Now We Can’t Sleep At Night (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Robert Wilde

  Tilting his head to look, Jeff turned to Smithers who was blushing slightly. “It wasn’t warm last night, why is he naked?”

  “We think he died having sex. There are traces of drugs in the bathroom, and he was seen coming back to his room with a woman.”

  “Ah, a woman, and where is she?”

  “That’s the interesting thing sir, she’s missing. We have a name, we have a description, and she left the hotel in the middle of the night without paying. Ran off.”

  “I see, so this is looking criminal.”

  “Nope,” came a voice from the bathroom, and a head stuck out. “I’ve taken a look, we’ll need a full autopsy of course, but it’s looking like a heart attack brought on by drugs and exertion.”

  “He died as most men would wish,” Smithers tried. Jeff decided the blushing woman didn’t need a reply, this banter thing could go so far.

  “I don’t think it’s illegal to actually shag someone to death,” Jeff pondered out loud, “although clearly she panicked over the drugs. Do we know if they were badly cut drugs?”

  “Will need tests.”

  “Of course, of course. So who was he?”

  “We’re looking that up, I mean we have the name he booked in under and his credit card, but as to why he’s here…”

  Jeff nodded, and he actually felt in command when his mobile phone rang.

  “Yes?”

  “I have a different constabulary on the phone to talk to you, a detective constable, shall I put her through.”

  “Yes, right, hello?”

  “Ah, hello detective, sorry to ring like this, but I believe you’ve just found a man dead.”

  “Indeed. Does this mean you know him?”

  “Yes, we’ve been looking for him ever since he fled a hotel room, his one night stand had died from complications. Drugs.”

  Jeff slowly closed his eyes and debated getting a job selling bibles. Nice, old bibles.

  “Do I have to do it?”

  Jeff looked up from his desk, where Smithers had just come in. She was still blushing.

  “It’s a presentation to a group of detectives who have video conferenced in a long way, it’ll be great experience. Just pretend it’s our lot, they’ll be sat in the room with you.”

  “I, err, it’s a very delicate issue.”

  “Pretend they’re all naked.”

  “That’ll make things worse.”

  Jeff looked down at his paperwork, and back up. “You don’t flinch when someone’s head is cut open and they’re bleeding on your shoes, but you have to do a talk about dying during sex and you’re nervous?” Okay, he thought to himself, that really wasn’t sounding fatherly and supportive was it.

  “Yes, sorry, I’m being silly,” and she turned and walked towards the conference room. Maybe he should… no, he was right. One day she’d have to deal with the press.

  He was in the room a few minutes later, and soon the big screen came on and Smithers rose to give the talk.

  “Greetings ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming this afternoon, and thank you for answering our request and sending over the relevant reports you’ve looked out. All of you have had cause to investigate the case of an adult, male or female, who died of a combination of chemical and sexual excess. In each case, someone began to act incredibly out of character, spending all the money they could access on a cocktail of alcohol, prescription medication and illegal drugs, and having sexual relations with as many people as seemingly possible. This, it had to be said, it not something we have never come across. People do freak out and do this.” She paused, took a sip of water, and went for the reveal. “What is unusual is that we have been able to tie all your reports together. In each case, when these individual’s bodies collapsed under the strain, their partner for that night vanished from the scene. What we have discovered is that they then began the same pattern of activity. In short, an individual acts like a Roman Emperor, dies, and his sexual partner for that night does exactly the same thing, the out of character actions beginning the same night or day. We have traced ten such relationships across the country, there may be more. Not all of these acts were one night stands with strangers. In one instant a woman died in the bed of her neighbour, who fled. From the drug samples we have retrieved there is no obvious agent which might be behind this, but we can’t rule out a new generation of psychoactive or other chemical is causing this strange chain.”

  Smithers stopped, smiled, and knew she’d got past the introduction. Now all she had to do was go through each death, which included photos on screen of the dead people as they lay, a series on which you could see the penis’ and vaginas of dead people. If she got through that, she’d drink a bottle of Malibu. Bloody Catholic schooling.

  “So it could be some really fantastic drug?”

  Jeff didn’t turn from his position in the driver’s seat, he just sighed. “No Nazir, it is not some fantastic drug. If it is a substance, it’s one that makes people live a life of debauchery so strong it kills them.”

  “I have the answer,” Dee began, “they merely took a sample of Nazir’s blood and injected that into a bag of Charlie.”

  “Why yes Dee, I am an erotic pirate, sailing on the sexual seas.”

  “Got any crabs?”

  “Right, if you two could focus, what I’m hoping is we can find the spirit of one of the departed and ask them what happened. Now, how certain are you people only hang around if they’ve been murdered or something really bad happens?”

  “Not very, it’s an inexact science,” Joe explained from the box.

  “Damn, because I’m worried dying high with your bits wet isn’t the most horrifying of ways to go.”

  “Well, you said ten people,” and Dee spoke while driving them all, “there’s bound to be one pissed off.”

  “Yes, but we’ll have to go on a road trip to find the others.”

  “We’re free.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “But we’re free.”

  “Alright, you can go without me, but pull in here, we’ve arrived.” They all got out, walked into the hotel, and Jeff waved at the staff and led the group through. “If anyone asks, don’t say anything.”

  “We’ll pretend to be a school trip.”

  “Oh don’t start.”

  After they’d taken the lift up, they were soon entering a room. “Okay, is there anyone here?”

  “Yes,” Joe said, “there’s a very unhappy man pacing about.”

  “Pacing?”

  “Yes, well, figuratively, yes, yes, they can hear when we talk, do you want to say som…”

  “You’ve got to find her, you’ve got to find her, she entered me, she entered me!”

  “Kinky bitch,” Dee commented, “I’ve always wondered about that myself.”

  “I don’t think he means that.”

  “Sorry Pohl?”

  “Not my arse you perverts, the demon entered me, the demon got inside my body!” The room went very silent indeed. “What, silent now it’s not about my arse are you?”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t the spirit of the woman who died in the room with you?” Joe inquired.

  “No, oh no, this was a fucking old thing, I could feel it as it rubbed against me.”

  “So,” Pohl took over, “you were fully conscious of what your body was doing, you just couldn’t do it yourself?”

  “That’s right, yes. She died, it entered me, and the next thing I’m on a tornado of fucking and feasting which broke my body. Then it left, got inside the new woman, and she ran off.”

  “Well, that does explain everything in such a manner that I can’t legally explain anything. Marvellous.”

  “Do the police deal with demons then?” the ghost asked.

  “No, to be honest they don’t, but we have a woman running around like a cruise missile of fucking, so we have to do something before she dies too. The question is, what? Is there any information you can give us, anything at all that might help?”r />
  “Hmm.”

  “He’s thinking.”

  “Yes, thanks Joe, we got that.”

  “I think there was one thing. It hasn’t been able to do this for a while, only ten people. Not long at all. It’s basically just learnt how.”

  Nazir started laughing, and everyone looked at him and shook their heads. “Sorry, sorry, but really, if you were a demon, you’d lived tens of millions of years as a ghost, and you suddenly have a way to get inside a body, you’d spend the first few months shagging everything that moves while tripping.”

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, was an insight into the mindset of Nazir Tamer, aka, the death of anthropology.”

  Nazir winked at Dee. “You can shut up you shrivelled prune.”

  “Well thank you sir,” Jeff said out loud, still finding that bit weird, “but we have to go and discuss this.” He led them out of the room, through the hotel, and silently down to the car, where he climbed in and laid his forehead on the dashboard. “Oh Jesus we’ve got to picture dinosaurs again.”

  Nazir leant back, “so, technically, that man got fucked by a dinosaur.”

  “Why can’t it just be a servant of Satan or something, why is it a fucking dinosaur.”

  “At least this means there’s no overarching evil power behind the world orchestrating our doom.” Pohl rubbed her eye as she said it.

  “I prefer that, I can cope with that!”

  “Let’s take the detective for a tea before his head melts down.”

  “Thank you professor. But there is one thing on my mind, and that’s, well, exactly how do you arrest a demon? Or catch it? Or stop it? What are we going to do here? How do we even know who’s been possessed?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said, “but I wonder if I can tell just from looking as I can see the other side?”

  “A handy last minute test,” Pohl conceded, “but that would involve getting very close.”

  “Maybe it’ll just shag itself out,” Nazir tried.

  “People will keep dying until that happens.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  Jeff’s phone rang. “Sorry, just a minute, it’s Smithers. Hello, what’s up? You’ve found another incident, so soon? What happened, and… yeah, yeah I’ll be along soon.”

  “What?”

  “The woman we’re searching for, she’s been found, but she’s dead. Clear signs of drug use, but she seems to have slit her wrists in the back of a taxi, and the driver is now missing.”

  “It killed itself?”

  “Yes Dee, yes. So, suggestions?”

  Pohl tilted her head. “It sounds like it wanted the body of that taxi driver more than the woman. Male or female?”

  “Male.”

  “So whatever it’s doing now, it wants to be dressed like a man.”

  Joe winced spiritually. “I know that’s a good image, but that’s not a good image.”

  A few days later and Dee was sat on a train. Thanks to the wonders of whatever company had paid to run this failing franchise, she was going to arrive late. On the plus side, the government had allowed for the train company to pay her back some money. On the real side, she was going to be fucking late and the money was no use to anyone. Still, she was a woman in the twenty first fucking century, and if that meant locking yourself in a shuddering toilet, stripping down and then into your party frock, and doing your makeup in a mirror with a verve that would make a magician envious, that was bloody well what she would do.

  Eventually the train arrived, so Dee ran for a taxi, ordered it to take her straight to the nightclub, and changed into her heels. She climbed out fully dressed in her combat gear and strolled up to the bouncer. “Dee Nettleship, I’m on the guestlist,” and she was. Waved right through, Dee was pleased to find it was exactly the sort of club that had a cloakroom, so her oversize bag was checked it, as was her coat, and with the tokens shoved into her bra for safekeeping she marched into the pounding music and found her friends.

  Well, sort of friends. She’d lived with them at university, where they’d had experiences no child should ever discover, and now one had decided a reunion was on the cards despite their recent communications being on the Christmas card with a letter level. No matter, where she was, and here was party time. Dee was embraced into the group of women, she acquired a cocktail and a glass of wine from the bar, and the night began.

  After an hour of dancing, Dee had to confess she was neither as fit as she remembered nor drunk enough to keep going, so she got yet another cocktail and sat down for a breather.

  “Hello,” a man said, and Dee looked up to find a smartly dressed chap hovering near her table.

  “Hi.”

  “I know you’re not meant to buy women drinks these days, unless they see them, in case something is put in it, so how about I give you a ten pound note, you buy us both something, and we have a chat?”

  He smiled, and Dee laughed and smiled back. “I have to admit, that’s the politest way of saying ‘I’m not going to date rape you’ I’ve ever heard. Actually, that’s the only way I’ve ever heard something say it. I think you’re supposed to start by saying I look pretty or lonely or something, not sure, never chatted up a woman. Well. But tell you what, I like a man willing to go off message, so yes, come with me and let’s get something to drink. What’s your name?”

  “David.”

  “Good, I’m Dee. Dee Nettleship.” They shook hands, and were soon in deep conversation.

  Dee looked into the mirror. She was no longer in the club, that was elsewhere in this town, and although that did have a mirror she’d looked into it over that evening, the one in front of her was very different indeed. It was clean, it was clear, it was in a hotel room that she hadn’t paid for. Out there, in the same town, there was a room, in fact several rooms, where the friends she’d been meeting had booked to stay for the night. They were probably there now, still drinking, having a laugh, recounting all the old tales, but Dee found herself in this other hotel bathroom thinking about starting some new tales.

  David was sat in the room outside, shirt slightly unbuttoned, lips wet from Dee’s own, neither too drunk nor too sober, waiting. She had wanted a moment to clear her head, to make sure this was what she wanted, so she had said she needed the loo and popped in here.

  So, did she want to?

  She hadn’t had sex since she and Jeff had broken up, and hadn’t experienced any burning desire to. But now she was here, with a man who was funny and quick witted, whose body she fancied and who didn’t want much beyond a nice new memory of the night. And, as she looked into the mirror, she realised she wanted that too. There was no pressure, if she’d thought no she’d still have walked out of here, whether she had to kick him in the balls or not, but now, feeling her body, exploring her mind, knowing it was a door away, she knew this wasn’t pressure, or a mistake, or post breakup sex, this would be a fun night.

  Dee smiled, opened the door, and walked over to where David sat.

  “Do you have any condoms?” she asked.

  “Wow, that’s forward!”

  “Fuck pussyfooting around, do you have any condoms?”

  “Yes, err, yes I do.”

  “Good. Good. Well, why don’t you get them and we’ll check they’re still working,” she winked, and sashayed into the bedroom. Some chaps shied away from a dominant woman, but she thought David could give as good as he got. Now, should she tease him with a sexy strip, or just go for it straight away.

  He came back in, from where he’d been looking through a rucksack, and threw a small box which Dee caught. “I sincerely hope you’ll be needing more than three,” she smiled as a reply, and he came over and wrapped his arms round her body. “I’m pleased you liked my ice breaker, I’ve been working on it for a while.”

  “Oh I see, I could have been anyone!”

  “No, no,” and they were both laughing, “I wanted you the moment I first saw you.”

  “Well, your taste is about to be truly rewarded.”<
br />
  “Oh, Dee.”

  “Yes David?”

  “I hear you’ve got a box which talks to the dead.”

  The detective handed his cup of coffee to the uniformed officer who stood outside the door, because he never liked being in the crime scene while eating or drinking, and went inside. He could smell the blood immediately, that metallic scent wafting through the apartment, and the detective knew that whoever had died here had seen plenty of their fluids spill over the floor. Another detective, the first on the scene, raised her hand, came over, said ‘hello’ and led the newcomer through. The hotel room was simple: a plain bed no one had slept in, a chair, a table with an open suitcase on it, and very little else. The smell, and presumably the body, was coming from the bathroom, and it was in here he was led.

  The lady detective didn’t speak yet, because she knew her boss liked to take a quick look at first, and there was the body of a man sprawled on the lino floor, propped against the bath. There were deep purple marks around the neck, where someone might have grabbed the man, perhaps to manoeuvre him, and an uneven gash below, across the throat, where someone had opened him up and let him bleed out in here.

  “A killer with a sense of cleanliness?” he pondered, wondering why the bathroom. “Clearly he didn’t do that to himself if we’re lacking a weapon.”

  “No weapon, anywhere, we’ve concluded he was murdered.”

  “I see. Was he sharing this room?”

  “Not officially, but we have a full profile of a guest he brought ‘home’ for the night.” Her voice was disapproving.

  “No one else was seen coming or going?”

  “No, but it was at night, there could have been others.”

  “Okay, let’s get this man analysed, start looking for his liaison, and then we can broaden our search.”

  “There’s something else sir.” She sounded a little too keen to remind him.

  “Yes?”

  “We received that request, from a southern constabulary, to pass on any cases where someone had died during a ‘liaison’, as you put it, and the partner fled.”

  “Yes, but they weren’t after murders. I’m sure they said they weren’t murder?”