I dragged my things into the kitchen and just left them beside the refrigerator. Meanwhile, I went back outside to tend to the now mostly empty bottle of bourbon. I grabbed it by the neck, holding it up to look upon it with a dirty look. “You’re a dick.” I said, to which my imagination then responded, “You’re still gonna come back to me.” I huffed, groaning “Shut up.” I tilt the bottle upside down, drinking down what little is left and I headed back inside.
While making my way further into the house, I go through my messages to Evan as I make my way upstairs. My feet dragging on the floor before they slowly stomp onto the steps, I read that Evan agreed to go into business with me. The conversation quickly devolved into rambling nonsense, asking about the nickname we shared as babies. My last message, presumably before my phone died again, was “We’re the Spike Brothers!”
Chapter 3
The front door to the apartment bursts open, followed by frustrated grunting. First is the heavy metal and wood desk. One end is pressed against my fat gut while the opposite end is pointed in the air, thanks to the strap helping me lift it. Slowly, the desk rocks left and right as I manage to waddle into the living room of said apartment.
The strap comes loose from my hand as I decide to drop my tired body just as hard onto the floor as I do the desk. No doubt, I shook the floor beneath me and maybe the neighbors below. I’m dripping sweat as I leaned my forehead against the side of the cool desk, breathing heavily as I desperately gasped for air.
I tilt my head, the sweat lubricating the skin-on-metal movement. I look into the room; everything I have to my name is randomly strewn about within. I sigh heavily, tired from having to carry this damn thing in all by myself. “I need to lose weight.” I mumble.
Two dark green filing cabinets on either end, three file boxes stacked atop one another. A black backpack full of my electronics and other stuff leaning against said boxes. Two wooden chairs along with an old desk chair sat in the middle of the room. Finally, there’s my large duffle bag tossed to the far end of the living room along with a dirty clothes basket. The basket is stuffed full of thick blankets and pillows; their fluff pushing out from the patterned holes.
I look up and around; the walls are bare, the lights are off. I start to regret this decision until I look at the living room windows and see it. The freshly painted stencil across the dual windows. “SPIKE” arching upwards on the right window, finished by “BROS” arching downwards on the left. Underneath, across both windows is “PARANORMALISTS” painted horizontally, matching the black with gold border lettering above it.
I smirk, despite the fatigue, feeling rather proud of the bold move I’ve taken. I honestly don’t mind too much about the office being in the ABC’s of Potton; the poor part of town. Its trashier nature lending to the looser rules of running a business out of a residential apartment rather than renting out actual office space. This way, I can sleep in my office and no one will hound me about it.
“Hey!” I hear come from my porch. The door and storm door are still wide open. “What’s with all the damn noise?” The male voice is easily recognisable to me. I take my head off the desk and turned to see Kyle Levine.
Kyle is shorter that me, standing at five foot ten. However, he’s far more in shape than I am with thick arms and a barrel chest. His stomach also sports a gut, indicating he’s not a bodybuilder, but just a guy who’s stayed in shape. Kyle is a ginger with pale skin mixed with reddish skin where the sun usually shines on it. I almost didn’t recognize him, considering he’d decided to shave his head and sport a thick orange beard.
“Holy shit.” I mutter as I see him. He smiles from under his beard and heads in. Before I can even stand up properly, I’m suddenly met with this almost crushing bear hug and a high cackle of a laugh.
“Jesus Christ!” Kyle calls out, “Rick? When did you move back? I was ready to kick your ass!” I can’t help by laugh, despite my ribs being pushed in, “A couple hours ago! What, do you live downstairs?” He lets go and slaps me on the shoulder. “Yeah! Fuck, you’re my new neighbor, that’s awesome!”
I point over to the window and say, “This isn’t just my apartment, man.” Kyle turns around and his eyes widen, “No fucking shit. You’re in business for yourself?” I nod with a wide smile and he holds his hand up. I hold mine up as well, which he meets with a hard high five; the loud clap echoing off the empty walls.
Chapter 4
Kyle and I spent the rest of the day unpacking and setting up. I put everything in the back room and organized it there. The hot and humid September air was punishing, not helped by the fact that the sun incubated that bedroom from sunrise to sunset, so the help was appreciated.
The desk sat in the middle of the room with the back of the chair to the windows with similar stenciling as the living room. The two wooden chairs sat in front of the desk. The filing cabinets sitting up against the wall, facing out as well and next to the windows.
I unpacked my clothes; putting my jeans, t-shirts, socks and boxers on the shelf in the closet, since I didn’t have a dresser. Everything else I hung up while keeping the laundry hamper on one side. The closet next to it had the water heater, so I just slid the file boxes into there and told myself I’d buy a stack of shelves later, making it the utility closet.
By the time we had everything done, night had fallen by the grace of God. The windows were open and the breeze brought in cool air to soothe us. Kyle had brought up a box fan, so I put it in the window to bring the cool air in. My black t-shirt was soaked with sweat. I sat in my obnoxiously squeaky desk chair while he sat in one of the wooden chairs. I’d snagged from a dining room set in Mom’s basement. They were four legged and had cushioned arms.
“Jesus,” Kyle remarked, “That chair is gonna get on my fucking nerves.” I had to laugh, because he was only saying what was on my mind. I hadn’t seen him in a long time; not since I quit McSling’s years ago. I’d wondered what he’d been up to in all that time. “Hey,” I quipped, “It’s the cheapest piece of shit I could find.” Kyle nods, “Yeah, it sounds like it.”
After a little bit, I got up and headed to the fridge, which sat conveniently right next to the bedroom… sorry, the office door. I pulled out a fresh bottle of cheap scotch from the freezer along with two glasses from the pantry. “Fuck yes!” Kyle exclaimed as he snatched his glass out of my hand. I sat back down, chair creaking and whining as I leaned forward, pouring us a swallow each. Kyle knocked his back before I could get mine poured.
“So when the fuck were you gonna tell me you were moving back?” He asked, almost insulted. I chuckled a little as I sat back, pulling my phone out of my pocket, glass of scotch in hand. “I was gonna make it a surprise, honestly. I wanted to get settled in a bit and show this whole thing off.”
Kyle looked to the window as he poured himself another glass.“So,” He asked, “What happened to your dream job in the Darkbreakers?” I groan at the question, avoiding it by knocking my glass of scotch back quickly. I tense my jaw at the foul, flat champagne-like taste before I start in on my phone.
I turn on the internet radio; “How The Nights Can Fly” by Hampshire & Foat starts to play while I drop it on the desk. The hot night is complemented by a blues-style atmosphere. The back of the chair creaked as I sat back, delaying the inevitable explanation. In the meantime, Kyle poured himself another and knocked it back like a frat brother taking shots. After, he just sat and stared, waiting for me to say something.
“That’s, uh… Probably a long story.” I say, hesitantly. Kyle grabs the green bottle which has frosted over completely, pouring himself a new glass. “Not like we don’t have time. Look who you’re talking to.” I nod, pouring a fresh glass once he’s done. “It’s gonna take a couple more of these before I can get into it.”
Kyle grows even more intrigued, “Really? That raw of a nerve, huh?” Kyle knew me pretty well. While we weren’t that close, we’d spent many a night with a bottle between us after closing shifts. I guess that’s what c
onstitutes as a drinking buddy in the digital age.
“Where you working now a days?” I ask him, outright. He grows a smile behind his beard, holding the glass of cold scotch. “Well, I’m still at McSling’s.” He drinks the scotch as I mumble “Jesus.” He growls at the taste before following up with “I’m on my way out the door, though.”
I sit there with the cold scotch in my hand, letting it cool my hand down as I ask “You’ve gotta be manager by now, right?” It’s clear that asking that was a sore nerve in of itself, one that should’ve been left alone. He can’t help but laugh though, grabbing the frosty bottle and pouring a new glass. “That’s why I’m on my way out the door.” My eyes grow wide as I leaned forward. The chair creaked again. “Are you fucking serious?” I asked, starting to feel the buzz coming on.
“Ok, that chair really is gonna piss me off.” He says before he quickly swallows the fresh scotch. Immediately after, he growls “Yep” as he pours another one. I quickly drink my glass and take the bottle from him, pouring myself a fresh one. He’s giving it to the bottle hard and I want to make sure I get good and lit before he finishes it off.
“You’ve gotta be getting paid like… I don’t know, 8 something at least, right?” I ask. He smiles again with a small chuckle, “Yeah, right. That’s manager pay, son! You know Terry doesn’t promote anyone unless they’re a woman or Chaz mother fucking Turner.” I sigh, nodding my head in response. The owner of the store is a sexist bastard like that.
I even start to recall my days there for a second. Chaz was a huge prick and no one wanted to work with him. So there was little pay, I couldn’t move out of Mom’s, saving up for a car took much longer than it probably should’ve, I had to take off all of Chaz’s closing shifts...then again, it really helped me appreciate the $11.50 an hour starting pay at my last job.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask him. He sits there, pressing the cold glass to his forehead “I don’t know. I was honestly thinking about going your route, but uh…” I smirk and nod. “They’re a good way to go, but it’s probably best to stay a private contractor for right now.”
I can tell his next question by the look on his face. Before he’s able to say anything I roll my eyes and finally fess up. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” I explain, “so you’ll end up having a front row seat to however this turns out.” He chuckles quietly, which I do as well. Kyle holds up his glass and says “To the spirit of adventure.” I hold mine up, leaning forward with the chair creaking as we toast.
It wasn’t long after that there came a knock at the front door. I looked to Kyle with a quizzical look, “Anyone know you’re here?” He shakes his head, growing more confused “What about you?” I shake my head “No.” I was thinking it was a neighbor coming over to bitch about the noise or something, but we’ve been pretty quiet.
He and I both got up with a growing curiosity. Heading out of the back bedroom, we quietly snuck into the now-empty living room. I open the door with Kyle next to me only to be met with a sight neither of us were expecting.
She had a slender frame and was dressed with business in mind, either for her every day or for just this meeting. A charcoal colored skirt which came up no higher than above her knees, a silk white button-down blouse, buttoned up to cover what little cleavage she had.
Her charcoal pumps were that of a stylish business woman. Her brunette hair was done up in a bun and her dark-colored glasses contrasted with her fair caucasian skin. She held a rather expensive looking leather bag in her left hand, large enough to hold files or god knows what else.
“Richard Gibson?” She asked, looking to both of us. I extended my hand, “Yes, um…?” She took my hand, firmly shaking it with a false smirk on her lips. “Lena White with Bowman Real Estate. May I come in?”
Without a word, I let her in. She immediately made her way through the kitchen and into the back room to my office, like she already knew it was to act as such. Kyle and I looked at each other, equally confused before I closed the door and went back to the office to meet with her.
“What can I do for you, Ms. White?” I asked, sitting back down in my creaky chair. She was sitting in one of the chairs across from me while Kyle pulled the other chair out a little way from her. “Well, I was hoping we could negotiate some sort of deal for your services.” I looked to Kyle with the ever present quizzical look.
I tried not to show how drunk I was slowly becoming, “Ms. White, I’ve barely set up shop. I’ve yet to even advertise-” Lena interrupts me, explaining “We own the building, Mr. Gibson. We were made aware of your intentions with the apartment by the realtor.” I simply nod “Oh, ok.” without even thinking.
With one glaring question out of the way, mine and Kyle’s curiosity only deepens. “Right,” I start, smirking “well what exactly can I do for you then?” Getting right down to business, she puts her bag on the desk, flipping the leather flap open and proceeds to pull out two rather thick file folders. “Cooper Bowman has asked if it’s at all possible for the two of you to look into a case the sheriff has been neglecting.”
I take the folder handed to me, but speak up as she hands the second folder to Kyle, “Um, Mr. Levine doesn’t actually work for me.” She just gives this cocky little smirk, explaining “It’s ok, this offer has been extended to both of you, personally.”
I put the folder down and lean back in my chair. “Ok, I think the theatrics are starting to wear thin.” Kyle, having already opened the file and started looking through, quickly says “Rick, I think you need to give this a look,” undermining my bravado and cutting my plot to get some straight answers while lending her creedence. I look to Lena, locking eyes with her. “Maybe she can give me the cliffnotes.”
She sighs, her own gaze locked onto mine as she begins to explain, “This case is actually a bit too much for the local sheriff. However, for a man with your background, I’m sure it’s rather simple. Over a dozen or so bodies have turned up exsanguinated in the tri-county area. Those same bodies are going missing before any autopsy can be performed.”
I nod, looking over at Kyle before looking back at Lena. Even a school child can pick up what’s she’s putting down “It’s pretty clear what’s at play here.” I start, “However, why is it the both of us are needed?”
She nods and continues, “Convenience. We clearly know who you are and Mr. Levine has a… rather interesting reputation. With all due respect, you could really use his help with this. Cooper would like for you two to track down and permanently deal with this vampire epidemic.”
Kyle’s head shot up and looks to Lena with wide eyes, “Wait, vampires?” I’m not sure if it’s the booze, but Kyle is clearly excited and his smile can’t be hidden behind his beard. He’s smiling ear to ear, like a schoolboy who was just told he was going on vacation.
I hold my hand up to Kyle, eyes still locked on Lena. “Why does Cooper Bowman, of all people have an interest in ending a vampirism epidemic?” Without breaking our locked gaze, she explains “Well, I’m sure you understand what happens during a reported vampire epidemic. The CDC will quarantine the area until the disease can be dealt with, thoroughly. Which would mean the disruption of Cooper’s business endeavours.”
I sigh, nodding as a show that I understand. At the end of the day, it all comes down to money. However, if the CDC shuts down the valley, then it wont open back up for at least two years. I don’t want to be literally trapped here as well as financially dependant on it.
I take the file, breaking my eye contact with her as I open it up. I casually looked through the papers; names of victims along with their personal information. “A case like this could get very pricey. Discretion is no doubt a factor in this as well?” I peek back up at her, my line of sight over the top of my square-frame glasses. She nods, “Of course.”
“Mr. Bowman has agreed to overlook the matter of both your rental agreements until November instead of any monetary payout.” She says, which causes Kyle to look back up to me and ask “Wait, wh
at’s that mean?” I smirk, looking through the folder while not making eye contact with either of them “It means, if we do this we don’t have to pay rent for the next 2 months.”
However, I look back up, putting the file down on my desk with a sigh. “Make it four months. What you’re asking is going to be far dirtier than two grand.” I don’t have a leg to stand on, but the alcohol has bit down hard and I’m far more ballsy than I should be. Kyle goes silent, eyes wide with possibilities.
I look over the frames of my glasses at her. “I mean, you and Mr. Bowman are aware of the steps that would need to be taken to properly and quietly deal with a vampirism epidemic, right?” She gives a subtle, but dark smirk that mimicked in her eyes. “He’s aware. He hopes you two can handle this sort of job.” Kyle can’t help himself as he slaps the folder shut and drops it on the desk, “Hell yes, I can handle it!”
Lena goes quiet, no doubt thinking over the newly altered deal. I’m not sure if Kyle is sure of what he’s being asked to do, but I sure as hell am. However, the idea of vampires skulking about after I just moved back isn’t sitting right in my stomach.
She sighs heavily in defeat. Without a word, I stand up and reach across the desk, holding my hand out. She takes my hand and gently shakes it. “Glad we can do business, Ms. White.”
She goes into her bag and pulls out a business card, laying it on my desk. “Here is my card. My personal number is written on the back. Should you need anything after office hours.” I give a smirk and nod, “Of course.”
Kyle and I follow her out of the back room, showing her out, politely. We manage to keep our composure rather well until we close the door. From there, Kyle starts in with his signature cackle while I laugh with him.
“Four months?” He asks in disbelief. I shake my head, “It better be four months, considering what she’s asking, man.” He calms down a bit and asks, “What is she asking us to do?” I wave my hand, dismissively “God, I need a drink.”
Haunted Page 2
