15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  “But I saw you in my dreams. I died. How can this be real?” I finally asked.

  A doctor came into the room. He was holding a clipboard. He smiled when he saw me.

  “Am I glad to see you’re awake! Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Smith.”

  I tried to sit up again. The sheets were tight, not allowing me much movement. My back felt sore, as if I’d been lying on it for a long time.

  “Don’t move too much, Derrick. It’s important that you don’t tire yourself out,” the doctor said, moving closer to me as he began to check my vitals. “Everything looks good. You’re recovering well,” he said. His voice sounded familiar. Like the voice of the “good doctor.” It made no sense.

  “I know you. You locked me up in a room and did experiments on me. To capture my immortality,” I said.

  Chad began to laugh again. I was glad to see him there, but annoyed by his laughter.

  “What is he talking about?” Chad asked.

  The doctor checked my heart with his stethoscope and smiled at me again. “Sometimes when a patient has been in a coma for a while, they can experience vivid dreams. The brain makes up for a lack of stimulus by producing its own. Derrick must have had quite a journey!”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “So none of this was real? I didn’t suffer from a heart attack and rise from the dead?”

  The doctor’s face went red. I could see he was attempting to hold in a smile. I guess he found my story funny. My family, on the other hand, were grinning from ear to ear. Which I found annoying, but considering the fact that they were in my hospital room, I was just glad to see them again.

  “No, Derrick. You suffered from heatstroke while you were running. That caused an arrhythmia. We needed to shock your heart back into a normal rhythm. You then went into a coma. We have no idea why, but we’re glad you’re back. We did all sorts of tests on you. An MRI to check for brain activity. Your scans came back normal. No lesions. No tumors. Just an unexplained coma.”

  I sat up. This time, no one held me back. “How long have I been out of it?”

  The doctor put his clipboard back on the end of the bed and crossed his arms. He looked as if he was doing some math in his head. “About two months,” he said, looking apologetic.

  I held my head in my hands. “Oh, God. My life is ruined. I’m a damn loon!” I said, beginning to cry.

  My mother put her arm around me and said, “Son, what matters is that you’re alive. We thought we were going to lose you.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t understand, Mom. I thought I was on the run. I had to fight for my survival. I fled to Mexico, and now you’re saying that it was all in my head!”

  The doctor put his hand on my thigh. “Coma patients often feel betrayed by reality. It’s not your fault, Derrick. You can’t help what your brain conjures up when it’s heavily sedated. You were in a coma. It messes with your head. As I said, we have no idea what set off the coma, but we’re glad you pulled through it. There was nothing wrong with you, really. Apart from the dehydration and sunstroke, you were fine. Obviously, not counting your arrhythmia.”

  I turned my head to see the heart monitor propped up next to my bed. It was beeping away at a steady rate. I saw the lines move up and down like triangles. I shook my head and began to tear up some more.

  “My damn heart is still shot to shit, isn’t it?”

  The doctor’s face lit up and he shook his head adamantly. “That’s the thing, Derrick. Somehow, the shock we gave you when you went into tachycardia jolted your heart back into a normal rhythm. For the past two months, your heart rate has been at a steady pace. Your defect has disappeared.”

  My eyes widened as the doctor’s words echoed in my eardrums. “What? It can’t be!”

  My mom flung her arms around me and gripped me tightly. “It’s a miracle, Derrick. You’re going to be just fine!”

  Sixty-Nine

  I must admit that it took me more than two days to let all the information sink in. I was still in the hospital, being monitored, but I was fine. I was perfect, in fact. The doctors were all extremely happy with my progress and were astounded by the stories I had to tell. So were my friends and family. They enjoyed listening to the vivid dreams that had taken place when I was in a coma. At most parts they laughed, but I knew they were just trying to comfort me. When I told them about the experiments, they were intrigued. The doctors likened my dreams to post-traumatic stress disorder. Somehow, my brain managed to continue processing various things while in the coma. It resulted in me having the vivid dream of me being immortal and being chased by the U.S. government for its world domination. According to the doctor I had, he thought it would be a great story. Maybe even a movie. I had my doubts, though. I mean, who’d want to read about some guy who got whacked out on drugs and tripped his ass off while in a coma? I wouldn’t, that’s for sure. Plus, it was embarrassing. But at least some good came out of the whole thing. I had my health back. The doctors told me that I’d be able to run someday soon. My defect was now gone, and I was at an advantage for the first time in my running career.

  I wouldn’t say I was happy that I suffered sunstroke on my pre-run and ended up being hospitalized in a coma for two months. I wasn’t overly happy about losing out on months of my life. But, in a way, I guess I’d gotten so much more out of it. I mean, for the first time in a long time, I was surrounded by my friends and family. We weren’t fighting. We weren’t bickering. We were all getting along. It felt great to have that back. After all the things I’d been through, not to mention the things I thought I’d been through, I was happy that I could now lead a normal life. I wouldn’t need to be frightened about every ache and pain. I wouldn’t need to put pressure on myself anymore. I’d be just fine the way I was. Nothing else could get in the way of my happiness. I was determined to see to it that nothing did.

  “So, are you going to get back to running again? You beat your time before you collapsed. Coach says you have every chance of making it to the Olympics. He has a ton of sponsors ready to sign you. You’re a star, Derrick!” Chad said to me with a grin on his face.

  I shook my head firmly and sipped at my glass of water. It felt good to relax in the hospital bed. I hardly had any worries in the world. I didn’t need any more of them. I was done.

  “I don’t think I’ll risk it. Life is much more than running and competing. I’ve already lucked out as it is. I don’t have a heart defect anymore. That’s worth more than a gold medal ever could be worth.”

  My mother smiled. My dad put his arm around her and said, “That’s a wise choice, son. I don’t want to see you wasting your second chance.”

  I extended my hand to him and clasped his thick fingers. They were bone dry after years of hard labor.

  “I don’t need the fame, Dad. I just want some peace and quiet. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this, sometimes it just isn’t worth the extra heartbeats!”

  My dad gave a great big belly laugh and pounded me gently on the arm.

  “Still got a sense of humor, then?” I heard Rachel say.

  We’d been talking for the two days since I woke up from the coma. We were getting closer again. I wasn’t sure if it would work this time, but I didn’t care. There was no use worrying. I was done with that.

  “I guess you need to look on the bright side of things,” she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “You’ll always be a winner in our eyes.”

  My dad groaned, and Chad shook his head.

  “Man, that’s some cheesy stuff right there. This isn’t Lifetime, you know!”

  We all laughed. The sun was setting, making the room glow an orange tinge. Suddenly, a delivery man came in holding a briefcase. It was metallic gray and shone in the orange hue coming from the window.

  “Special delivery for a Mr. Derrick James Smith,” he said, looking expectantly at everybody in the room.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” I said, nearly choking on my saliva. The sight of the briefcase
made me feel uneasy. I recognized it. It looked exactly like the one in my dream.

  The guy came closer and made me sign his electronic gizmo. I squiggled something where my name should have gone and grabbed the case off him. He tipped his hat at me and walked off. The room was quiet with anticipation.

  “Special delivery! Wow, wonder what it is?” my dad said.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything, Dad,” I insisted as I flicked the clasps open.

  “I didn’t,” he replied.

  I looked at him, trying to see if he was lying. He seemed to be just as intrigued as I was.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Rachel asked.

  “I suppose someone should,” I said, flipping the lid open.

  The monitor beside me beeped a few times. My heart was doing backflips. I gaped at the contents of the case.

  “What? What’s wrong?” my mother asked, trying to sneak a peek.

  There was a piece of paper in the briefcase. It read:

  Your ticket to fame and fortune!

  Your agent, Paul.

  Under the note was a paperback cover. It had a picture of my face on it and the title:

  NO PULSE – The story of America’s Olympic hopeful, Derrick James Smith, returning to the sport he loves.

  A sticky note was attached to a contract that sat under the paperback:

  Sign it and mail it back to me. I’m about to make you a millionaire.

  I sat there, astonished.

  “What’s wrong?” Chad asked.

  “It’s the note. The wording on it. It’s nearly identical to my dream.”

  The room went silent for a few seconds. I kept looking at the first note in the briefcase.

  Your ticket to fame and fortune!

  ….

  Fame and fortune!

  ….

  Your ticket…

  ….

  “Are you going to accept the offer? A book deal could be a good thing, son.” My father’s voice echoed in my ears. I was feeling the panic that had been so familiar to me for the past two months rise up in me once again.

  “Son?”

  My ears began to ring a little. The room was becoming darker.

  “Derrick!”

  I scrunched my eyes and shook myself out of my daze. I was back in the land of the living once again. My heart was thumping in my chest. I could feel sweat dripping down my brow.

  “You should accept the deal, Derrick. Could make you a lot of money,” my mom said.

  I turned to see my family looking at me with expectant smiles. I smiled back. I was relieved when I closed the briefcase. I pushed it to one side and exhaled a lungful of air.

  “I don’t need a ticket to anything,” I said, taking another sip of water.

  Chad looked amazed at my response.

  “But the money, Derrick. You’ll still need that. Like it or not, that’s just how the world works,” he explained.

  I took the wires off my chest. The machine made a noise. I got out of the bed and stretched.

  “Besides, life isn’t about tickets. It’s about what happens after the show. When I look back at my life, I want to make sure I enjoyed every second. Not just that one special day. I want more than that. I want happiness. Not riches.”

  I walked up to Rachel and gave her a kiss. I’d never kissed a girl in front of my parents before. It felt good. I pulled away and looked into her eyes.

  “You’re all I need,” I said to her. I could see her eyes light up. She smiled at me and grabbed my hand.

  We turned and walked out of the door. I stopped for a second and turned to see my family looking at me in wonder.

  “I need every single one of you. That’s all I need,” I said.

  My mom gave me another beautiful smile.

  “Besides, who would want to read about me anyway?”

  I walked off with Rachel, hand in hand, ready to go for the gold…the gold band around her finger, that is.

  The End

  Luis Samways

  COBWEBS

  A short story

  One

  “Honey, can you come to the bathroom and get rid of this spider?” Melisa shouts as she straddles the toilet, lifting her skirt off the rim as if the spider were making for her legs.

  Andy is downstairs holding a glass under the tap, about to unwind the handle and pour himself a drink of cold water. The hot sun bakes through the window overlooking the garden as he shudders at the thought of rescuing his wife from the eight-legged arachnid upstairs.

  “Okay, dear,” he says as the water from the tap spurts into the glass.

  He sighs and downs the water in one gulp. He gently puts the glass in the sink and wipes the sweat off his brow.

  “Goddamn weather,” he says idly as he scratches his arm while walking out of the kitchen.

  The weather makes him feel hot and sticky. He isn’t a fan of the summertime and hates to overexert himself during such searing heat.

  “Hurry, it’s fucking massive!” Melisa shouts from the bathroom, her voice bouncing off the walls as Andy creaks up the stairs of the old-fashioned family home.

  He smiles to himself, not quite believing the putrid tone his wife is taking. Melisa never swears, and when she does, Andy enjoys teasing her over her crassness.

  “Where is it?” he asks as he reaches the bathroom. He sees his wife on top of the toilet, unmoving yet fidgety in her demeanor.

  “Over there.” She points to the bath.

  In reality Andy is as scared as his wife, but he keeps his fears hidden as he approaches the bath. He immediately sees the spider in the base of the bath. Specks of water surround the small critter like candles at a séance. He grabs some toilet paper and scrunches it up.

  “What are you doing?” his wife asks.

  “I’m going to kill it,” he says plainly.

  “What if you miss?”

  “Then I miss,” he says.

  “It could crawl up your arm, you know.”

  The thought of a spider crawling up his arm makes Andy a little nervous. He stalls for time.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asks.

  “Just trying to get the idea of a spider making its way up my arm out of my head,” he says, scrunching the toilet paper up in his hands.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “One can only hope,” says Andy.

  He immediately dives into the bath and swipes for the lonesome spider at the bottom end of the unit. He can feel the spider’s body crunch underneath his hand as he squashes the spider firmly into the toilet paper. He stands back up and turns his hand over to survey the damage.

  “Splat,” he says, almost sadistically.

  “Don’t show me! Flush it down the toilet already,” Melisa says as she gets down from the toilet and firmly back on the ground.

  Andy’s tall and slender body breathes in a sigh of relief as he chucks the rolled-up tissue into the toilet and flushes. He turns to face his beautiful blonde wife, who is wearing a summer dress with flowers on it. For a moment he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees something strange on her dress. A black mark near the trim makes itself present to Andy as he nearly yelps in fear.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Melisa asks, looking at the floor around her.

  Andy laughs out loud as he realizes that what he mistook for another spider was merely a printed branch to go along with the flowers on her dress.

  “I thought I saw a spider on your dress,” he says.

  Melisa nearly rips her dress off as she struggles to find what she is looking for in a panic. Andy can’t help but laugh even louder at his hysterical wife.

  “I said I THOUGHT I saw a spider. It’s nothing, just a pattern on your dress,” he says.

  Melisa quickly pushes her dress back down to its original place, red-faced and flustered from the immediate panic she felt at her husband’s remark.

  “You dick!” she says, smiling at her well-groomed husband.

  She goes
in for a kiss. She embraces him for a long while.

  “My hero,” she says, looking up at him with bright eyes.

  “That’s what I’m here for. That, and opening pickle jars.”

  Two

  “So the house is worth $380,000 on the market. Are you wanting to sell, or do you want to lease it out?” the real-estate agent asks as he sips on his cup of coffee. He’s a plain-looking middle-aged gentleman. A man you wouldn’t notice in a hurry. He has an awful habit of tapping on the table with his pinkie finger. It doesn’t help the already tense situation.

  Andy nearly spits his coffee out of his mouth. He looks at his wife and wipes his face.

  “That’s a $100,000 more than we thought we’d get for this house,” he says.

  “The land bumps up the value quite a bit. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious open-plan living area, two outbuildings, a pool, and three acres of land. A good price overall. We could push for $400,000 if we wanted.” The estate agent starts sifting through some files. “Maybe $410,000 if we really push it,” he continues.

  Andy looks at Melisa with bated breath. “$410,000 should cover it,” he says playfully.

  The real-estate agent smiles. “Indeed,” he says as he continues to tap his little finger on the hard grain-like wood surface of the dining room table. The beam of light coming from the windows adjacent to the room invites warm air into the vicinity. Specks of dust dance around them as they go about the important meeting.

  “So the deeds to the house are in your names?” asks the realtor.

  “It’s in my mother’s name. She passed away not too long ago. She left me and Melisa the house,” says Andy.

  “Both of you?” The real-estate agent sifts through some more papers.

  “Yes, well, just me, really, but what’s mine is hers,” he says.

  “We need to put her on the deeds, then,” says the real-estate agent.

  “It’ll be done on Monday,” says Andy.

  “Good,” says the real-estate agent. He stops sifting through his files and comes across the paper he was looking for. He reads it for a moment. The excitement and tension in the room is palpable. “Ah, found it. All I need you to do is sign either this one, or that one,” he says, holding up two separate pieces of paper in each hand.