15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  “I am not dead. Can’t you see me sitting on your couch?” I asked, this time adding a little bass to my voice. I wasn’t trying to scare the guy, but it looked as if my best friend was seconds away from hysteria. I had to avoid that. I had to remain in the shadows.

  “You are dead! I saw your damn body at the morgue. I went there, along with your mom and dad, to identify the body!”

  I stood up, facing Chad nose to nose. I could feel his breath hitting my face. He smelled of smoke and liquor. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair looked greasy. I shook my head slowly, as if to accentuate my point. “I’m not fucking dead. I am here, in front of you, asking for your help!” I said, half shouting, but getting my anger under control.

  Yet more feelings of humanity were coming back to me, like distant memories recovered after a coma.

  “Fuck you!” Chad screamed, backing away from me. This time the side table went and tipped over, finishing off the liquor bottle on the ground, shattering it into a million pieces. The sound of the glass breaking seemed to pull on Chad’s soul, making him jump out of his skin.

  “Chad, calm down!”

  He wouldn’t; he kept backing away, making his way to the living room door.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. I need your help!” I said, nearly pleading and falling onto my knees.

  The living room seemed to grow smaller as the sound of the front door being opened pinged off my eardrums.

  “Shit!” I said.

  Chad turned around and bolted through the door into the hallway. I could hear him screaming.

  “Mom, please, help. It’s Derrick. I just saw him in the living room!” he cried.

  I thought I heard him throw himself into his mother’s arms, hugging her, but I could be wrong. I know I’m not wrong about what I heard next.

  “What are you talking about, Chad? Sweetie, relax, okay?” his mother said.

  There was a long pause, and then some footsteps. I stood in the middle of the living room with my hands tensed up and my ass cheeks clenched shut. Never in my life — or death, for that matter — had I ever been so worried. My secrecy was about to be blown. I was as good as done for.

  “Everything will be just fine,” I heard his mother say. She walked into the living room, holding some grocery bags. At first she didn’t notice me standing there. She was too busy comforting her son. But Chad was too busy staring at me. She followed his gaze and dropped her shopping bags on the floor.

  “Holy hell!” she said, finally screaming at the top of her lungs.

  Nineteen

  “Look, Mrs. Weaver, I don’t want any trouble, okay?” I pleaded. This time I was the one backing away. “I just need Chad’s help.”

  Mrs. Weaver looked at me and then back at her son. She had a distraught look on her face. She had gone pale, and I thought she was seconds away from passing out. The groceries that she had been carrying sat at her feet, rustling slightly against her shaky legs. She was a state, and I was petrified of what was in store for me. I didn’t dare think of what would become of me if she grabbed one of the firearms I knew they had in the cabinet beside the door. I didn’t feel like testing out my immortality theory again. Especially with a bullet to my head.

  “Please, Mrs. Weaver,”

  By then I had backpedaled all the way to the wall adjacent to both Chad and his mother. The big plasma TV was hanging inches from my head. I could feel the slight settling heat that was radiating off the television. It must have been on for a really long time before it got turned off. I had heard that some people never switched off their TVs. I guess the Weavers were the exception to that rule.

  “You can see him, too, Mom?” Chad asked, pulling on her jacket like a five-year-old at the mall, asking for that new video game for Christmas.

  “Yes, I can,” she replied.

  It was a weird sight. Seeing my best friend reduced to tears and tugging at his mother’s coat like a minor. I guess seeing something terrifying can turn most brave souls into quivering babies. The thing is, I don’t consider myself terrifying. I consider myself unfortunate. Regarding how my resurrection was playing out, I’d be lying if I told you I was enjoying myself. Maybe a permanent death wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Please, Mrs. Weaver, I’m not here to hurt you or your son,” I said, the heat still coming off the plasma above my head.

  “How are you alive?” she asked. “We saw your body at the morgue. You were dead. A heart attack.”

  I didn’t know how to answer her question, so I decided that actions spoke louder than words. I slumped off the wall and walked toward Chad and Mrs. Weaver. I extended my arms and hugged them both. I gripped them tightly. At first I heard them squirm, as if me touching them was unthinkable. But after a few seconds, which felt like light-years, they buckled under my embrace, and hugged me back.

  We cried for a while. We didn’t say a word for an hour. We just hugged and cried. Mrs. Weaver wasn’t my mother, but at that moment I felt like I was home. You know who your true family and friends are when you can be in their company and not say a single word.

  But I couldn’t rely on love to get me through this. I would need to speak to both of them.

  Twenty

  “So you just woke up in the morgue?” Chad asked. He had finally calmed down. He was puffing on what seemed like his fifth straight cigarette. His mother, on the other hand, who never smoked, to my knowledge, seemed close to considering it. She had one propped between her fingers. It remained unlit, but the intention was there.

  “Yeah, I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying on a big metal table. A quack came in and started noting down stuff on his clipboard. There were other bodies, and he tended to a woman who looked as if she had had her head caved in. He came over to me and saw I was alive and freaked out. He called somebody on his phone, but I was out of there quicker than he could press ‘redial.’”

  Both of them stared at me with awestruck expressions. Their faces looked as if they were chiseled of stone. No movement. No twitching. Just stone-cold composure.

  “And then what?” Chad asked.

  “Then I went to my house, and went to sleep. I thought it was a dream when I woke up. Like one of those really vivid dreams that stick with you.”

  Mrs. Weaver finally spoke. She had lit up the cigarette and pulled on it as she exhaled into a question. “So how did you find out it wasn’t a dream? I mean, what led you to believe you need our help?” she asked.

  “I saw a news report on the TV about me collapsing and dying on a run. I then heard some voicemails people left on my phone,” I said.

  Chad nodded his head.

  “I saw that news report, too. I was on TV,” he said, smiling for the first time.

  “Yeah, you really showed how much you cared, man. I never knew,” I said.

  “Well, you do now,” he replied.

  I could sense that the tension in the room was dying down and everybody was coming to terms with my situation, including myself.

  “Then I called the ambulance to find out what was really going on,” I continued.

  I told them about my ordeal at the hospital and how neither the paramedics nor the doctors could find a pulse. I then mentioned my escape and the police officer who shot me at the entrance to the hospital.

  “You were shot at?” Mrs. Weaver asked.

  “Yes, twice. Both by cops.”

  Chad started to laugh. It surprised his mother, who looked offended at his response.

  “Ah, man, that’s just the luck of it, isn’t it?” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  His mother gave him an irritated look. But Chad continued.

  “It’s just funny, that’s all. People find something they don’t understand, like you being alive when you’re supposed to be dead, according to medical science, that is. And instead of trying to understand it, they shoot at it. They try to stop it. Sums up humanity in one fell swoop.”

  His mother nodded her head in agreement. The curls that
draped down her shoulders bounced up and down. They looked freshly done. She must have gone to the salon to treat herself, and now I had ruined her day.

  “That’s a very good observation, Chad. I’m very impressed,” she said, planting a petite arm around her son’s broad shoulders.

  “So you guys believe me?” I asked, feeling antsy sitting on the sofa.

  “Yes. But it doesn’t explain what you are or why you are alive,” Mrs. Weaver said.

  I sank my head down into my palms and closed my eyes. She was right. I still wasn’t any closer to finding out what exactly was going on.

  “I know. I feel helpless. I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed, still not crying but sounding close to it.

  “Maybe you’re some sort of alien from a far planet who is here to judge humanity for all its sins?” Chad chimed in.

  His mother gave him that look once again. “Chad, don’t be so silly.”

  I raised my head from my sulk and smiled at Chad.

  “You aren’t half wrong there. One of the doctors proclaimed the same thing when I was running away!”

  We all laughed quietly. It wasn’t a forceful laugh of happiness or joy; it was more like the sort of laugh one would do at an inappropriate time to break the ice. We’d need something like global warming to break the ice in this room. Maybe a gamma ray wouldn’t go amiss.

  “So what are you going to do?” Chad asked, after a brief pause. The living room was deadly quiet. Like the eye of the storm, and I was stuck in the middle, causing waves.

  “I don’t know. I’m open to ideas.”

  Mrs. Weaver stood up and grabbed an ashtray. She stubbed her cigarette out, putting extra emphasis on corkscrewing the butt until nothing but ash remained.

  “I still can’t believe this is happening. You’re the first person to ever resurrect after death!” she exclaimed.

  “Don’t forget about Jesus,” Chad interjected.

  “So I’m in good company, then,” I replied.

  More silence followed.

  “But Jesus was taken up to Heaven. I haven’t been taken up to Heaven. So I’m stuck, not knowing what’s real or what’s not. Maybe there isn’t a heaven. Maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

  Mrs. Weaver nodded her head sternly.

  “That’s right. You aren’t supposed to be here, but you are. You’re supposed to be dead. But you’re not. Let’s take comfort in that and deal with the other stuff at a later date,” she said.

  Chad stood up next to his mother and seemed to agree with her. “Mom’s right, Derrick. Don’t worry about the why’s or when’s. You’re alive, man! That’s the good thing, isn’t it?”

  I sat there looking at both of them, not sure what to say.

  “But I’m not alive. The doctors said I didn’t have a pulse.”

  There was a knock on the door. Mrs. Weaver smiled at me.

  “Look, Derrick. Sometimes we don’t know all the answers. We don’t know what put us here or why. But you have been given a second chance. You should use that second chance to enlighten the world. The planet will be fascinated by you. They will want to learn from you. Tests will be done. But you may hold the secret to life within you!” Mrs. Weaver said.

  “I doubt that. Maybe the Grim Reaper forgot to file some forms and I’m on the ‘to-do’ pile as we speak.”

  Chad grinned at my remark. Mrs. Weaver went to answer the door.

  I heard it creak open.

  Then I heard a chorus of footsteps hurrying down the hall. Like marching boots. The first thing I saw through the doorway was the barrel of a rifle, followed by the hand holding it and then a person. A SWAT officer came rushing into the living room, followed by another and another.

  I sat in the armchair with my mouth agape, in pure shock. I could tell this was it. I knew they had found me.

  Twenty-One

  “Put your fucking hands up!” the SWAT man shouted as he aimed his gun at me.

  I was still sat in the puffy armchair, looking all bemused at my surroundings. I was like a kid at a spelling bee choking on letters that didn’t seem to roll off my tongue so well.

  “I said put your damn hands up, kid!” the guy said, still pointing his automatic rifle at me.

  I could feel my legs twitching as they hung off the chair, slightly touching the ground. I was unsure as to my next move. The three SWAT guys staring a hole into me reinforced the urgency of the situation I found myself in. Quick minds prevailed in situations like this. Slow thinkers got shot in the head. I wasn’t feeling very slow.

  “We will shoot!” the guy bellowed. Suddenly all three men came closer to me, holding their rifles at the same angle, one that landed squarely on my head. I pushed my feet down onto the ground, and kicked back. While I was still seated on the chair, the thing rolled back, pushing me off it, landing hard on the wall behind me. My head hit the wall, but my back was shielded by the tipped armchair’s cushion. The first SWAT guy started shooting at where I’d been before I tipped the chair on its back. I could feel the bullets penetrating the cushions. I tucked my feet in and scrunched up into a ball. I held my hands over my ears and screamed. I was terrified. But then I had an idea.

  “Shoot to kill, shoot to kill!” I heard a voice say. Meanwhile, Chad and his mother were screaming at the top of their lungs.

  My feet were still tucked into the toppled chair. I pushed as hard as I could, extending my legs outward, the chair exploding off my kick. The SWAT guy standing over me flew over the chair and landed next to me. I swiftly elbowed him in the jaw, knocking him out. In the confusion, the other SWAT guys stood there and gaped. They didn’t see that coming. Most police types wouldn’t expect an armchair to be used in defense, so I had a chance at making a break for it.

  I still had my supplies from the policeman I had detained on my way to Chad’s. I would be lying if I told you that I hadn’t thought about using the gun I had scavenged and popping caps into the SWAT guys, but I thought better of it.

  I tucked and rolled from behind the chair and got to my feet. One of the other two SWAT men made a move for me. He extended his hands as if he was trying to grab me by the neck and pop my head off like a pimple. That was when I dropped to one knee and laid a stiff punch into his groin. The guy buckled over and hit the deck. The other SWAT guy made a run for me, and that was when I rose up and clipped him with an upper cut. Which was good, because he had his finger hovering over the trigger; he was just about to shoot me. His rifle went off, and a spray of shells went flying into my face. I shielded my eyes and heard the TV’s screen behind me explode in a sheet of plastic and wiring.

  The guy landed on the floor, his gun running empty. I looked around the living room in a haze of panic and saw a huge blood smear on the wall. Chad was propped against it, holding his neck, sliding down the wall. His neck was oozing with blood. I ran over to him and knelt beside him.

  “CHAD!” I yelled.

  He didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes.

  I started to panic. I checked for a pulse, but only got bloody hands for my efforts. He was dead. He had bled out. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his mother lying on the ground. She, too, was dead. In the mayhem of the gun going off, both Chad and Mrs. Weaver were taken out by strays.

  “FUCK!” I screamed.

  I turned my head and saw the big bay window that showed the outside garden and wall I had jumped over. I saw a big black van pull up. The back doors opened, and a sea of helmet-wearing, gun-toting SWAT guys escaped from the metal warhorse.

  I had to think fast. I took one last look at the carnage of the now bullet-ridden living room. I saw the three downed SWAT guys half-conscious and two innocent dead civilians. Civilians who happened to be my friends. My extended family.

  I ran out of the living room and made my way to the kitchen. I could hear footsteps behind me, most likely the new SWAT guys entering the house. I kicked the back door open and ran out into the backyard.

  “He’s escaping!” I heard a muffled voice cry.


  I jumped over a big fence and went running through more backyards. I leapt over fence after fence. Not once did I stop until I reached the end of the block. I hopped over the last fence and made a run for the next block. I had to get to my house. I had to escape the darkness of the night and the evils that were chasing me.

  Twenty-Two

  My newfound defect was helping me obtain an edge over the people chasing me. They were mere flesh and bones, while I was heartless and near invincible. I say “near invincible” because of the bump I took to my head when I flew into the wall off the chair. It had caused me to momentarily black out. It was only for a few seconds, but it was valuable time nonetheless. I came to the conclusion, as I ran down the nearest block from Chad’s house, that I was not immortal at all. My brain was still active. I could still feel pain to some extent. Maybe I was missing the big picture, but in the long run, I knew I had to find out exactly what was working in my body and what wasn’t. I needed to know what I was.

  But I didn’t have time to ponder my abilities. This wasn’t the time nor the place for medical theories on my newfound self. I had bigger things to worry about. Like the police who were surely not too far off my tail.

  I ran down the second block, which looked a lot like Chad’s. My apartment was in East Watts, on 102nd Street. I was currently running down 99th Place. To my left was the Jordan Downs Recreation Center. I saw a black steel fence running up either side of the pale building. It looked unused, even in the night sky. To my right lay a block of projects that were heaving with activity. A group of men were standing in a rap cypher. They were rhyming and joking. I ran passed them, not paying much attention to them. I was trying to remain inconspicuous. I failed badly with that plan when I jumped off the dusty ground and hung onto the black railing that surrounded the recreation center.