15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  After my visit, I’d find a doctor I trusted and ask for his or her opinion on what was happening to me. But first I needed to make my way to Chad’s house. He’d know what to do. He had family I could trust. They had guns. I needed to feel safe. I needed to see a familiar face.

  The chopper continued to fly over the block I was on. I heard some sirens in the distance. It wasn’t unusual to hear police or ambulances. I saw the field to my right. It had football posts on either side of it, with a few children’s attractions on the edge. It also had a track that wrapped around the green, meshing with the dusty dirt on the edges of the park. It looked basic, but that field was packed in the summer. It was deserted now, since the weather was cold and overcast – the dreaded “June gloom”, a weird occurrence for a June evening.

  I stopped dead near the end of the chain-link fence and surveyed the field. I saw nothing but darkness. Once every few seconds, the searchlight on the chopper illuminated the field, showing its ominous emptiness.

  I waited a few more seconds, counting down in my head. I wanted the chopper to do a hard right, giving me time to run down the track before it was illuminated once again.

  3…2…1….

  The chopper turned.

  I bolted.

  The mud gripped at the soles of my shoes.

  But before I was able to make it a quarter of the way through the field, the darkness became light, and the chopper’s beam hit me in the face.

  I was a deer in headlights.

  Fourteen

  I took a hard right, my left heel digging into the dirt while my right toe extended out and launched myself a few more feet. I tensed up and ran to the tree line, veering off the field and into the bushes. The twigs beneath my feet snapped as I landed in the brush and knelt on the ground. A sudden pang of heat came across my body as I watched the chopper’s searchlight glisten above me. The helicopter did a low dip and came closer to the ground. It was still at least a hundred feet in the air, but the heavy rotating engines screamed in the middle of the field, kicking up dirt and dust into my eyes. I shielded them as I glared at the night sky. The searchlight panned to the right and I ducked, nearly showing myself in the beam.

  A few seconds passed. I remained still, the searchlight burning a few leaves in front of me. They were crisp and dry. The light felt hot. I started to shiver. It was a weird counter reaction that I wasn’t expecting. Suddenly, the whole park felt cold. Colder than before, like a sheet of ice had fallen from the heavens and broken into a million pieces. I was stuck in my foxhole, looking at the searchlight, following its every movement.

  The chopper’s engines cried in protest as the helicopter ascended a few hundred feet. I thought I was in the clear, but the beam landed a few inches in front of me, missing me in the shadows by a mere lick of luck. I looked up and saw the bird idling in the air, getting ready to fly low once again.

  I decided my time had come. I dug my heels in and bolted through the bushes. Twigs snapped at a rate of a million per second. I dodged branches and tree trunks. I held my breath, forgetting that I didn’t need the air. It helped me concentrate. I exhaled loudly and exploded in a sprint that I was sure could have won me a gold medal. Having no heartbeat helped my stamina. I had infinite bundles of it, and I was going to need as much of it as I could muster. I looked behind me and saw the searchlight from the helicopter chasing me. They were inches away from spotting me, but I could tell they had seen something.

  That’s when I knew what I had to do. The bushes were coming to an end, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d run into the open and make myself known. So I decided to tuck and roll. I saw a ditch to my right. I braced myself for impact and leapt into it. I rolled a few times down the medium-sized slope and came to a crashing stop when I collided with a parked car. My head hit the car’s headlights, and there was a loud crack. My skull bounced from the impact, and I landed hard on the ground. As I lay on my back, I saw the helicopter fly past me. Its searchlight was still zoned into my original path from before I bailed. I reached for my head and felt a slight bump on my forehead. I rubbed it and looked at my hand.

  “No blood,” I said.

  I turned my head and saw the parked car, which was a tad over the parking line. I had busted its headlight pretty good. You could see my head’s imprint in the bodywork of the front. The bumper looked a little bent. It came to my attention that if that was anybody else flying into a parked car’s headlights, headfirst, then it would be night-night for them. But I hadn’t been knocked out. My new defect, being heartless, so to speak, was panning out to be a blessing in disguise. I could sustain massive head trauma without knocking myself out.

  That was good news in one sense, bad in the other.

  I still didn’t know what was going on, and I was flat on my back, staring at the night sky.

  I got up, realizing that time was of the essence. The chopper would surely be doing another turn and burn. He’d find me if I stayed put. I looked to my left and saw the slight mound I’d rolled down. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good idea to go back up the slope and make a run for Chad’s house. Then I looked to the right and saw a parking lot, right behind the parked car I had had a head-to-head with.

  I decided to get onto my front and crawl under the cars, using them for cover. It turns out that my new defect also comes with army training! If you’d asked me a few days prior to this event if I ever thought I’d go all Navy Seal when escaping a chopper’s searchlight, I’d laugh you off the running track.

  I had only ever done this sort of thing twice — army crawling on my front, that is.

  Once at camp when I was seven and Mom and Dad had gone to Paris for the week.

  And another time on the run from a police chopper.

  I’ll save time and tell you how the second one went. No one wants to hear about the wedgie at camp when I was seven.

  Fifteen

  I ducked under the first car, bringing myself even with the back wheels. I could feel the exhaust resting on my right shoulder. This car in question was a small rust-bucket. It was really low to the ground, and I liked the look of the car next to it more. So I army-rolled to the right and got under the new car. This one sported a much higher chassis. I didn’t feel so claustrophobic under this one. It was spacious and smelled new. I think it was a pickup truck, but I wasn’t too sure about what it was, seeing I was under it.

  I could hear the helicopter in the distance. It had turned around and was obviously curious as to where the mysterious shadow they had been chasing had disappeared. I wasn’t really appreciating the attention I was getting from the police chopper. I knew for a fact that I had made a mistake coming back to Watts. I thought I’d see my best friend and tell him I was alive, but it was turning out to be nothing but a clusterfuck.

  I waited for a few seconds and army-rolled once again to another car next to the pickup truck I had just been under. I was just about to do another army roll when I realized I had run out of cars to my right. It was a small parking lot, also surrounded by chain-link. I stretched my neck a little in front and noticed a few more rows of cars parallel to me. The problem was that there was a huge gap, at least twenty feet, between me and another car. I was at a loss as to what to do. I could either wait it out or get caught. If the helicopter above me had infrared on its cameras, they’d be able to spot me from a mile off.

  That was, if I had any body heat. It was then that I realized I might be okay. I felt my forehead and noticed it was cold. Stone cold, in fact. I then felt my arms. They, too, were cold.

  “No body heat, no pulse,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, this is turning out to be quite educational.”

  I was just about to make a run for the second row of car cover when the helicopter in the skies above stopped me. I felt my body shake under the pressure.

  No adrenaline…no heartbeat….

  I still didn’t understand the mixture of feelings I was experiencing. How could I be feeling anxious when I was clinically dead? Maybe my s
oul was scared. That was the conclusion I came to while on my front under a car, waiting for that damn helicopter to get lost and let me get on with my mission!

  But the helicopter didn’t go away. I could hear it above me, its rotors spinning.

  Whoosh – whoosh – whoosh – whoosh.

  There was a slight pause between each whoosh of the rotors. It was as if the air got sucked into them, making the night sky as silent as death itself.

  I was under that car, my nonworking heart in my mouth, hoping for the best. Only the best didn’t come.

  The worst was just beginning.

  The beam from the helicopter fizzled over the car I was under. Specs of dust rose off the ground as I remained still. I heard the chopper hovering above me, whooshing in the air, holding its position.

  And then my fears were confirmed.

  “You, under the car! Come out with your hands up! We have units closing in on you. If you run, we will shoot,” a voice in the night sky said.

  It was coming from the chopper. They were hailing me. They were warning me.

  But I wasn’t having any of it.

  “Screw this!” I said, scrambling from underneath the car and bolting for the chain-link fence.

  That’s when I heard a shot ping past my ear. I looked over my shoulder and saw a uniformed officer pointing his weapon at me. He was standing on the dirt mound I had rolled down.

  He fired again, but I was over the fence before he got off his next shot.

  Sixteen

  I found myself digging deep once again. Flashes of my half-marathon run pulsed through my mind, reminding me of what had caused me all this trouble. If only I hadn’t decided to run that day, maybe I’d still be normal and not hiding from everything and everyone.

  I heard a few more shots behind me. I turned my head and saw the uniformed officer who was shooting at me jump over the chain-link fence. The chopper was getting lower and lower as it droned on toward me. It flew over the field and made its way toward the officer on my tail. I stopped running and made a left. An outbuilding most likely used for field maintenance was now my new cover. I could hear footsteps as I hugged the stucco. The bristly feeling of the bricks touching my skin sent shockwaves of fear down my spinal cord. I held my breath once again out of habit and closed my eyes.

  The searchlight in the sky disappeared, and I saw nothing but darkness. The only sense that I possessed was my hearing. I heard the rapid approach of footsteps. I could hear the officer making ground on me. I straightened myself up and clenched my fists. The footsteps grew louder. I put one foot in front of me, ready to explode into action. I opened my eyes to the echo of a nearby foot hitting the ground. I pushed myself off the wall and around the corner, where I saw the surprised look on the policeman’s face. He didn’t have time to react. I pulled my shoulder back and released a heavy blow to his face, clipping him straight on the chin. The guy’s legs wobbled, and he collapsed on the ground with a thud. I quickly grabbed his flashlight, his gun, and his ammunition. I rapidly slotted them into whatever free space I had on my person. The bullets and gun went into my jeans pockets, and the flashlight remained in my right hand.

  I saw the policeman’s radio on his holster. I grabbed it and fastened it to my belt. The searchlight from the helicopter grew nearer. I began to sprint. I got as far away from the downed policeman as I could. The chopper had stopped following me. I guess they saw the policeman on the floor and thought he was dead. He wasn’t, though, but he did gain me some valuable time.

  It was enough of a distraction that I managed to lose the chopper and had made my way onto Chad’s street. His house was only a few doors down from the corner I stood on. I looked to my left and then to my right. The street was empty. No cars. No people. No problems.

  I knew I’d have to make my visit to Chad’s a quick one. The helicopter wouldn’t give up until they found whoever had knocked the crap out of one of their fellow officers.

  It was just too bad that the person they were after was me. It meant I was on borrowed time. When the clock ran down to zero, I’d either be captured by local cops for battery, or I’d be closer to finding out whether a bullet to my brain would put an end to my perceived immortality.

  Seventeen

  I ran down the street and tilted my head toward the houses on my right. Each house had an identical wall, followed by an identical door. The only difference was that Chad’s door was red. The others were white. I guess his parents didn’t like looking like the rest of the cretins on the street. That is, after all, what they called Chad and his friends. Nothing but delinquents. I was the exception. They liked me a lot. I just wasn’t sure whether they’d be happy to see a dead man walking. Maybe they’d shoot me on their doorstep. I needed to see Chad, though. I needed him to know I was alive.

  I continued to run and caught a glimpse of the red door at the end of the street. It stood there, looking ominous in the corner, half red, half black due to the darkened night beating off its surface. I took another unnecessary deep breath and lunged into the garden. I jumped over the low fence that was knee high. I wasn’t in the mood to open the tiny black gate that sat wedged between the wall and the small garden. I didn’t have the time to open it. I barely had enough time to get over the wall. Something inside me was telling me that I needed to get indoors as quickly as possible. I was a wanted man. The chopper knew I was in Watts. I didn’t think they knew who I was exactly, but it didn’t matter to them. I was just another criminal for them to detain and prosecute.

  I knocked on the big red door. The darkness of the night hugged me as the cold air breezed up my back. I stood there wondering what sort of future lay ahead of me. Was it one where I could see my friends? Was there a life after my supposed death?

  I heard someone unbolting the door from the other side.

  “Wait a second,” the voice said.

  Three or four bolts slid open. Safety was always a concern on these streets.

  The big red door creaked open, and Chad himself stood in the doorway, half asleep. He looked worse than I did. Either he was suffering from allergies, or he had been crying.

  I found out which one it was when he opened his mouth.

  “Derrick?” he said, bursting into tears. “It’s you. Oh, my God,” he cried, wrapping his arms around me, embracing me in a fierce hug.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I said, my voice cracking from my emotions. What stood out to me was the fact that I was having emotions at all. I had suffered a day of pent-up fear, not knowing what I was, where I was supposed to be, or where I’d end up. All it took was a familiar face for my humanity to come flooding back. A tear formed in my right eye. I didn’t cry, but I knew I was crying inside. I was ever so happy to see Chad. Just seeing somebody who cared for me was enough to make me feel better.

  I could hear the police chopper in the distance.

  “How is this possible?” Chad asked, with a glint in his eye.

  “I don’t know, but I need to come in. It’s important that I get off the streets. I’m in trouble, man,” I said.

  Chad looked at me with a blank expression on his face. His mousy blond hair waved in the wind. The wet tears that streamed down his face shone in the dim light.

  “But you’re dead. You can’t be here. It’s impossible.”

  I didn’t bother explaining. I just pushed past him. The hallway felt warm. I could hear the sound of the TV in the other room. Some sort of comedy show was playing on the box. I could make out Chris Rock doing one of his famous routines.

  “I had a cop pull me over the other day, scared me so bad, made me think I stole my own car. ‘Get out of the car, get out of the fucking car! You stole this car!’ I was like, ‘Damn, maybe I did!’”

  “Shut the door, Chad. I can’t be seen here.”

  Chad shut the door tentatively. I could tell he didn’t believe what he was seeing. I could see he was distraught.

  “I’m not dead, Chad, but I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

&
nbsp; Eighteen

  I sat down on the sofa in the living room. I saw the big plasma on the wall. Chris Rock was still doing his funny-man routine. Chad hit the standby button on the remote, and the TV zapped off. He sat on the Lazy-Boy recliner opposite me. He didn’t look comfortable with the situation. He looked as if he was a few seconds away from vomiting.

  “Everything will be okay,” I said.

  He didn’t reply. He just sat there, staring at me. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol. I noticed a few butts in the ashtray and a half bottle of liquor on the side table next to the recliner.

  “You been hitting the drink?” I asked.

  Still, there was no answer.

  Chad just stared at me. He sat there, frowning. The small crinkles above his eyebrows flexed with intrigue. The crevices on the sides of his mouth twitched. He broke into an uneven smile.

  “I don’t believe this. I must be dreaming,” he said.

  I shook my head firmly, trying to reassure him of my physical self sitting in his living room. I then shrugged, as if to apologize for showing up at his door.

  “I had to see you,” I said.

  “Why?” he replied almost immediately.

  “To tell you I was fine. That I’m not dead.”

  Chad stood up quickly, knocking the bottle of liquor on his side table off its perch and onto the carpet. I heard the bottle bounce as it emptied itself into the fabric. Chad didn’t bother picking it up. He just stood there over me, looking intently into my eyes.

  “You can’t be here. They said you died. Cardiac arrest. You are dead. This isn’t real.”

  Chad produced a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He undid the wrapping and popped a smoke into his mouth. He had it half crooked in his mouth when he spoke. “Besides, dead men don’t knock on my door. Dead men don’t come back to a shithole like this and try and make nice. Dead men remain under the dirt, not on my damn couch,” he said, lighting up the cigarette and giving it a mighty suck. An orange glow tinged off its end and illuminated the fear in his eyes.