight, little birdy.”

  “Oh, dear lord, he’s going to flush me! Whatever will I do?”

  I took one look at his cutesy owl face and I knew I couldn’t do it. Damn it. I looked at him.

  “Right, here’s the deal. You don’t tell Kit I was in her room, and I don’t come back and flush you down the toilet when you least expect it.”

  He gasped at me. “A woman’s honour…”

  “Don’t give me that old timey crap. Yes or no?”

  “Oh dear.”

  For one horrifying second I actually thought he was going to tell me to flush him. For some stupid reason I didn’t want to do that.

  “I must continue to defend Miss Chase against your kind. Kindly deposit me back in my sliding house. I will speak not of you. You have my word.”

  Thank god! I smiled and patted his head. “Good little birdy.”

  “My name is William, actually.”

  “All right then, William.” I put him back in his drawer. He rattled about in there for a bit but the drawer stayed closed. I raked about some more. Probably a dumb idea if there were any more weird surprises to be had. It turned out there weren’t any more A.I.’s, at least. I did find a battery-operated friend in a drawer full of lacy pants; it was simultaneously scarier than William and not threatening in the slightest. I shut the drawer quickly. She had a lot of drawers full of photos; landscapes that were boring, friends at parties that were slightly less boring, and a crap-load of Mickey, particularly Mickey when he was blitzed in the bar.

  She was treading dangerously into stalker territory. I shivered and opened her wardrobe. Half the massive space was taken up by clothes, the other half was crammed full of horror movies. Yeah, that wasn’t good. She was some kind of horror freak, and she was obsessed with my little cousin. I’d need to warn him before I took off. I’d hate to think he could end up worse off than me because of another psychotic woman.

  It was still doing my head in that Angie had actually been in my flat, had actually had a key to my flat. Shivering, I shut the cupboard and left Kit’s room. The bar wouldn’t shut ‘til midnight, and she wasn’t busy enough to hire extra staff so I was safe enough until then. If William decided to squeal, I at least had some time to come up with a good defence.

  Eleven - Pete

  I sat up straight on the couch. The book had actually come up with something I could use. I was capable of talking to spirits; this I already knew. I was capable of commanding those spirits; this I also knew and had demonstrated fantastically when I got Angie to piss off with a few choice words. The part I hadn’t known was that I could ‘call on’ said spirits.

  “Angela Hawthorne,” I called out and waited. I wasn’t sure it would work without her middle name but I’d pictured her when I said it, and there was only a small chance it wasn’t her real name. I folded my arms and waited and she appeared right in front of me. It was the right Angela, and she looked just as pissed as she had when I’d sent her away.

  “Angie, how nice of you to come.”

  “What? Where the hell are we?” She tried to slap me and her hand went right through.

  “Forgetting you’re not alive?”

  She scowled and crossed her arms. “The hell do you want from me?”

  “I want you to tell me what you were doing in my flat yesterday.”

  “Getting laid by a guy who didn’t know what he was doing.” She stared me down.

  The dig meant less than nothing to me. “I meant before that. Before I was home.”

  She didn’t look shocked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tell me,” I said, making it a demand.

  “I wasn’t in your flat, idiot. What the hell are you talking about?” She looked completely confused.

  “You really weren’t there?” If she was lying she was putting on a decent act.

  She shook her head. “Of course not. What the hell is this about?”

  Damn it. Why couldn’t things ever be simple? “You’re lying. Tell me where you were yesterday.”

  “Shopping, you stupid arsehole. Not that it’s any of your business!” She stomped her foot. Without the noise, it lost its intended effect. I sighed to myself. She apparently couldn’t lie to me under my command like this, so either Nick had been mistaken or he’d lied to Mickey. Was it possible she wasn’t behind my reanimation? I had trouble telling myself she might not be the conniving bitch I’d thought she was. She’d still stabbed me too many times to count. I could still see her standing over me with death in her eyes.

  “Fuck off then.” She disappeared and I tried to sort things into order. If Angie had been used, it meant someone had planned on killing me. My death hadn’t been the horrifying victim of brutal circumstance it had appeared to be. I was dead because someone had wanted me that way.

  I tried to think who might have it in for me that bad and all I could think about was the smirk Kit had tried to hide at breakfast. The stacks of horror comics and films in her room were creepy enough without the added suspicion that she might have had something to do with my murder. Did she really hate me that bad? Truth be told I didn’t know her well enough to tell.

  She wasn’t a User though, so that would mean more than one person was in on it. I didn’t want to spend the entire day groaning, but it was starting to look like it might be on the cards anyway.

  I went to the fridge, looked inside, and closed it again. There was a chocolate gateau on the middle shelf, looking tasty. I wished I hadn’t looked. Oh, I’d already known it was there. Going for my sugary mouthwash earlier had shown me it. I opened the door, reached in and ran my finger over the icing: chocolate buttercream. It tasted amazing, but I didn’t forget my ‘no swallowing’ rule. I used the Pepsi to rinse my mouth out again and went back into the living room.

  Okay, so someone killed me on purpose. Forget for a second who did it. Why did they do it? Simplest theory first; they want to use me for something. God knows what, but it could mean the Royal Guard doesn’t own me. I can’t help thinking that’s a good thing, even though I don’t know who the hell owns me instead. Owns me, hell, I can’t believe someone ‘owns’ me. They don’t yet. And I want to keep it that way. I’m going to keep it that way.

  Twelve - Pete

  Mickey steadfastly refused to come over to protect me from his potentially psychotic friend. I gave up sometime around quarter to twelve, debating whether to hole up in the guest room and hope for the best or confront Kit. I wasn’t sure. She had to be a good liar to have kept her secret evil side hidden so well for so long. My dithering made my mind up for me when she came into the hallway and caught me pacing. She raised an eyebrow as she locked the door.

  “Restless?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Okay then.” She was headed for her room. I jumped in front of her and she drew me a threatening look. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Talk to me,” I tried, smiling like a creep.

  “What the hell for?” She wasn’t falling for friendly. I don’t know why I’d thought she would.

  “You knew I couldn’t eat anything. What else do you know?”

  She sighed. “Read the damn manual, lazy.”

  “I’ve read it, now,” I lied. I’d barely finished the third chapter.

  That saucy litt
le smirk from earlier made a reappearance. “Okay then.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  She was starting to really piss me off.

  “You think?” Oh, she was really starting to piss me off. “Get out of my way before I smash your stupid face into the ground.”

  “Does Mickey know you’re such a bitch?” I went straight for her weak spot. The pained expression she wore might have made me regret it, if I hadn’t started thinking of her as a potential killer.

  “I’m going to ignore that and forget how much of a complete idiot you are because Mickey needs you safe. Go to bed, Pete. Now.”

  “I know what you’ve done,” I tried. She shook her head at me wearily.

  “What? Is it time for one of your fat jokes? Well, I’m not fat so you can stuff it up your useless dead arsehole.” She reached past me and pushed her bedroom door open. I got out of her way. She threw me one last nasty look. “It doesn’t matter how fast you run, Pete. They’ll catch you.”

  She slammed the door in my face. I was left standing there, the smell of her vanilla perfume thick in the air and the look she’d given me staying with me and making me shiver.

  Thirteen - Pete

  Suffice it to say I didn’t sleep. I stayed in the hall for a while listening out for tweety-pie’s inevitable gut spill. She opened the drawer. I tensed. William gave the same greeting he’d given me earlier when he’d thought I was her. Kit gave him the name of a folk song, and he started singing. It wasn’t even half as loud as the screaming he’d been doing when I was walking him to the toilet pan. If I’d still been alive, I wouldn’t even have heard it.

  The light went off after he got a mini round of applause. I went for a lie down after that. The next eight hours or so were uneventful. By the time Mickey came around, I was bouncing off the walls.

  Kit was showered and dressed long before then. I wondered idly why I hadn’t noticed her perfume before and realised the answer lay with my newly heightened senses. She smelled like fresh baked cookies; sugary sweet and detrimental to my health, aye that sounded about right.

  She let Mickey in with a smile and bright little “Hey!”

  “Hey. I got the stuff,” he said, raising a plastic bag. I leaned out the guest bedroom doorway, arms folded. I felt like I probably needed a shower, but oddly enough I didn’t smell. I put it down to not sweating. It was probably more complicated than that, but I couldn’t be bothered flipping through the manual to find out.

  “Great,” I said, not feeling as sure as I’d have liked.

  He tossed something at me. I grabbed the little tin in one hand. Boot polish. Ha ha.

  “That felt like a racist joke,” I told him, throwing it back.

  He grinned and handed me the bag. “I’ve got it on good authority this is the shit.”

  “O-kay,” I said, opening it. The bottles of women’s foundation in deep brown shades made me cringe. “I’ll take the boot polish.”

  “Kit, I’m kind of hoping you’ll help with this part,” he confessed, giving her a sheepish grin she ate right up. “Since I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

  She took the bag and nodded to the kitchen. “I’ll get a mirror. Go sit down.”

  She left us to it. I grabbed Mickey’s arm. “She hates my guts.”

  “I think you already told me that.” He grabbed his arm back and made for the kitchen.

  “When were you ever up here, anyway?” It seemed weird that a guy so freaked out by women would be so familiar with a female friend’s flat. Finding out that friendship wasn’t totally one-sided was coming as something of a shock.

  “Where do you think I go when I’m not at your place?”

  He did seem to have an aversion to spending time in his own home, though I couldn’t really blame him since he still officially lived with my mum. The woman was a chore. It did bring up another question I couldn’t wait to ask though.

  “Are you…”

  “Fuck right off,” he snapped at my tone. He didn’t need to hear the rest of my prying question. Touchy subject, apparently. I backed off as Kit entered the room, bag in one hand, mirror in the other. She glanced at us. I smiled. She scowled back, saving her smile for my touchy cousin.

  “Right, time to make someone pretty,” she said, pushing me into a seat and scrutinising my face.

  “I’m pretty enough. Black me up already.”

  She looked at Mickey. “What about the eyes?”

  “What about them?” They were close enough, I thought. If I went at night, there was no way they’d notice any difference.

  “They’re blue right now. His are brown.”

  “They’re dark. That’s enough.”

  “Not if the light hits them,” she insisted, putting everything down on the table.

  “So I won’t look up.”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  Mickey snickered. I flipped him off. Kit rattled the bottles around, picking them out and holding them up to Mickey’s face.

  “That one!” I chimed in with my two pence.

  She shook her head. “Your skin’s already dark. I need something a little lighter than Mickey’s colour to start with. I’m not sure how well this is going to cover your smurfy skin.”

  “Smurfy?” I took genuine insult with that one. She smirked and started slapping the stuff onto my face with some kind of tiny sponge.

  “Close your eyes, Smurfette.”

  I glowered at her. She moved the sponge threateningly towards my eyes. I closed them tightly but grudgingly, folding my arms and leaning back. She proceeded to plaster my face, including my eyelids.

  “Hmm,” Mickey said. “Is it meant to be turning that shade of green?”

  “I think we need to go darker,” Kit said, still slapping at my face with the wet sponge.

  “What does it…”

  “Shut your mouth, ejit,” she told me, tutting at my stupidity. I stuck my tongue out and quickly made gagging noises. The make-up tasted like rotten veggies.

  “Bleh, get it out my mouth,” I mumbled until she sighed heavily and wiped at my tongue with something less wet than the sponge.

  “Better? Keep everything closed ‘til we’re done.”

  Mickey snorted. “Idiot.”

  I growled at him for lack of an open mouth.

  “Don’t tense your lips. I need to get this stuff on them too.”

  And so I sat there in silence while they made jokes and covered my face in weird wet goop that smelled funny.

  “Contact lenses,” Kit said, assaulting my right ear with the sponge. “That’s what you need. They do them in that joke shop down the road.”

  I wasn’t doing that. She could get stuffed, and I’d tell her so as soon as I was allowed to open my mouth again.

  “I’ll go and get them,” Mickey said. I didn’t get the chance to scream no. He was clattering away and slamming the door behind him in no time.

  “Right, nearly done,” she told me, “I just need to wipe your eyelashes and…”

  She was surprisingly gentle about it after all the careless slapping with the sponge. I breathed in to get a nice whiff of her sugary perfume. It was almost like eating. I could imagine warm cookies with gooey chocolate chips melting in my mouth. A moan escaped me before I even realised it was on its way. She stopped what she was doing quickly, backing off and taking the awesome smell with her.

  “Shit, did I poke your eye?”

  “Can I open them yet?” I wasn’t admitting to liking her perfume.

  “Yeah, you should be fine.”

  My right eyelash felt stuck but only a little and a few quick blinks cured that. She stared at me. I didn’t know what that weird look was about until I checked the mirror.

  “Hello, Mickey,” I said with a grin. The make-up was darker, I thought. It might not fool our nearest and dearest, but strangers looking at an old photo wouldn’t know the difference.

  “What about your hair?”

  “What about it?” I narrowed my eye
s at her. She shrugged and put a wad of make-up smeared tissues down on the table. So, he was more a gage 2 kind of guy and I had curtains. Big freaking deal. I wasn’t cutting my hair for anything.

  “It’s not like the photo,” she eventually told me, shooting glances at me as she cleared up the mess on the table.

  “It’s the same colour. It’s not like I’m facing the fashion police.”

  “Okay,” she said, going a little red about the face.

  “You fancy me now, don’t you?” I couldn’t help it. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. I knew we had the same smile, so I gave her it as I stood up.

  “Like I fancy catching the plague,” she told me, snatching her mirror back and giving me a direct look that concealed her embarrassment pretty well, but not quite well enough for my enhanced eyes. Her left eyelid had developed a nervous tick. Aside from that, she still looked flushed enough to have just been out for a jog.

  I cleared my throat and put on a deeper voice. “Come on baby, come to Mickey…”

  “You’re disgusting.” She gasped at my disgustingness.

  I snickered at her obvious desire. I would have called it even, but I doubted she’d agree. “I thought it was a pretty good impression.”

  “In what way? When has he ever said anything like that?”

  “You’d like him to though,” I told her, opening her fridge and taking a peek.

  “That would be none of your…”

  “Aye, okay then. What’s for lunch?”

  “You’re not wasting any more of my food,” she told me, pushing the door shut.

  “You ate that whole cake?” It was gone; a big box-sized empty space where it had been.

  “I threw it out. You licked it or something.”

  “I only fingered it,” I threw her accusations back in her face. “Why does that make it bucket food?”

  She looked at me like I was the biggest moron on the planet. “You’re dead, Petie. Dead things carry disease.”