1 Death Warmed Over

by Kent Holloway

  “This is ridiculous,” Esperanza whispered in his ear. “The girl is mostly likely long dead. You’re wasting our time.”

  He gave her a sideways glance and growled. “Quiet. Let the man work.”

  Omo Sango tossed the shells a third time, then let out a deep breath. “I see something.” He looked up at Silas, then at Esperanza. There was a pause, then she nodded her assent. “The girl you seek is alive, but in danger. On the run even now. Hiding. Hurt.”

  “Where? Where is she?”

  The big man looked down at the shells and squinted. “At the beach. Near the place where you first met her. She thinks it’s safe there. There’s a hiding spot she’s using among the dunes. But she’s about to be found.”

  “Thank you,” Silas said, grabbing Esperanza’s wrist and dragging her off the boat. “Come on!” They ran down the pier, around the warehouse, and leapt into her car. Esperanza, irritated with his desperation, started the car and began to drive back to Summer Haven. “Do you have a mobile?”

  “A phone,” she said. “They just call it a phone here.” With one hand on the wheel, she reached into her purse, pulled out a cell phone, and handed it to him.

  Unsure how to operate the device, he held the device out from his face, turning it over and over in his hand. “I, uh…”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Esperanza said, snatching it from his hand and punching at the screen. She handed the phone back to him and he put it to his ear.

  “911,” a voice on the other end said. “What is your emergency?”

  28

  SUMMER HAVEN BEACH

  FRIDAY, 2:40 AM

  Silas flew out of the car the moment Esperanza came to a stop and ran as fast he could past the now-closed tiki bar and onto the beach. He looked right and left, searching for the slightest trace of the bartender or anyone who might be in pursuit of her. Fortunately, he had exceptional night vision and within minutes, he caught a glimpse of upturned sand a few yards to his left.

  Foot prints. From the looks of them, there were several. The sand had been churned in a way that could only be from someone running, stopping, then running again.

  “Ankou, wait!” Esperanza shouted from the wooden stairs leading down to the beach, but he ignored her.

  He bolted in the direction the footsteps led. North, toward the less populated region of the ocean front. There weren’t as many houses or businesses this way, which would have made it a good place for someone to hide. At the same time, it was also a good place to murder someone if necessary. There’d be fewer chances of witnesses.

  He ran at full speed for nearly five minutes until the footprints disappeared in the rising tide. He stopped, trying to catch his breath. He turned, glancing around for anything that might put him back on Courtney’s track again.

  Silas wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to find the woman. His rational mind argued it was purely pragmatic. It was because she knew something about his attackers from last night and, by association, something about the person who had possession of the Hand of Cain. But as his heart pounded against his ectoplasmic ribcage, he knew that reason was a lie.

  She was a mortal in danger. There was nothing more to it than that.

  For millennia, he had taken countless lives in the name of his sacred commission. He’d never once pondered the emotional turmoil he caused on a daily basis for these fragile humans. These beings that were little more than spoiled celestial infants in the grand cosmos. He had taken them. He had sent them to their reward—good or bad. And he’d never once concerned himself with what it all meant.

  Until now. Until he’d spent a few days as one of them. Until he’d experienced the pain of getting hit in the head with a statue. Until he felt the raw surge of fear coursing through his veins when being shot at by criminals. Until he had tasted candy for the very first time or had enjoyed the simplistic wonder of physics in the form of a child’s yo-yo. He had a much better appreciation for these mortals now. For Life as they knew it.

  Plus, Courtney had tried to help him when he hadn’t even known he needed help. That said a lot about the woman’s character. She deserved to be saved if he was able, no matter what she did or didn’t know.

  His eyes darted toward the distance, but even with his uncanny sight, it was far too dark to see for any real distance. There was no sign that anyone had turned back, so he had to assume they had continued northward.

  Silas took a deep breath.

  Of course, there was one thing he could do, but he was loath to try it. The moment he left his fabricated body, it would dissolve in a whiff of smoke and ectoplasm. He could make a new one soon enough, but it wouldn’t be the same—just as the one he currently wore wasn’t the same as the one he’d used the night before to escape the gun-wielding goons. His memory was near-perfect, but not flawless. He simply couldn’t remember all the minute details enough to precisely replicate Silas Mot exactly.

  But, he also knew there really was no other choice.

  He moved away from the shoreline, stalking over to the dunes covered in cattails, sawgrass, and other vegetation, and found a secluded spot. He’d been foolish last night. He should have never tried this stunt in front of witnesses. Now, he wanted to ensure no one would see what he was about to do.

  He lay down in his spot, taking a few more, deep breaths and he was released from the material form he had worked so hard to construct.

  Back to his immortal spirit form, he looked down at his body. A single crab, disturbed by the sudden nocturnal intruder in its domain, scurried up from the sand and onto his jacket sleeve.

  “Shoo, you vile invertebrate!” he shouted at the animal, knowing full well it couldn’t hear him.

  Silas hovered there a moment longer, lingering over his body, and watched as it began to melt—suit and all—into a pinkish-brown smoke that evaporated into the air.

  If his spirit form had a mouth, he would have sighed at the sight. A perfectly good body…wasted. But there was no time to mourn its loss. He had to find Courtney. With that in mind, he rose higher into the air and continued his search for the woman.

  The moment he was far enough away from the mortal realm, his ‘knowledge’ returned and he knew without a doubt that Courtney the bartender was doomed. It was, he instinctively recalled, her Time. As a matter of fact, she was dying even as he hovered miles above the earth.

  And he also knew precisely where she was.

  With a small effort of will, he found himself hovering over her bleeding body on the beach. She was only about a hundred or so yards from where Silas had hidden his own body away. The water rolled up to her legs, soaking her shorts and tank top as it crawled up the sand underneath her. A large red stain soaked through her top, just below her left breast. A ring of black powder could be seen within the blood. A gunshot wound.

  Courtney sucked in a labored breath. Her eyes roved into the night sky until they settled on him. There was no fear in them. Only acceptance.

  “I…I know you. Don’t I?” she asked. Her voice was little more than a rasping whisper.

  He wasn’t sure how she would. In his Grim Reaper spirit state, he no longer looked like Silas Mot. In truth, he didn’t look like much of anything. He was formless. Invisible to all but the dying. He wore no robes and carried no scythe, despite the artistic masterpieces of old.

  “Yes, child,” he said. He had no lips or mouth to speak, but he knew his words were as clear as if he did. “Yes, you know me. Everyone eventually does.”

  She gasped. A trickle of blood leaked from her mouth. Slowly, she shook her head. “No. At work.” She coughed. “Last night.” She reached out a hand toward him, but he backed away. He wasn’t ready to take her. It didn’t seem right. “Mr. Mot, right?”

  If he had eyes, they would have widened at her inquiry. There should be no reason for her to recognize him in this state. No way for her to associate him with the fabricated body he used as a vehicle to move among the mortals.

  “Tell me, child,” he
said, knowing she was running out of time. “Who did this to you? Help me avenge your death.”

  Seventy-two hours earlier, the concept of avenging anyone’s death would have seemed preposterous to him. Death was a natural order of life. It was part of the Creator’s plan. Part of the nature of the universe—cursed though it may be—and not something to be shunned or reviled. Then, the Hand of Cain was rediscovered and lives began to be taken far too soon. But Courtney’s life was being taken according to her own Time. This was not an unnatural occurrence, despite the manner in which she was killed. His former self would have scoffed at the very notion, but it was obvious he was an altogether different being today than just a few days earlier.

  Courtney shook her head, coughing uncontrollably as she did. “Be careful,” she whispered. “They know…” Her words faded. Her lips moved, but no sound would come. Then, her eyes, still staring up into the stars, dimmed. One final breath was expelled and she was gone.

  The Reaper glanced over a few feet to his right. One of his nameless minions hovered there, unspeaking. A brilliant orb of spectral light, known throughout the universe as the Shakina Glory, materialized from within the spirit being—the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’, as humans called it—and, beckoned for her to come. A moment later, Courtney’s spirit entered the light, ready to be escorted to her reward, whatever it may be.

  He nodded at the minion, who returned the greeting, and watched as it, and the light, faded from sight.

  The bartender was dead. And Silas’ gut twisted inside him over her loss—which was strange, given that in this form, there was no gut to twist. But the woman hadn’t deserved this fate. She—who had no way of knowing his true nature—had merely tried to warn him of the danger he was in and she had paid for it with her life.

  He gave her body another glance. Mentally tipped his hat to her and disappeared.

  29

  SAND DOLLAR OASIS

  FRIDAY, 3:25 AM

  Becca Cole cursed as she got out of her patrol car and headed toward the group of uniformed officers gathered around the thatched tiki bar of the Sand Dollar Oasis. Third night in a row she’d been interrupted in the dead of night. Third night in a row of very little sleep. It was wearing her down.

  “What have we got?” she asked as she approached Sergeant Tanner. Of course, she realized, her most stalwart officer wasn’t getting any more sleep than she was.

  The older officer turned when he heard her approach. His face looked grim. “We have another one,” he said, glancing down at his notepad. “Your new pal Death called it in.” He nodded in the direction of the beach. Portable high-powered lights, running on generators, had been set up a few hundred yards south of the bar. Something lay flat in the sand, covered by a sheet. Yellow crime scene tape flapped in the ocean breeze around the body. Two uniformed officers guarded the tape. Silas Mot and—Is that Esperanza? What is she doing here? With him?—stood solemnly outside the perimeter.

  “What happened?” she asked Tanner.

  “Still piecing it together. Got a 911 call from Dead Boy over there. Said he suspected the girl was in trouble and that we needed to send someone to the bar ASAP. By the time we got here, he and that woman were already down there standing over the body.”

  “Who is she?”

  “The hot brunette he’s standing with?”

  “No. Our victim.”

  “Name’s Courtney Abeling, twenty-two years old. Works here nights and weekends while going to college in the city.”

  Becca nodded, patted Jeremy on the shoulder as a thank you, then began making her way toward Silas. He looked different somehow. She tilted her head, looking him up and down as she approached the police tape. Then she saw it.

  “Is that a goatee?” she asked. It was indeed a goatee, neatly groomed, and attached to a Clark Gable-like mustache just under his nose. “How the heck did you grow a goatee in just a few hours?”

  He reached up and felt his face. His eyes widened as if he had no idea it was even there.

  “Blast!” he said. “I knew that was going to happen.”

  Becca decided to let the comment go and her attention turned to the dark-skinned Latina by his side. He noticed her gaze and offered a sheepish smile in an attempt, no doubt, to distract her from the woman’s presence. Esperanza offered nothing more than a scowl.

  “And another thing…are you ever going to let me get a full night’s sleep?” she asked.

  “Sorry. I was hoping to get to her before…well, this.” He motioned to the sheet covering the body.

  “Want to tell me about it?” It wasn’t a request, but from his expression, she knew she needed to at least try a little diplomacy.

  “Met her the night I was attacked,” he said, holding out a strip of paper. “She gave me this while I was enjoying one of those delicious drinks she made for me. I thought she was flirting with me, but apparently, there was more to it than that.”

  Becca read the note. It was a little vague.

  “Any idea what she wanted to talk to you about at your motel room?”

  He shook his head. “I assume it has to do with the Hand.”

  Esperanza’s head whipped toward him. “You told her?”

  “I enlisted her assistance to help me find it,” he said. Becca had never seen him so serious. Maybe even remorseful. “She couldn’t very well help me without knowing what it was I was looking for.”

  “Which begs the question,” Becca said. “What is she doing here? She’s a known associate of one of our suspects, for crying out loud.”

  “We both know that Omo Sango didn’t do it. And she was helping me track the bartender down. That’s why she’s here.”

  “And now that I’ve done that, I’ll be taking my leave,” Esperanza said, before turning to walk away.

  “Hold it right there,” Becca said. “You still need to give a statement.”

  The Hispanic beauty sneered. “I’m leaving. That’s my statement.” Her brow furrowed. “Just try to stop me.”

  Becca readied herself to do just that but was stopped by Silas’ strong hand on her shoulder. “Let her go. It’s not worth the hassle.” He looked over at his ex. “Besides, anything she tells you would be a lie. Just out of spite.”

  Esperanza giggled at this, then sauntered toward the parking lot where her Mercedes still waited for her.

  “Here’s what happened. We learned that Courtney was hiding somewhere near the bar, so we came straight here. I called the police, hoping they’d get here before we did. But that didn’t happen. We started searching and a few minutes later, we found her here.” He looked down at the sheet. “No sign of whoever did this. Besides a ton of indistinguishable footprints in the sand, there was nothing to point to the killer.”

  Becca ducked under the tape and pulled the sheet away. The bartender, who was lying face up in the sand, was dressed in a tank top and shorts. No shoes or flip-flops, but that was to be expected if she was running from someone on the beach. She had been pretty. Young. Petite, though obviously had work done on her breasts. Regular beach-goer type. The girl was probably one of those who almost lived there, if Becca had to guess.

  Unfortunately, her beach-going days were over. The small round hole in her chest took care of that.

  Becca looked at her officers. “Any signs of shell casings?”

  They shook their head.

  “So, either the killer picked them up or used a revolver,” she said. “I don’t see an exit, so the bullet’s probably still there.” She pressed the radio transmitter clipped to her lapel. “Dispatch, this is Unit 101. Contact the M.E. and the sheriff’s office CSU and have them en route as soon as possible. Then see if the S.O.’s major crimes division can work this one. I’ve already got my hands full with Alvarez’s death.” She waved Sergeant Tanner over. When he walked up, she pointed to the body. “Wait for crime scene and the M.E. Mr. Mot and I have to go take care of some business.”

  “We do?”

  She ignored the questi
on and waited for Tanner to respond. The moment he agreed, she waved for Silas to follow her and they left the beach, making a beeline for her car.

  “Mind telling me where we’re going?” he asked.

  She held up her keychain fob and unlocked her car doors remotely. “Get in and shut up.”

  She was being a little harder on him than perhaps she would like, but she was annoyed. Her homicide rate had doubled in a matter of days since his arrival in her town and she didn’t like it. Once again, probably not his fault. But then again, how did she really know that? Assuming everything he’d told her was true. Assuming he really was the Grim Reaper, Lord of All Things Death…then wasn’t it his responsibility to keep a crazy artifact like something called the Hand of Cain out of the paws of psychotic humans? Was he that inept?

  They slipped into her car and she pulled out of the parking lot, her tires burning rubber in a shrill screech.

  “You’re angry.”

  “You bet your creepy hoodie, I’m angry,” Becca growled. “You’ve turned my town into a regular shooting gallery and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  “I had nothing to do with any of this! This is on a mortal. A human. The whole lot of you are depraved. Greedy. Nuts.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I came here…wearing this ridiculous human body like the world’s least comfortable suit…to try to save you from yourselves.”

  She pressed down on the accelerator, speeding down A1A like a bat out of hell. This time of night, the roads were generally clear and she needed to clear her head. Speed always helped do that for her.

  “And for your information, I feel horrible about the bartender,” Silas continued. “She had been nice to me.”

  “You mean ‘flirted’ with you, don’t you?”

  Why did that bother her so much?

  “She had been nice to me. She obviously was warning me. Obviously was trying to protect me from someone and ended up dying for her troubles. That’s not a thing I take lightly. If I die, I can come back…eventually. It might take some time, but I can return to continue my work. She, on the other hand, can’t. It’s not fair and I am angry about it. The rub of it is, I’ve been in this body for so long, I’m beginning to empathize with the lot of you. And trust me…that doesn’t make my job any easier.”