The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  The earth felt warm in my hand, the dirt slipping through my fingers like water. It was almost mid-September and the summer had left its heat firmly imprinted. Autumn was still only a promise.

  I stood.

  Smith came over to stand beside me. “Hey Caleb, what do you think?” I looked down at the fresh body, the smell somewhere between open sewer and rotting meat.

  “I'm not raising another one of the murdered kids. That's what I'm thinking.” Gum snapped behind me, echoing in the meadow we stood in.

  Garcia, Gale and all the techs (I thought of them as dead techs, not sure why), looked up, startled by the noise. They looked at Tiff, who unfazed by anything shrugged like, whatever.

  She flipped her hood up, effectively hiding.

  I looked at her and yanked my head back.

  She walked over.

  “I think we need to touch her,” I began.

  “Kinda weird it's a girl,” she commented.

  I nodded, it was. Most Nulls were guys; nobody knew why.

  Smith looked at the strangled girl, shaking his head. “So totally wrong.”

  We agreed.

  “I know that with Caleb, we may be able to get a vibe for the killer. We didn't get squat from the last corpse except it was kinda crazy. Raising them isn't gonna work. We need to feel what they remembered,” Tiff said.

  There was a commotion from behind me and I turned. Dave Smith, my AFTD teacher was here.

  My shoulders slumped. Perfect.

  Garcia was shaking his head.

  I walked over there.

  Smith saw me and said to Garcia, “That's my student there and he needs to have guidance. He's too skilled to be here without some supervision from another AFTD.”

  That was definitely not having my back. Smith was turning into the category of: Dickhead Adult. I wasn't thinking he'd pull a surprise on us like Griswold and turn out okay.

  “I appreciate your concern for Caleb, Mr.—” Garcia began.

  “Smith,” he replied, putting his hands on his hips.

  He was getting his war paint on (the Skopamish came to mind randomly). Hadn't that been a nice little disaster?

  Smith looked at me for help but I wasn't really digginʼ on him busting in on our crime scene, stirring the paranormal pot and all that happy ho-ho shit.

  “Mr. Smith,” Garcia began, “we have a five-point Null here.”

  John Smith walked over to Teacher Smith. “We have things under control. There's no cause for concern,” he said in a neutral voice.

  Teacher Smith's eyes narrowed. “But you're not using just Caleb. Tiffany Weller is complementing him in his exercises. You may not be sufficient for containing whatever might happen.”

  Smith the Null's eyebrows shot up, and he folded his arms. “What do you mean? I can shut anyone down. That's why I'm working homicide.”

  Smith leaned against the yellow tape. “Listen, you have, in theory, some very disturbed potential zombies, if they escape the control of this five-point AFTD and his rechargeable side-kick—”

  “Hey!” Tiff interjected, pissed. The battery reference wasn't appreciated.

  Smith's eyes flicked to Tiff and he shrugged, truth hurts, that look said. “You may have a zombie on the rampage, and they cannot be stopped except by fire. You have a Pyrokenetic on staff?”

  Smith stared blankly at my teacher.

  Gale walked over. “Thanks so much for your concern. But, I need to ask you to go, this is an ongoing homicide investigation and civilians aren't allowed inside this perimeter.”

  He looked down at Gale, way down. “You'll regret not including me.” Smith's gaze shifted to me. “You're going to raise one of these victims and lose control of them. And then we'll see what happens.”

  “Wait a second,” Garcia said. “Why is it any different than any other zombie?”

  Smith looked smug.

  Our Null glowered.

  “Because, in theory, a person killed violently has the last life impression, etched on them in such a way, they're not normal when they rise.

  And how were zombies normal?

  “You're saying—what—they're ʻcrazy zombiesʼ?” Tiff asked.

  Smith the Teacher nodded. “That is not entirely accurate but it's close enough.”

  “They're insane because—?” Garcia began to ask.

  “Because that was their last point of reference,” John Smith answered.

  “That was the last memory. Their last anything,” I said.

  Smith the Null and my teacher was nodding.

  We stood around for a long moment. Finally, Garcia said, “I think we were going to try another method today.”

  Smith looked at me, aghast, “Did you already raise one of the murder victims?”

  I looked at the G's, wasn't sure what I could answer.

  Garcia nodded. “Yeah.”

  Smith pegged his hips with his hands again. “Humph! Well, how did that go?”

  A memory of the zombie pushing his guts inside the cavity of his body and straddling me with his hands biting into my flesh came to mind. “Not that great.”

  He threw up his hands like, I told you so.

  Tiff stared at me. “Are you kidding?”

  Garcia's glare stopped her comment in its tracks.

  Her mouth closed with a snap.

  There was a pause in conversation where the only noises were the tools of the dead techs, their gloves snapping on and coming off. The the low drone of the incessant buzzing of flies filled the space, rivaling that of the dead which called to me.

  The wind brought the scent of decay to our nostrils—the fragrance of murder.

  Gale shook herself from the news. “Okay, thank you so much. We will take what you've told us under advisement. For the time being, Caleb and Tiffany are acting as consultants until there is a break in the case. We have a powerful Null assigned, who is on site the entire time. Things are under control.”

  He smirked down at her. “Let's hope that's the case. Don't discount my expertise in this matter, officer.” Which came out sounding vaguely like, bitch.

  Bobbi Gale took it that way too, her eyes sharpening on him like knives. “Again, thank you so much,” she replied.

  I heard, eff-you very much. I was getting pretty good at translating adult-speak.

  Smith stood to his full height. “I offered my services here. You are endangering these minors. It's on your collective consciences if the worst happens. This could have been avoided had you acted like reasonable adults.”

  “Go now, or I will take you in for harassment. We've been patient; we've listened to your arguments. Enough,” Garcia said, his hand hovering around his utility belt.

  Interesting.

  Smith's eyes met Garcia's, and there was a strained moment when I thought that Smith would challenge him further.

  Don't do it, bud.

  “Fine. But, don't call me when things go sideways and you don't have a safety net. You're out of your element.” He gave me a last, penetrating stare and stalked off.

  “That was frickinʼ weird,” Tiff said.

  Yeah.

  “What's all that about, Caleb?” Gale asked.

  I shrugged, watching Smith's retreating back. “Ah, last week he said I should ask you guys if you needed help with the investigation. I forgot about it.” Just a few things going on in my life right now, thanks.

  Garcia looked after him. “That's your, what, teacher?”

  “Yeah, he's one of my core AFTD.”

  “Not very cool, him showing up here and throwing his paranormal weight around,” Smith the Null said.

  “Maybe he's a glory hound?” Gale commented.

  “I don't like that he knew where to find the crime scene,” Garcia said quietly.

  Yeah, how did he find it?

  “A leak?” Smith addressed the question to Gale and Garcia.

  “Must be,” Gale said.

  By mutual consensus, we made our way to the body. The smell got worse by the
minute.

  Tiff didn't even bother to be cool about it, but held out a stiff hand and a dead tech handed her a mask.

  I was okay with the smell. It was a little like fresh zombie for me. I was breathing through my mouth even though it hurt my ribs a little. They were still sore from the fun gang beating a few days ago.

  Tiff and I sunk to our haunches, gazing at the corpse.

  One tennis shoe was gone from the body, leaving an ankle exposed. The pressure of the whispering was almost painful, and I turned to Smith, the beat of the call like an errant drum, its percussion incessantly thumping inside my head.

  “I need you to tune up some.”

  “How much?” Smith asked.

  “I don't know, just do something, I'm dying here.”

  His face took on that blank look when he started to think about his ability. We'd talked about it before and his ability was a lot like mine. Unlike me, if he just let it leak all over the place, mundanes didn't notice. If he was around paranormals, well, he had fun with it.

  Nobody thought zombies popping up unexpectedly was very fun.

  The whispering began to recede like the tide leaving the shore. Okay—bearable again.

  Tiff and I looked at each other over the body, her mossy green eyes were wide like fifty-cent pieces.

  I nodded at her, letting my face fill with an unspoken question; you okay with this?

  She nodded.

  We touched the ankle at the same time—without gloves. There was no transference without that skin contact.

  Her hand was beside mine. As she slipped her pinky on my hand, we fell into the memories of the slain girl.

  I panicked and Smith saw. Immediately he tuned up more.

  The corpse was so close to being a zombie I could taste the rising on my tongue.

  “Oh God, she wants to be alive again!” Tiff whispered in a strained voice.

  “Yes. Shh,” I said, concentrating—using every ounce of what Smith was dulling to keep from raising the girl.

  *

  The Girl's hands hurt, wrapped together, twist-ties biting into the tender flesh of her wrists, the blood throbbing above the binding. Her breath came in quick gasps, the cloth from the bag that covered her face was making her suffocate with heat. She needed to escape this place that smelled like damp earth and rotting vegetation.

  What had she done to deserve this?

  The Girl heard a door open and close, and she could feel a malicious presence above her, breathing. The need to pee burned in her bladder like low embers in a fire.

  “Please, I need to go, I need to go to the bathroom,” the Girl said.

  The cloth bag was torn off her head, and a few strands of hair came with it, the stinging of her scalp reminding her that she still lived.

  The Man wore a mask but the Female did not. She knew the man was tall but the Female was younger, with stringy, dark blond hair.

  “Take her to the bathroom.”

  The Female nodded, scurrying over to the Girl who cringed away from her.

  The Female had been the one to lure her to the man. Everyone trusted a woman. Her parents had said to never trust strangers.

  She hadn't. She knew this Female.

  The Girl looked at her with accusing eyes, burning hatred making her eyes ache with it.

  “I'm sorry,” the Female whispered, “he makes me tell him,” she said as she pulled the Girl up to a standing position. All the blood rushed to her head. She swayed, forced to lean on the traitorous Female for balance.

  The Girl struggled to the commode, emptying her bladder for a moment that lasted into eternity. Finally, she stumbled as she was simultaneously dragged to the dank mattress on the floor.

  The Girl looked at the mattress in horror, old blood and... other things smeared, splattered and in various stages of aging, covered the mattress. No part of it undefiled.

  She whipped her head back and forth.“No, no! Don't put me back on that!” she began to struggle in earnest.

  It suddenly occurred to the Girl that she would not live. That is why the Female showed her face. The Girl would die here in this cellar with the smell of slow death filling her nose.

  The Man approached her, shoving her on the bed. “Leave us!” he yelled at the Female.

  She cast one last glance at the Girl and in that moment her face was etched forever in the Girl's memory as the hands of the tall masked Man wrapped around her throat. Death hovered over nearby like a rank vapor. He pressed on her throat, saying, “Without you, there can no longer be them.”

  The Girl stared at her captor, her breath scorching her lungs, begging for release, the pressure and unbearable weight a screaming torture within her. Her vision began to narrow to a single point, the peripheral edges blurring.

  Her last conscious thought was the Female's eyes:They'd held fear. But the Girl was no longer scared, her vision going to black.

  She died. Surrounded by rage, death and decay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Someone was shaking me.

  “Caleb! Caleb!”

  Panic, someone was panicking.

  I opened my eyes, and Smith was above me, naked relief standing on his face. “You had me scared. You and Tiff, both.”

  I stared at the clouds roll above me. The dead-techs were in a loose circle, looking down at where I lay on my back, which wasn't where I started.

  I asked the obvious, “What happened?”

  Garcia pushed his way through the techs. “What did you see?”

  Gale craned her head to look up at him, frowning. “Just a sec, Raul. Let's see if he's okay first.”

  Smith looked at Garcia. “Yeah.”

  Garcia crossed his arms. “He and the Weller girl are fine. Obviously, Smith was able to contain the corpse.”

  “It was a near thing, Raul. You know, that nut bunny teacher was right. With the two AFTDs at work, well,” Smith tore a hand through his hair, “it was a close call.”

  The dead techs looked at the three cops, shifting their weight from foot to foot.

  “Take the body,” Garcia said.

  They swooped in, loading the corpse into a black vinyl sheeting-type bag that zipped from top to bottom.

  Gale saw me looking. “Body bag.”

  Right. Great. I'd sleep better knowing that.

  She gave me a weak smile. Guess things had gotten kinda tense when Tiff and I were doing our fugue together.

  I looked to my left and met Tiff's eyes. She was flat on her back too. “Do you know her?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  Smith sharpened right up. “Who?”

  “There's a girl that's helping the killer.”

  Smith squatted down beside me, hands clasped loosely between his thighs. “Can you tell us something about her?”

  I told them everything. How the victim had known the accomplice, had trusted her. That somehow, she had led the victim to the masked killer. His ending comment got Gale's full attention.

  “So we have some guy that—what? Thinks that getting rid of Nulls will do...”

  Tiff and I looked at each other. “I got the feeling,” she paused, staring at me, I knew what she was going to say. I'd been with the dead girl too, “that he thought that if the Nulls were gone, then it would somehow, take away the paranormals.”

  The dead techs looked up at her words then got busy carrying the girl's body, its singing presence getting fainter as she floated under the hands of the living to the hearse that waited to swallow her forever.

  ****

  I was propping a heavy head up in both hands when Mom said, “Elbows, mister.”

  I sighed. Never a break on etiquette.

  I slid my hands on my lap, resisting the urge to put my head against the wall. It just felt too heavy to sit on my neck right now.

  Mom set a plate of pot roast and mashed potatoes in front of me. For a second I thought I'd gotten away without a vegetable. Then she plopped a spoonful of disgusting peas on the side. I looked at them
sitting there looking all green and healthy.

  My exhale was disgusted.

  Dad steepled his fingers, pressing his chin into the nest of them. “Okay, obviously something's bothering you. What can you tell us?”

  He smiled as Mom put his plate in front of him, fully laden with artery clogging butter, and sour cream stuffed into the center of the taters.

  Mom sat down and watched me work through spinning the condiments into a froth of deliciousness in my mashed potatoes.

  “Spill it, pal,” she said.

  Good news first. “Well. I didn't raise anything.” I took a bite of too-hot potatoes and tongue danced them.

  “Thank God,” Dad muttered.

  Mom frowned.

  “You still smell,” she wafted her hand around, “vaguely like grave.”

  Close proximity to dead bodies will do that to a person. “I'll get stuff off my chest later, Mom. Right now, I'm digesting my own spine.”

  Mom wrinkled her nose.

  Dad laughed, he could relate.

  I stuffed a hunk of meat (full of ketchup) into my craw, and chased it with milk. I did that about three more times and when the gnawing in my belly was a dull roar, I told the Parents what the deal was.

  The Hunger was abated but not satiated. I shoveled food as I spoke.

  Dad interrupted, “So, you were able to clearly identify who was assisting this murderer, but not the killer himself?”

  I nodded, it was so frustrating. Neither Tiff or I knew the female that had lured the victim. The guy was a mystery too.

  “He was a nobody. Dark hair, tall, voice was just like everyone's.” I tensed, stabbing at my peas with the fork tines.

  “His voice? Was there a regional diction that you could ascertain?” he asked.

  I stared at Dad.

  “Does he speak like people from our area?”

  I thought about it. Yeah, he was from here. “I think so. He hardly said anything—he whispered. Like he was trying to disguise his voice. We know he's got it in for the Nulls. He's got some lame idea that if he kills all the Nulls, that somehow it'll make it tough on the paranormals.”

  I plowed another bite in, chipmunk cheek style.

  Mom's hand flew to her mouth, Dad and she exchanged a charged look.

  “What?” I muttered through the wad of food, setting my fork down on my plate, my hunger temporarily forgotten.