The Death Series, Books 1-3

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  “For how long?” I asked.

  Gale looked up from her pulse-pad. “It'll be random, so the perpetrators can't anticipate our moves. Typically, we give about five days.”

  “This area usually doesn't have this kind of crime,” Ward paused, “you sure there isn't someone who has an agenda, a motive?”

  He looked at us.

  It felt like it was way too much of a coincidence for this to happen as all my voodoo death stuff was coming online. It felt like connected trouble. If I was thinking that, my parents sure were.

  Mom and Dad shook their heads the silence swelling like a balloon. They wouldn't have shared anyway, especially after Garcia had said he was law bound to turn in corpse-raisers.

  “Okay.” She powered down her pulse-pad. “That'll be all for now.” Ward gave her a strange look but she was focused on us. He obviously expected more but she had deliberately shut the meeting down.

  She turned to me. “Still up for talking?”

  Cautious. “Yeah.”

  “You can use the kitchen table,” Mom said.

  We walked out of the foyer, through the kitchen, making our way around the breakfast bar, sitting down on the long bench. Gale kept walking, past me, then sat in the queen's chair. I could hear the parents and Officer Ward speaking quietly out in the foyer. It was weird to see her in Mom's chair.

  Gale stared at me “Spill it.”

  I lowered my voice, “ 'Spill' what?”

  “I know you're more than a two or three-point, AFTD. I have never felt anyone as powerful as you.” She rubbed her arms up and down as a person will when they're cold; but she wasn't cold. Mom always had the heat cranked to I'm-going-to-die-in-this-oven temperature. Gale was that creeped out.

  I was having that effect on a lot of people lately.

  I shrugged. Like I'd admit anything to a cop, look what happened with Garcia?

  “I've felt plenty of AFTDs...” she waved her hand at me, “..you're something unique.”

  I wasn't ready to answer. I decided to ask her some questions.

  “How do you know when someone is paranormal?”

  She sighed. “It's like I told you before, it's a feeling, a difference. It feels like a low level, electrical buzz.”

  Like sticking your finger in an pulse socket?

  I'm friends with Jonesy.

  “Is that what they taught you at the school? How to identify paranormals?”

  “Yes, some of it. You'll go to the same school I did. I'm a local girl, ya know.” she grinned.

  I dug local, they knew the deal, the people, all that jazz.

  “What was it like, the school?”

  “It's like regular high school, but you're with people that can do amazing things. We're the most rare, but fire-starters are running a close second.”

  “You mean like the book?”

  “The what?”

  “The book by Stephen King.”

  “Who's he?”

  “Only the greatest writer globally!”

  “Well, I'm not much of a reader but the name rings a bell. What's his story about? Pyrokenetics?”

  “Yeah, but it's more. Back then, it was just an idea, fiction. No one ever thought it'd be this.” I gestured to include her and I as part of the the paranormal equation.

  I leaned forward, she did too. “What do they make you do?” I asked in an almost-whisper.

  “Math and English.”

  Huh, that sucked.

  She saw my expression and laughed. “It's not all dead stuff and fun! You still have to do core.”

  “You study Animation of the Dead. That's an actual class, 'Animation of the Dead in Theory'.”

  “Wait a second, who's in that class? I thought all the corpse, I mean, Cadaver-Manipulator's were so rare...” I let my sentence trail off.

  She looked down at her hands for a second time. “Have you heard of Jeffrey Parker?”

  Had I heard of Jeffrey Parker? Geez, duh. I nodded my head, checking the sarcasm at the door like a coat.

  “We were some of the first, he was ahead of me. A senior when I was a freshman,” she paused, a troubled knot between her brows, “he wasn't treated that well. You can understand there would be some prejudice toward him.”

  Yeah, that.

  “Well, he was the first, in the first group of AFTDs. They didn't know what to do with us, him. He was more than they were prepared for. Before him, I don't think anyone knew cadaver-renewal was possible. It was just theory. When Jeffrey Parker started to raise things accidentally...”

  “What... accidentally, really?” Gee, imagine that. My new mantra: control, control, control.

  “Yeah, accidentally. In fact, one of the teachers was killed in a car accident, and shuffled to his job the next day.”

  Well that would have been something.

  “But how did they know it was Jeffrey? For sure, I mean. It could have been any of you guys.”

  She nodded, plausible.

  “Because the,” she paused here, “... teacher, dead teacher,” she emphasized, “... shambled over to Jeff and said, 'I am here to serve you'. Not exactly what he would have done in life. The statement was directed at Jeff, not the few other AFTDs in class. Jeff could control him.”

  Boy, that would be great, raising your teacher for a personal slave.

  A fantasy come true. I got a dreamy look.

  “Snap out of it. You weren't there, it's not remotely cool.” She rolled her eyes. Girls must take eye rolling classes in kindergarten.

  “Well, there's a short list of teachers that I want to do My Bidding.” I laughed. The Js were getting a full report.

  She didn't laugh. Kinda humorless.

  “Anyway.” she glared at me, well sor-ry. “The AFTD teacher knew that we had ourselves a real, live, Cadaver-Manipulator. No one had ever manifested the five points before. They had a heck of a time figuring out how to put it back.”

  I bet they did, remembering the fun of getting granny back-in-box. Back-in-coffin?

  “What did they do?”

  “It was a big deal. The principal came to our class with the Empath Professor.” I thought briefly of Jade. “Of course, we had our AFTD professor as well. He was one of the first professors to theorize about the potential for cadaver-renewal,” she paused, “it had never been well-received. Then Jeff proved it could be done. And he hadn't even tried.”

  We turned at the same time, hearing the murmurings of the conversation wrapping up in the foyer. Gale dug around in her uniform pocket until she came up with a business card.

  It had a big dollop of coffee on it, obscuring the last four numbers of her pulse-phone.

  “Ah the heck with it. Do you have your pulse?”

  I nodded, turning it in her direction. I put my thumb on the pad and thought; new contact.

  She looked at me, I nodded as I lifted my thumb.

  Gale replaced it with hers. She stared for a second, the green characters illuminated on the screen:

  Gale, Bobbi 206.631.6312.

  “My direct line, not the Department's 'general'.”

  “How'd you get that area code? Is it Kent?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, it was my grandmother's number. When she passed I inherited it. When Pulse Technology came on board, I transferred it to my pulse.”

  Officer Ward and my parents walked in and Gale stood. We shook hands. When we touched I'll be damned if there wasn't a sorta low, voltage-type buzz. I didn't let it show on my face, but her eyes widened, too weird.

  We trailed the cops into the foyer. Gale mentioned she'd be available if I needed anything, day or night. I'd heard that before. She knew way more than she let on, her partner included. They left and Mom closed the door behind them softly.

  “Major strange,” Mom said.

  “I wasn't real pleased with the 'testing' of Caleb. It seemed odd,” Dad replied.

  “I don't trust Garcia much. I liked her better,” I said.

  “Yes, that was a troubling turn of events
at the cemetery.”

  Troubling? Yeah.

  Mom got the broom and dustpan, starting the clean up on the shattered debris of her beloved pots and plants.

  “Caleb, go fetch me some of the picnic glasses and we'll get my babies in some water.”

  Brother...Mom. But when I took in her long, sad face I just turned without a word and went into the pantry, digging through the mess of the closet until I found the recycled plastic goblets, like big colored jewels that sparkled in the light.

  “These ones?”

  “Yes, those ones.”

  I walked to the kitchen sink, opening the tap, setting it to gray water. I filled each glass about three quarters, arranging them on the windowsill. Low-slanting sunlight streamed through the window, catching them in a kaleidoscope of colors, which lay like jagged pieces on the floor behind us.

  Shaking off the dirt in the compost can under the sink, I placed the four plants that would be saved in their respective glasses. I turned to hold the dustpan for Mom.

  I cruised the living room, throwing afghans on the back of couches, closing drawers and straightening pillows.

  Mom came out from her bedroom. “Nothing has been stolen. Mom's necklace, my fancy bracelet with real diamonds.”

  Dad looked up, puzzled. “Nothing?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about your pulse-top, Kyle?”

  “The mainframe shut it down the instant someone tried to hack it.”

  “Did they? Try, I mean.”

  “They most certainly did. When I return to work on Monday, we'll do an analysis of what files they breached, if any. In the meantime, I won't be able to recover anything, it's locked down. It's for the best, if they return...” Mom startled, her hand flying to her chest.

  “We have to consider the possibility.”

  “I thought the police were watching,” I said.

  “True, but they don't have the manpower to be here twenty-four hours a day, son.”

  That blows. Out loud I said, “That doesn't seem safe enough. I mean, they didn't rob us, but somehow, they got in even with pulse-security.” I turned to Dad and he nodded. “So they can get in again.”

  “I'll change the pulse-code,” he said.

  “But, what I'm saying is, how did they get in to begin with? The cops said there were no signs of forced entry.”

  Dad rested his chin on his hand. “That's the best I can do. Also, it provides a fail-safe.”

  “A what?” I asked.

  “A way to find out who or what may know sensitive information, like our pulse-code,” Mom said.

  “So that means if someone got in here again, it's an inside job?” I clarified.

  “Exactly,” Dad agreed.

  “Can't we just assume that now?” Mom asked.

  “I'd like to, but the scientist in me insists that it may have been some malfunction, or someone using one of the many pulse tools out there to neutralize settings.”

  “Thereby allowing them to assign a new pulse-code,” Mom finished.

  “Right,” Dad said.

  The clean-up continued its silent course for the next hour. Four o'clock came around and Mom started to do her thing in the kitchen. It was magical. She disappeared in the kitchen, looked inside our empty fridge, pulled a few things out and ta-da! a meal was ready. Now, if I were to try that same thing, looking in the freezer and pantry for good measure, which I often did as a ritual, there would not be anything popping off the shelves saying something cool like, eat me.

  “What's for supper Mom?”

  Mom turned around, looking lost. Dad noticed, their eyes meeting.

  “How about a McDonald's run?” he asked the two of us.

  Huh? Could I get this lucky?

  “Alright!” I said, doing a Jonesy-style fist pump.

  Mom's shoulders slumped a little. Don't ruin it Mom, I silently begged. Dad closed the distance, taking her by the shoulders and they stared into each others eyes. About this time was my cue to take off... but I stayed. We were in this whole mess together, this was not a gross-out parents moment.

  He ran his hands up and down her arms, sort of caressing her. “It's been a tough day on all of us. Just... let's go out.”

  Mom opened her mouth, to protest I think. But Dad put a finger to her lips. “Let me take care of you and Caleb tonight. I know you like to make the suppers, but let's get some food in us and a good night's rest. Things will look better tomorrow.”

  She smiled, a wan thing, not her usual, full toothed grin. “Hey, that's my line buster.” She playfully punched him. He released her, his hands sliding down her bare arms.

  A caress, I thought, definitely a caress.

  ****

  McDonald's was always an act of self-restraint. I had a fantasy, where, I walked up to the counter (glided up to the counter), and began with, I'll have one of everything.

  Unfortunately, the reality was more like Dad finding a place to sit and Mom selecting the food. As Dad put it, “She's the health nut of the house, son.”

  That meant that I usually couldn't get a milkshake. It didn't matter if they were made with seaweed or not. I had tried that argument with Mom and she didn't buy it.

  Imagine my surprise when she came to the table with not two but three shakes!

  That meant it had been a Really Bad Day.

  Mom slid into the booth and put the tray on the glaring orange Formica table top. “It's been a really bad day,” she said as she sat down next to me.

  Yay for ransackers! I guess it was too much for a family to go through for milkshakes, but it was a near thing.

  I tore the lid off, sighing with pleasure at the chocolaty goodness.

  Mom opened hers and threw in a straw which stood up in the center of the cup in a satisfying way. I liked to slurp and Mom hadn't bothered to get me a straw. She had strawberry and Dad had vanilla.

  Neapolitan family.

  Dad thought that someone suspected me but without proof they had fished around, hoping to find confirmation of my Cadaver-Manipulator status.

  “Caleb,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of fry, then chasing it with some shake. “What about those papers that John gave you?”

  Ah! I had forgotten all about those.

  “Maybe they're in my locker at school?” I said hopefully.

  “Really? Why would you have taken them there?” Mom asked.

  She knew organizing wasn't a strong point of mine.

  Mom's half eaten meal was before her. I slid her tray over to my side and started polishing off was left. Her shake was also made available. To all the germ-naysayers out there, I stand by the “family cootie” mantra of we're all exposed to each other's germs anyway so a little shared shake wasn't going to take away my fun. I slurped and gulped, quietly, as to not get nailed, listening to the parents figure out our next move. Trays were emptied in the separator and we piled back into the car, the seat harnesses locking after Dad pulsed the car ignition.

  It was a silent drive on the way home. Dad glided back into his spot in the garage but turned to us. “You guys stay here and let me look inside.”

  Our days of just roaring in and out of the house were behind us. No longer did I feel safe.

  Mom and I waited in silence. The first thing I was gonna do was pulse Jade, then the Js. A bright spot in the week was picking up black dog on Tuesday. If I survived that long, I thought morbidly.

  Dad gave the thumbs up. Mom and I got out, walking into the house. She paused just inside the door and I almost piled into the back of her. She sighed, then headed for the kitchen. Dad came over to her and gave her a side hug and she leaned into him, her head tucking almost into his armpit. I got out of there. Dad could deal with Mom and the house would survive. Whether we would, now that was another story.

  I rushed to my room flipping my hair out of my eyes as I went and jerking my pulse out of my pocket. I flew into the air and back-landed onto the bed. Home sweet home. I pressed my thumb onto the pad and thought: Ja
de.

  Green letters appeared: Hey.-JLeC

  What's up with you? CH

  Nothing much, Sophie's here.-JLeC

  Oh. Well, our house was broken into and the cops came.-CH

  What?! gasp Are you guys okay? Why was it broken into? Did Garcia come? JLeC

  Ya know why. No, he didn't; some other cops.-CH

  You think? JLeC

  I do. I think it's all about that.-CH

  Well, Sophie's here (I can't really talk much) so I better go. Are we still meeting at your house tomorrow? JLeC

  Yeah. Say, three o'clock or around there.-CH

  Okay, I'll be there.-JLeC

  Can't wait to see ya.-CH

  smiles, Caleb?-JLeC

  Yeah? CH

  Be careful.-JLeC

  Okay smiles-CH

  Next stop, the Js. I pressed my thumb back on the pad disconnect and thought the command: three-way: Jonesy and John Terran.

  Hey dill weed.-MJ

  Hi.-John Terran

  Hey-CH

  Thinkin' about tomorrow Caleb? MJ

  Yeah, ya know I am. But, something happened today that is freaking me out, big time.-CH

  What happened? John Terran

  Some losers came through the house and tore it up, broke mom's plants, tried to hack my dad's pulse-top. It was bad. Then the cops showed.- CH

  Garcia? MJ

  No.-CH

  You think they're looking for the 'goods'? John Terran

  smiles slyly... good one John. Maybe. That's what Dad and I think.-CH

  laughs it's not funny, but you have the dumbest luck.-John Terran

  They couldn't find anything anyway.-MJ

  Probably not...but.-CH

  The papers I gave you distress! John Terran

  nodding... right.-CH

  Profanity block! That's right, John gave you the corpse papers...MJ

  Yeah sighs.-CH

  Are those at school... maybe? John Terran

  Well, I hope they are but I'm not much for organizing my locker. The only thing I hope is, they looked at my room and figured it'd be too much time to search laughs.-CH

  guffaws you got that goin' on Caleb! MJ

  So, are you guys staying at the house? I mean, is it safe? John Terran