Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense

by Fynn Perry

  A couple of seconds passed before it hit Jennifer that John was really back. What she had wanted more than anything, had actually happened.

  John’s father took less time to take in the information and thanked the doctor as Jennifer rushed to John’s side for their first embrace since the attack.

  “Oh my God, John. It’s really you, the whole you,” she gushed, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “How much do you remember?” she questioned.

  “It’s like I’ve got a jigsaw but I haven’t yet got all the pieces to fit. I’m really, really tired, Jen….” His voice, nearly a whisper, trailed off.

  “It will take some time––” She stopped talking when she noticed his eyes had closed. After waiting a moment, she realized he had fallen asleep. Jennifer sat marveling at John now, much in the same way she had done when she’d first seen him as a spirit.

  Looking away, she noticed that her father and Tom Logan were talking to a man in a dark suit outside the room. She got up from John’s bedside to join them. The man in the suit introduced himself as Special Agent Chapman. He explained how he had left instructions with the doctor to call him as soon as anyone matching descriptions of Jennifer and David showed up wanting to see John. When asked about the note that John had informed Jennifer that he had left for Chapman on his desk at the precinct, the FBI agent was adamant that no message had been left there. As a result, he knew nothing of the existence of the rental or that Jennifer and David had been staying there.

  It was hard to tell whether Chapman or John’s father was the more surprised to learn that the notorious assassin Shadow Dragon was locked in a safe room at the rental. Chapman was given the code to unlock the door and left immediately.

  Thirty-One

  Three days had passed, during which John had been transferred to a private room. Jennifer had spent nearly all of John’s ever-increasing waking hours there and supported him during his physiotherapy. They spent their time making small talk and connecting through simple, pleasurable, and humorous conversation. She reveled in his accounts of the softness of her lips after they kissed, his ability to breathe air again, and how even the taste of hospital food seemed exquisite to him. They got to know each other again, as boyfriend and girlfriend, on their own terms and not as dictated by crushing adversity, hardly believing how good it was to feel mortal electricity between them once again.

  The ceiling-mounted television in John’s room was kept switched on and tuned in to a news channel. But it wasn’t until the fourth day after he’d woken from the coma that he saw a breaking news story regarding the arrest of El Gordito. Jennifer reached for the remote control to turn up the sound.

  “News is breaking that Miguel Vargas, more commonly known as El Gordito, the notorious kingpin and head of the ’Mariposa’ drug distribution gang operating in New York, has been arrested along with 30 other individuals under an 11-count federal indictment for conspiracy to manufacture and distribute drugs. Our reporter, Clara Fisher, is on site outside a warehouse in Newstone, New Jersey, where El Gordito is alleged to have manufactured a new type of highly addictive narcotic.”

  The image changed from the broadcast studio to the top half of a woman, smartly dressed in a crisp white blouse––a perfect match to the black and white news channel logo on the microphone she was holding. The security hut and barrier in front of a large industrial-looking building stood behind her, together with a huge sign bearing the name ‘Supreme Logistics Fulfillment Center.’

  “That’s the place!” John enthused.

  “Shh!” Jennifer said, prodding him to keep quiet.

  “Beneath this ordinary-looking warehouse, the FBI discovered a high-tech drug manufacturing facility where strains of yeast, capable of yielding pure heroin and cocaine through a revolutionary new ‘brewing’ process, had been genetically engineered. To increase the effect of these two addictive and powerful narcotics, the cocaine and heroin were pressed together in pills, making the potent combination known to drug users as ‘speedballs,’ available in a convenient form for clubgoers as well as addicts. Given the purity of the ingredients, it is hardly surprising that the sales of pills known as ‘Spider’s Bite’ have overtaken all other illegal drugs.

  Since news of the closure of the facility, understood to be the only place of manufacture, went public, prices of the pills have rocketed. The scarcity of the drug has resulted in unprecedented outbreaks of violence to control the last remaining stocks and a flood of counterfeit pills on the streets. The fakes look almost identical, bearing the now-notorious red spider logo, but that’s where the similarity ends. These pills contain lower-quality ingredients and typically include other dangerous drugs like fentanyl and sometimes are cut with cement, plaster, or even rat poison. A growing number of fatalities has already been reported in connection with the counterfeit pills. But it is not just counterfeiters who have produced dangerous versions of the Spider’s Bite. The FBI discovered about half a ton of identical-looking pills in the basement of the building behind me. These pills contain brewed heroin of inferior quality––believed to be from an earlier experimental production run––together with PCP and a drug known as Tiroflen. Quite how many of the pills from this batch were put into circulation by Vargas is not known, but the FBI warn these pills are believed to produce very serious side effects.”

  “Christ! The Voids still get their blood as people fight over the last remaining pills!” John said.

  Jennifer shushed him as the picture switched back to the studio and a serious-faced female anchor in her thirties, with former prom queen looks.

  “The FBI has made a macabre discovery during their investigation into other businesses owned by Vargas, who is commonly nicknamed El Gordito. It has also been found that the drugs empire included an organ-harvesting operation, a crime that will result in further charges being made against the drug lord and staff at a private medical research facility located in the basement of Hargreave Merciful Hospital in Manhattan. In addition, we understand that there is an investigation underway at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in New York.”

  The cameras switched to the co-anchor, a mellow voiced man, about twenty years his co-host’s senior:

  “In an unexpected twist, the FBI found that El Gordito’s empire was not the only beneficiary of the millions of dollars from his drug and organ trafficking business. A large share of the proceeds went to Tactical Consulting, a private military contractor, wholly owned by an ex-special services soldier by the name of Gabriel Quinn. Details have not yet been released, but it is believed Quinn was arrested in connection with the murder of Detective Daniel Lazlo of the NYPD and shot by an unidentified sniper while in police custody. Detective Lazlo, who will be buried with full honors this Wednesday, had tirelessly attempted to bring El Gordito to justice for many years.”

  The camera switched back to the female anchor, who continued with other news. Jennifer muted the sound on the television.

  They said nothing for a few minutes before John broke the silence. “Something just doesn’t make sense. It’s been bothering me since I remembered it.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “What Nikki, the girl spirit, said.”

  The mention of the spirit’s name brought back their memories of The Game. They had no doubts it was still in play, sinister and far-reaching, continuing to cause atrocities and suffering. Despite its formidable complexity, they had managed, through a series of fortunate events, to manipulate its course and to defeat Santiago’s spirit. But now that they were both mortal, they were just as powerless and vulnerable to it shaping their futures as everyone else on the planet.

  “What did she say?” Jennifer asked.

  “She said ‘A star is born’ when Chapman learned that Lazlo had been shot. I think she meant he would be a star in The Game.”

  “Like Lazlo would be a new player to spread evil? How is that possible? He did everything he could to convict El Gordito!”

  “What if he only app
eared to be doing everything he could? Think about it—he was hardly effective. He almost botched every possible prosecution by mishandling evidence.”

  “The constant lawsuits did make El Gordito practically untouchable, but I can’t believe––” Jennifer said, doubtfully, before John interrupted.

  “Then there’s his house—the brownstone in Astoria. It’s got to be worth millions, and all the antiques and paintings inside. He could never afford it on a detective’s salary.”

  “He said he bought the house with inheritance money and those were pieces from an antiques business once ran by his family.”

  “All back in Hungary and difficult to check, I would imagine. Didn’t he say that his name was common too? That would make it even harder for anyone in the States to verify his family history. I suspect there was no antiques business, no rich relatives. He bought everything we saw with the money he got from Vargas.”

  “OK, so let’s say he was on El Gordito’s payroll . . . Why would he set the health department people onto the nightclubs and ICE onto El Gordito’s workforce?”

  “Perhaps he was sending a message to El Gordito. Remember how pissed he was when he found out that El Gordito was manufacturing a new drug?”

  Jennifer agreed. “He was so confused.”

  “He thought he knew all about El Gordito’s operation and here was a much bigger and more profitable operation that he was protecting without even knowing it,” John added as he saw a look of recognition spread across Jennifer’s face.

  “He probably organized the raids to threaten El Gordito into giving him more money. I’m guessing he was told to go to hell. Lazlo then got lucky with the murders of the chefs. He found incriminating evidence which enabled him to make the arrests, but he knowingly acquired that evidence illegally to ensure that the conviction against El Gordito’s man, Hernandez, wouldn’t stand up during a trial.”

  “To show El Gordito how close to the edge he could take him!” Jennifer interjected. “But then, when he got suspended, he was no use to El Gordito or his boss, Quinn, and they probably considered him a liability. With El Gordito in custody, Quinn put a kill order out on Lazlo through one of El Gordito’s men.” Jennifer added.

  “Exactly!”

  “And then things got worse for Lazlo. After you crashed the truck carrying the washing machines with the spider pills inside, even if he had not been suspended, he wouldn’t have been able to contain the fallout to El Gordito’s operation. The discovery of the pills in transit across a state border made it a federal crime...so he could no longer influence things at NYPD level. That was genius, John!”

  John shrugged, “I was desperate to try anything by then.”

  “All along we thought Santiago was possessing El Gordito. It seemed like a perfect match, but in fact the Voids matched him with someone far more connected and probably even more cruel.”

  “For sure, a military contractor with his own private army and a record of black operations for the government is going to have an evil streak.” John said grimly.

  “I’m guessing that once Quinn found out about the FBI’s interest, he and Santiago’s spirit inside him were furious and naturally blamed Lazlo for this further complication. Having Lazlo shot was probably no longer good enough for them. He had to be made to suffer at the hands of Quinn, with Santiago’s spirit experiencing and enjoying every sick moment of it. So, Quinn changed the specifics of the hit and it was that bloodlust that got him caught.”

  John acknowledged this, and then a thought crossed his mind. “Jen, what if Lazlo will blame me for this? What if he really has been selected for The Game and comes after me as an evil spirit wanting revenge?”

  “There’s no danger of that, John. For a start, you were always a spirit around him. He never met you or saw you while he was still alive, and he only ever knew you as the coma-bound victim of a stabbing. Besides, the hit was already out on Lazlo before you got the FBI’s attention by causing the truck, with pills hidden inside it, to crash. If Lazlo’s spirit is looking for revenge it would be against El Gordito, or the spirit of Quinn if he stayed on Earth.”

  “Well if Lazlo does come after me, I won’t see him coming now I’m back in the living, but you, with your gift, you will.”

  “But I won’t notice him if he’s possessing someone.” She paused as realization of her predicament crossed her face. “All I know is that in future, when I see someone possessed, I will have no way of knowing who the spirit inside is. Only that there is a high probability that the spirit and the host are likely to be evil. Days, weeks or even years later, I could find out that the person I saw committed some awful crime. And what could I have done to have prevented it? Who could I have told, except you and my father? Another spirit? I have to constantly remember not to even acknowledge their presence. It’s a never-ending nightmare.”

  John placed his hand on hers and looked deep into her eyes. “We just went through one nightmare and ended it. We can get through another.” His last words were whispered as his lips closed in on hers. As he kissed her, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the spirit world wasn’t yet done with them.

  A Message from Fynn Perry

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  About the Author

  FYNN PERRY was born in a small house in London. According to his mother, he was, as a baby, visited by the ghost of his newly deceased grandmother. His mother regaled Fynn, growing up, with this and other spooky stories of departed family members, building in him a lifelong interest in the supernatural. When not writing, Fynn is a voracious reader of thriller novels. He splits his time between London and Brussels, visiting his twin daughters. Earthbound is his debut novel.

  For my daughters, who call me Buba.

  Acknowledgments

  I really wanted to thank my awesome daughters for putting up with my constant, annoying requests to review draft after draft of this story. They did so with almost unending patience, and without disowning me. They now have the sequel to look forward to.

  To my mother who read an early version that was twice this size––I’m sorry for all the parts that have been cut.

  Tremendous thanks to to my editor Sue Poulsen for lending me her expert ear, immersing herself in the world I created, and helping me to extract the essence of the story and make it shine.

  Writing a book has been harder and more fulfilling than I could ever imagine. Unlike any other work I have known, it has brought me closer to my family, and for that I am most thankful.

  Copyright © 2021 by Fynn Perry

  Page|Turner Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

 

 

 
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