The Death Series, Books 1-3: Death Whispers, Death Speaks and Death Inception (The Death Series, Volume 1)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “I mean,” I was frustrated here, dad was taking stills in the background and it was distracting. I gave him a look, he stopped.

  “What did you hear?” I asked her.

  “Your summons, dear boy, your summons.”

  Oh. “You heard me calling you?”

  “Yes, your voice telling me to come to you. You did call me to you. For your bidding.”

  Wow, this was definitely big-time-in-my-pants-creeper status, she looked at me raptly, waiting for some command. No wonder Parker was in trouble. If he had anything close to this, he would be like a king amongst robots. Not a cool thought. I was starting to understand why Dad had been so fast to get me hooked up with the happy med. The, we're-gonna-hide-what-you-can-do pill.

  “Ah, no. I don't have a job. I just have some questions. Actually, I'm worried I can't control this so my dad thought it would be good if we came here and practiced.”

  Saying it out loud made it sound super dumb. Don't worry Gran, just a little corpse-raising and then we'll tuck ya back in your grave-bed and be on our way. Geez. Practice makes perfect.

  She looked puzzled. “You're just practicing this gift? With me?”

  I gulped and I heard a dull click, my throat dry as a desert. “Yeah, that's about it.” I would have killed puppies for a glass of water about now.

  She finally took the time to turn around and look at my parents. She stood there, with her hips facing me and her torso almost fully turned to them, reluctant to turn away from me and fully face them. I heard disgusting sounds when she turned and realized it was her spine, wetly cracking.

  Mom's face was flaming when Gran looked at her. But my dad just stared back. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn't swayed by emotion. As he would say, the nuts and bolts of preparing me was the critical thing. He knew what Gran was, Mom didn't. That was the difference. Mom still thought of Gran as Gran. But she wasn't anymore, she was Gran but she was other too.

  “Gran.”

  She turned from my parents without a backwards glance or a word. Mom looked at Dad and he shrugged.

  Gran looked at me, waiting.

  “Who are those people behind you?”

  “My granddaughter and her husband,” she said, just restating the facts. Pretty clinical for a corpse.

  “Do you want to talk to them?” I asked.

  “Do you wish for me to?” she asked, her eyeballs, which had not filled in all the way, (better not to think on that too long), rolled around in the eye sockets with a little too much room.

  “No. I wish for us to discuss things.” Copying her words.

  She relaxed. As if a corpse could relax.

  “I am here to serve you.”

  I gave Dad a panicked look.

  Okay. I needed to get a grip, figure out some stuff and put great-grandma back in the ground.

  “Is there anything you need?” I asked.

  “Yes, it would give me great peace if you would tell my son, if he lives, that I am sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “He will know. Will you?”

  Mom nodded her head. “Yes, I will.”

  She turned, inclining her head. ”Thank you.”

  “What am I here to do? I mean, what good can I do? How can I help people?”

  “Only you know those answers, Caleb. Doing that one errand of mercy for me will be something of worth, to be sure.”

  She talked funny!

  “Some of us can tell you a portent of your future.”

  That was news. I heard mom gasp her surprise in the background but Gran remained focused. My eyes met dad's and he just nodded again.

  I was thinking fast. Portent... a forewarning.

  “Do you wish to know what role you have in this life?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes rolled up in her head, her hands lifted above it, reaching for the sky. Thunder clapped and I jumped. Fat drops of rain splattered on our skin while Gran, her gray skin looking like paper stretched tight like a drum over bones, swayed in place, hearing a rhythm that only she could.

  The rain was getting its teeth in it, starting to come down in earnest. Gran's head snapped down and she stared into my eyes, a strange light illuminating hers. All movement stopped and she pointed a finger at me.

  “You will need protection. Surround yourself with your own kind and others who have skills that are unusual but more common now. Do not be deceived by people that would use you for evil. There is a young girl, with a name of stone, who will be your greatest ally. You must protect her, she will be your salvation.”

  With that, Gran sank down to her knees and looked up at me. A great toll had been taken for this fortune telling thing. Great hollows had begun to cave in her face. I realized that all this being alive again took energy. I could feel that power in me right now, very low, like a spent tank of gas. Did I have enough to put her back? My energy faltered.

  She gave me a small smile. Kinda wish she hadn't done that, there were about three teeth in a mouth that was black with decay and a bit of tongue.

  I smiled back anyway, brave-much.

  “You can put me away, I need to rest now.” She spared a glance for my parents, her eyes resting briefly on my mom.

  She looked at me. “Tell Alicia what is different. Only you matter in this time, this world.”

  “I understand.” And I did. I wasn't comfortable with it, but it didn't matter. It was what it was.

  My parents came over and stood on either side of me.

  I didn't look at them. But said, mainly to Dad, “I'm really tired.”

  “What can I do, Caleb?”

  “I gotta put her back.” Gran stared up at me, her gaze unwavering. No pressure... damn. Out of nowhere, I heard voices behind us. What in the Sam Hill?

  Witnesses.

  Dad turned and put his body directly in front of Gran, who being on the ground, prone, could still be seen. Mom flanked Dad and I was in the middle, behind them.

  I turned around and gave Gran the index finger over my lips, the universal sign for quiet. This couldn't get any weirder.

  She understood, I could hear it.

  There were three kids from school. The middle girl I knew, there was something about her. My power flared, recognizing hers.

  She was like me.

  Her eyes widened and she said to her friends, “Let's get out of here.”

  My parents relaxed.

  I came around Mom's side and said, “No!”

  What was her stupid name? We had just been talking about other kids that had AFTD. Let me think... Tiffany-something!

  “Tiffany, no... stop. Help me do this,” I said.

  She stiffened, slowly turning. My first thought was, wow, she could be pretty. She stood there with a purple hoodie, brown hair peeking out from the hood, which half covered her face, just a sliver showing. She had dark eyes, color unknown. I spared the briefest of glances at the other kids, dismissing them, their faces familiar. But right now, blowing any cover in the whole world, I was going to ask for help. I knew I didn't have the energy to put Gran back, not for certain. I was pretty sure I didn't need blood, or something catastrophic to make it work. I needed energy, death-energy.

  “What?” kinda pissed.

  “I have AFTD, like you.”

  “Ya think?” sullen.

  So she loved it as much as me, fine. Like we had a choice? Not for the first time I wondered if the adults that made the drugs, unlocking our paranormal potentials were really that smart.

  She glanced at her friends, a guy and girl. They were taking turns looking nervously between my parents and me.

  The boy looked at Tiffany. “I thought you said there wouldn't be any other people?”

  She gave him, what I considered to be, one of the best girl eye-rolls ever. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms across a barrel chest.

  She jerked her head to the left and said, “This is my brother, Bry.” Oh, that explains the dynamic between those two.

  Back to the mess.


  “Listen, I kinda raised my great-Gran,” I began.

  “What-the-hell?” she all but screamed.

  Mom humphed in the background, unappreciative of the colorful wording.

  We ignored that.

  “No... no, I can't help with anything that big,” she said.

  A voice that sounded like gravel crunching under tires said, “Yes, you can, seer.”

  The corpse speaks. Brother.

  “What is that?” Tiffany asked.

  “That's Gran.”

  Mom and Dad had moved away from me, revealing Gran. She looked worse for wear but not bad for a corpse who had accomplished a bit of precognitive forecasting.

  “That,” she pointed without an ounce of reverence, “is not your great-Grandma, “it's an it.”

  I casually turned around to see Gran. Yeah, I guess she wasn't really Gran anymore.

  Gran stared back at Tiffany.

  “Hey,” Mom piped in without a hesitation, “that's my Gran you're dismissing you brat.” Nice. Mom had regressed to name calling, a first.

  “Mom, I got this.”

  Dad gave Mom a look, let him handle this.

  She huffed her displeasure, crossing her arms, silently stewing.

  “Yeah, she's not really Gran anymore, but she still has to go back.”

  “You're the smart one that raised her. You put her back.” Tiffany crossed her arms, so unhelpful.

  The sun broke through the clouds, a light drizzle continued to fall making the whole scene glow with an eerie luminescence. Gran came forward in an awkward shuffle.

  “You will do as this one says. He is a ruler amongst your kind.”

  That partial tongue does odd crap to speech.

  Tiffany was staring at Gran in the strangest way. I didn't have enough juice to force her help. In fact, I didn't think I could make her do anything, not with that humongous brother standing there and a girl (another body with a pulse to deal with), helping in the fracas if things got ugly. I didn't want to fight her but things were gonna go bad if I didn't get Gran back.

  I could feel it.

  “Make me. I'm not gonna help out. I wanna get out of here. Period. End of discussion.”

  Gran looked at me, her rotting face inches from mine. The smell was gag-worthy but having been in the boys' locker room, I could take it.

  “What is your will, boy?” Gran asked, solemn.

  “I want you to be put back to rest,” I said.

  Later, I wish I'd realized what that request meant, because I would have handled it differently.

  Zombies were terribly literal.

  Gran stepped toward Tiffany, all shuffling determination.

  Oh crap.

  Mom turned to Dad and said, “Kyle?” What's happening?

  Dad surged forward and Gran turned, very smoothly for a zombie. Geez, and put the flat of her palm on his chest and shoved for all she was worth.

  Quite a lot, apparently.

  One of Dad's slip-on shoes flew off and smacked Gran's tombstone with an audible thud while he traveled, airborne, landing with a resounding smack on the grass.

  The three kids looked at Dad, as he made the arc, then landing, he conked out, legs splayed in front of him.

  Mom screamed his name, rushing over and crouched down beside him. While Mom was panicking, Gran was going for the gold. She had wrapped her hand in Tiffany's hair, hood completely gone, using her fist twined in her hair like a handle, dragging her over to where I was.

  As I stood mesmerized by the scene, Bry leaped on Gran's back. She reached behind with her free hand, the other hand busy in Tiffany's hair, and plucked him off like a worrisome gnat, throwing him in the direction she had shoved Dad. He promptly landed on his ass, his mouth closing with a snap. Blood spewed from his mouth. That was the first clue he'd bitten some of his tongue off. Oh boy, I thought wildly, he can loan that to Gran.

  No longer frozen in panic, I was moved to action and gave Gran a new command:

  “Let her go!” I yelled.

  Gran complied, instantly dropping Tiffany on her face with a dull crunch. Shit-in-a-sack, did she break her nose?

  Gran straightened and turned to me, hand hovering over the girl. Bry took his palms to the ground, blood spilling out of his mouth like a fountain said, “I thont are aut oo re.”

  Redoubling his efforts, since speech was so not working, he engaged in a frontal assault on Gran. Both of them tumbled to the ground. Rolling to a stop on another grave, Bry's hands circled Gran's neck and he began thumping her head into the ground, gray strips of hair flying back and forth.

  Her hand shot out and grabbed him in the balls as he straddled her. She tightened her grip and he yelped (sympathy grimace). Releasing his grip on her throat, she used that lull, holding his crotch in one hand, grabbing his neck with the other and heaved him--again.

  Dad came to, moaning, his head in Mom's lap. His eyes grew wide when he saw the two broken kids laying in separate heaps.

  From his prone position he asked, “Caleb, what's going on?”

  Looks like granny's getting her groove on, I thought. Hysteria pressed in on the edges of my consciousness.

  Tiffany was coming out of a near catatonic state. Flinching away from Gran's hand, which was back to hovering again, she held her nose with her left hand and glared up at me over the top of it.

  “You think you can help me now?” I asked with just a tiny bit of sarcasm.

  “Yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth, glancing covertly at her brother, who lay on the ground, observing everyone in various states of hurt. The other girl had long since run off. Probably straight to the police, I thought dismally.

  Wonderful.

  Gran hauled Tiffany to her feet none too gently, using her arm that was holding the nose, Tiffany gave a girl yelp. I almost felt sorry for her but this is where her lack of cooperation had taken us. I was ready for a little grave closure myself.

  Dad was rising shakily to his feet, not every day a person gets knocked out by a corpse, and making his cautious way toward us, Mom on his heels.

  Gran looked speculatively at him.

  I gave Dad the stay back look. He stared back at me, you got this, Caleb? I shrugged, I just didn't know but them getting the potatoes beat out of them by Gran wouldn't help.

  Tiffany glared down at my Gran. Yeah, down, Gran was small, not that size mattered. Bry was on his feet too. Holding his crotch that was probably throbbing like hell.

  Gran waited. Tiffany waited, eying each other warily.

  I did what I thought would work. I released what I had left. It wasn't much, little more than a drop of water in a glass. It found its mark and hit Tiffany running.

  Like knew like.

  Naked goosebumps began at her wrists, making their way up her arms, hoodie long-gone in the midst of the scuffle with Gran.

  Tiffany threw her head back, her mouth open, like catching snowflakes on our tongues when we were little.

  She said, “it feels good... it feels good, why didn't you tell me it would feel good?”

  “Because I didn't know,” I replied softly.

  Her head righted itself and she stepped away from Gran who kept a wary eye on Bry and my parents as they walked toward me. Tiffany's eyes were a deep, hazel green I noticed as she got closer. Not the brilliant shade that Jade had, but pretty in a mysterious way. Dried blood edged her nostrils delicately.

  She held her hand out, momentarily forgetting Gran was right there, shuffling behind her. I reached out to take it, having never touched another AFTD and two things happened at once; I felt an instant injection of juice and the whispering grew in volume. The voices and their distinct signatures...clearer.

  As if in slow motion, Tiffany turned to me, looking me in the eyes. “Is it always like this?”

  “What?”

  “The voices.”

  “For me... yeah.”

  Her eyes widened. “It's so loud.”

  “It's louder with us touching.” />
  “Oh.”

  We turned as one mind, one intent.

  Gran had shambled over to her grave, looking rattier by the moment. Somehow, she had super-zombie strength.

  My juice was okay now. I could feel Tiffany's energy or power, complementing mine.

  I looked into Gran's eyes, and for a moment, there was some spark or something, I didn't know what. Tiffany and I both noticed and reacted. It felt slimy and evil.

  She looked at me, scared.

  I looked back, a little shake to my voice, “Ready?”

  We both knew I wasn't asking.

  I let my power shift to Tiffany at the same time I squeezed her hand and it flowed between us and I thought, rest. A mental muscle flexed, the strength of my will chased the thread that connected me to Gran from when she gave up her place in the ground.

  Tiffany's hand convulsed around mine. “Oh.”

  It was so simple it was criminal. Speaking of which, I could hear sirens in the background. There was no explaining our way out of this mess.

  Gran gave one last heave of her chest, seeming to suck in real air for the last time, the breath rattling hollowly as it left her lungs, then she laid down on the grave. The dirt flowed over her, engulfing her body.

  Tiffany and I watched. When it was done, the grave was undisturbed, like it had never happened. But as Tiffany and I released each other's hand, that spark between us fading, we surveyed the bloodied people around us. We knew it had been real.

  The first police car arrived and Garcia stepped out, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

  Perfect.

  ****

  Garcia sauntered over, that wide smile stretched over his face.

  Tiffany stayed where she was, Bry walking over to stand beside her. I had to assume it had been Tiffany's snitch friend that had blabbed to the police. Sure enough, she exited Garcia's police car.

  With the hood covering her face I hadn't really noticed her that much, kinda busy with Gran-the-corpse and Tiffany's rather problematic older brother.

  She had weird-colored hair and that's how I'd remember her later when I filled the Js in. It was somewhere between dishwater blond and red. Mom would know the color right away. Her face was all tight and pinched. From the guilt I was betting, morbidly pleased.