Dead Shifter Walking

by Kim Schubert

  “First, I need a car, preferably Jerry, sent to the address I texted you with an extra phone and gun. Second, call Kass and tell her plans have been moved up. Third, no shifters are to be trusted with the exception of Darren,” I said, leaving no room for argument.

  “Understood,” Grams said. “Are you—”

  I hung up on her; she was going to ask if I was okay. I sighed, drinking my overpriced coffee. What did she expect me to say? Yep, I’m great, had a hit taken out on me, some gnarly bruises, and now I potentially have a whole new list of people I needed to kill. Yep, I am fucking fabulous.

  I was trapped in a deep, dark pit of self-loathing, one I knew all too well. I had long ago given up on ever climbing to my freedom; instead, I distracted myself by throwing myself into one life-threatening situation after another. If I were honest, brutally honest, I would look forward to the day when the knife was true, a bullet my last sensation, and death was my next big life move, not marriage and kids. How fucked was that? The sick part was that I felt sure I deserved to never ever be happy. Not after everything I had done, not after the blood that coated my blades, not after the decisions I had made; happiness was not destined for me.

  I wanted to push those emotions down deep but I didn’t have the energy or reason to. Instead, they lingered just beneath my skin, sealed from the outside world but raging inside. I took another sip of the coffee as “The Beast” pulled up. I wanted to smile but didn’t have it in me.

  Opening the passenger door, I gave Jerry directions to the police station. I still had a date with Mercer.

  Thankfully, Jerry wisely didn’t say a word more than to acknowledge my directions. Either Grams had warned him or he picked up on my obvious body language. I had a tentative relationship with him at best; given my current mood, I could ruin the entire thing, and it had been a long time since I had companionship on my treks. Did it really matter, I questioned myself, given that in a few days or weeks, I would likely be gone again for who knew how long and forgotten, except, of course, for my legendary itch to kill.

  Pulling into the rain-dampened parking lot, I turned to Jerry. “In or out?” I asked.

  “Out,” he responded, playing with the radio. I hopped out and stood there a moment debating if I should say anything else. I wanted to say I was sorry for my misery and dragging him down and that it was probably best if he got himself out of this now. I closed the door instead, zipped my jacket, and added a few notches to my self-hatred, forcing my emotions within the boundaries of my skin.

  At 9:45 a.m. I sat at Mercer’s desk, waiting and staring at my bruised hands holding my warm coffee. I could feel my emotions cooling, and it left me with a sick, empty feeling. Feeling something was better than the empty pit of desolation that was closing me off.

  At 10:00 a.m., Mercer interrupted my brooding by stealing my coffee. I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Fee for parking your ass where it doesn’t belong,” he said, sporting a dark blue jacket and matching pants that set his platinum blond hair off nicely.

  I almost smiled, but it came off as a smirk.

  “Let’s go,” he said, moving away from the desk.

  I moved along after him, stuffing my now empty hands in my jacket pocket, feeling my restlessness on a new level. Mercer was a particular hard ass, and yes, I really did mean that in the physical and literal sense. While he portrayed the ultimate soldier, ready to carry out any order quickly and efficiently, I couldn’t shake the notion he had majorly pissed off his superiors by following his own moral code. After all, he was currently saddled with this case and with me.

  The police station was decorated worse than most public schools, florescent lighting complemented by equally glaring linoleum and never-ending hallways. We finally arrived at the correct door.

  Mercer ushered me into the conference room, containing a well-dressed man and woman sitting at the table.

  “Mrs. Hatcher, Mr. Lowery,” Mercer greeted, “thank you for coming down here today under these circumstances. “

  “Whatever we can do to help, Mr. Mercer,” said Mrs. Hatcher. Her dark brown hair was styled in an adorable perfect bob. Pearls around her neck contrasted nicely with the black scooped neck dress. Her white-tipped nails tapped rhythmically on the faux wood table.

  “Yes, Mr. Mercer, how can we help?” Mr. Lowery spread his large and slightly chubby hands wide. His balding head reflecting the light and his glasses reflecting Mercer’s face, he was also well dressed in a black pinstripe suit and navy tie.

  Mercer opened his file. “Is there anything you can tell us that would shed light on why your spouses were targeted?” he asked, diving into the heart of the matter.

  They were the husband and wife of the brother and sister found dead in the house. They both said no. Mercer tried again. “Did you notice anything suspicious, any unusual behavior from your spouses?”

  Again, nothing useful.

  “What was the relationship like between Jane and her son?” I asked.

  They both shared a look, before Mrs. Hatcher answered. “It was fairly rocky up until about a month ago; then suddenly, he was the perfect child. Did everything Jane said with no complaints, talking back, or problems with the law.”

  “I think something she was working on helped,” added Mr. Lowery.

  “What did she do?” Mercer asked.

  They both shrugged. “She was very secretive; said it was vital for everyone’s safety,” answered Mrs. Hatcher.

  “We never gave it much thought, honestly,” said Mr. Lowery. “We never imagined…” his voice trailed off as he lowered his head. He never imaged someone would reach out and claim the lives of those he loved. Mrs. Hatcher reached over and squeezed his hand.

  “If we are done Detective?” she asked, equally as upset.

  Mercer nodded, getting up to hold the door for them.

  I settled back against the black plush chair, thinking.

  Mercer came back, collecting his paperwork.

  “So,” I said in an annoyed tone, standing up into his personal zone, “where did Jane work at?”

  Mercer shrugged. “Back to digging; this case isn’t going to be easy.”

  With that, he was gone.

  I made my way back to the Beast and Jerry, unsure of what my next move would be as I climbed into the passenger seat again.

  “Where to now?” Jerry asked, turning down the volume on the station he was listening to.

  I shrugged, not making eye contact.

  “Well, in that case,” he said, pulling out of the police station and towards the busy city, “I have an idea.”

  I didn’t bother to ask where; I didn’t really care. I had time to kill, a red tape nightmare preventing me from properly doing my job, and a sick sinking feeling in my gut.

  I watched the horizon with an empty mind as my subconscious worked on problems even it couldn’t figure out.

  When we pulled into a mall, I asked, “Lunch?”

  Jerry smiled. “Absolutely, then we are going to update that horrific wardrobe.”

  I looked at him, taken off-guard. “Shopping? Really?” I questioned.

  “Yes,” he answered, coming around the SUV to help me out. “Now, my dear, let’s go. I’ve been given full permission by Grams to buy anything I see fit.”

  I laughed, closing the passenger door, hiding my hands in my jacket pockets from the chilly wind. “Anything?” I asked, wanting to push this issue.

  “Anything for you,” he amended, adjusting his suit jacket.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Come on I’m sure we can find something for your trouble of playing personal shopper today.”

  He linked his arm with my own as we walked uphill to the cream and green building.

  We had just settled with our salads and pizza when a leather-clad group of demigods walked past our table. I smiled at the leader, a tall Norse offspring with flowing blond hair, chiseled features, and the body of a Viking warrior.

  I watched playfully as Jerry obser
ved, star-struck. Finally regaining his composure, he pointed his salad fork at me, claiming, “Looking that good should just be illegal.”

  I smiled. “Demigods,” I explained.

  “Huh, how do you know?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Because they’re that good looking.”

  He laughed before we both dug into our food. Truthfully, it was a little more complicated than just the look. Certain beings gave me feelings; over the years, I had identified which gave what. It was my trusty sixth sense, so to speak. I never delved too deeply into it, but it was handy when I needed to know if wood or metal would be a better weapon.

  Finishing our meal, Jerry took my arm again. “Let’s get you dressed, my dear.”

  I gave him a weak smile.

  After a barrage of lingerie shops, where Jerry completely disregarded my opinion that I didn’t need anything special or fancy in that area, I was finally able to get actual clothing from him in the form of jeans and cotton t-shirts. I am really not a complicated person.

  I was perfectly content to leave at this point, but Jerry cryptically shook his head. “I have been given specific instructions that you are to have formal wear as well.” His smile was evil, and I told him so.

  But I couldn’t resist his boyish charm and joy at having a living dress-up doll and unlimited spending.

  In a store that was ridiculously overpriced, I fell in love with a pink chiffon dress. Running my fingers over the soft fabric, I dismissed it as foolish to spend that much.

  Jerry had other opinions. “Oh, no you don’t, my dear,” he said, pulling my size off the rack and pushing me into the fitting room.

  “Jerry, it really is too expensive,” I said, trailing along behind him like a lost puppy.

  He threw another four dresses into the fitting room, giving me the “oh, please” look.

  “Let’s get on with my fashion show,” he said, settling into a chair in the hallway.

  I laughed, shaking my head, saving the blush pink dress for last.

  The first of the dresses was a deep purple strapless top transitioning into a neon blue with low waist and dark purple beads as highlights. I exited the dressing room with my hands on my hips.

  “No freaking way,” I said.

  “But Olie,” he said, “you look amazing.” He turned me around.

  I moved my feet as far apart as I could, which was only about a foot. “Just how do you expect me to chase after the bad guys with this wingspan?”

  He laughed at my use of wingspan instead of stride. “There someday may be an occasion when you won’t need to chase bad guys,” he tried.

  I huffed and went back to his other selections. We ended up leaving with the pink dress and two black dresses, one long and the other cocktail length. He didn’t let me see the total, probably worried I would change my mind. He was right.

  I wandered window-shopping at the salon next door, pulling a dull-blonde lock of my own for inspection. As I let out a discontented sigh, Jerry picked just that moment to notice my dawdling.

  He smiled, pulling me into the salon. A bored-looking pink-haired overweight pixie greeted us. No, I do not mean an actual supernatural pixie, but she had the typical storybook tiny frame and delicate features.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

  “No, do you have any openings?” Jerry asked, smiling brightly.

  She looked down at her book, flipping a page with her turquoise nails. “Possibly. Give me a second,” she said, picking up the phone.

  Jerry and I moved a step back. My stomach grumbled. He laughed. “After this, dinner, possibly at the same pizza place.” I smiled.

  “Sir,” the pixie said, “Rachel will see you.”

  Jerry smiled like a fool and pushed me ahead of him. I plopped down in the chair and the flamboyant gay man with thinning hair asked me, “What can I do for you, darling?”

  I smiled. “Surprise me.”

  That earned me raised eyebrows from both him and Jerry.

  A starving hour later, we emerged back into the food court. Jerry was staring again.

  “What?” I asked, debating how many slices of pizza I wanted.

  He turned back to the menu smiling wider if that were possible.

  I shrugged and played with my now shoulder-length deep red, almost purple, hair littered with pixie like layers that pointed out at random angels. It was better than I ever could have described. That man had talent.

  Well fed, well dressed, and well rested, we headed back to the Beast, passing the demigods again. The Thor look-alike was pulling a long drag on a smoke and I couldn’t help but take a second look. He smiled, nodding approvingly at me.

  “Nice hair, Kitten,” he complimented.

  “Thanks,” I said passing him, “nice ass.”

  The thunder of laughter followed Jerry and me to the car where we proceeded, under his careful direction to load everything in a manner I didn’t understand, but which he claimed would keep everything important from wrinkling.

  I sighed, arranging and rearranging as directed. Suddenly, a slow feeling of discomfort made me look down the parking lot towards the townhomes behind it. A creeping behind my eyes distorted my vision slightly; I shook my head hoping to dislodge it. My feet began moving on their own accord.

  “Olie, Olie!” Jerry screamed as I walked into oncoming traffic around the mall’s parking lot.

  I turned, finding my vision leaving me completely. What I saw forced me into action; I ran, seeing only the horror movie in my head. Dimly I was aware of Jerry starting the Beast to follow as I jumped the wall between the homes and the mall. I spun in a circle, trying desperately to latch onto the screams or the scent of blood.

  In my mind’s eye, I held her by her dark tan throat, disgusted by her pathetic attempt to plead for her life and her half-blood brood she called children. Not wanting to waste time, I lowered my fangs, sinking them bone-deep into her flesh before shredding her jugular. She babbled endlessly as I made my way to the children’s room. She had been intelligent enough to have a separate lock on their door, but it made no difference. I was the dominate life form in this pathetically small living quarters.

  In my real body, I fell to my knees, unable to move, unable to help as I watched their execution. It was the same as the mother’s: throats torn from their delicate frames. I willed myself to move, screamed inside my head, and thought I heard it echo in my deaf ears.

  He chuckled in my mind, he—I screamed at myself—was a male. The fucker might be making me helplessly watch his murders, but I was in his head, and I would find out who the sick fuck was. He felt me turning from helplessness and pulled quickly away, leaving me with a dim vision of a parking lot and stairs directly in front of me.

  Like a drunk who had lost motor function, I crawled up the stairs using the handrail for support. At some point, Jerry arrived. “Call for help,” I whispered.

  He did as instructed as I finally reached the top, listening to Jerry scream at the 911 operator that he didn’t know what happened.

  “Murders,” I whispered as I touched the beat-up brass doorknob, cold against my feverish skin. I again wanted to whimper, but swallowed instead, pushing the knob slowly.

  I heard Jerry’s intake of breath and rapid-fire instructions to the operator again, this time it seemed he wasn’t receiving any talkback.

  I felt more than heard the little gasps for life; running into the children’s room, three forms lay still, while a fourth was struggling, a teenage girl.

  I floundered for something to stop the bleeding, tearing off my shirt and pulling her up right against me in an attempt to stop her rapid heart from pumping her life force out onto the pale brown carpet. The air was a thick with fear a tangible emotion in the room, her own mixed with it, having watched her siblings die in front of her with no skills to save them.

  The tears flowed down without my noticing as I soothed her damage soul, she would never make it. I felt deathly cold skin under my fingers. A cold
I knew all too well. It was all I could do to ease her transition. Pushing my own wrecked emotions down deep, I pulled contentment and joy wrapping it around her limbs. Her erratic movements stopped and her breathing evened out while her blood soaked my t-shirt and ran down my stomach to slither off my leather pants.

  Still I held her, promising over and over I would get the son of a bitch and make him pay dearly.

  It felt like hours later, Jerry was pulling me away as the paramedic put her small body into a black coroner bad.

  Mercer rushed in. “Olivia,” he repeated. My eyes refused to leave the small bags lining up to leave.

  “Get her out of here,” he told Jerry, who began leading me out.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to collect your clothing,” said an investigator.

  Both Jerry and Mercer went to tell the guy to screw off, but I waived them off, depositing everything but my underwear into the bags he had labeled.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, careful to keep eye contact.

  “How the fuck do I get her out now?” Jerry asked. “Mercer watch her; I have new clothing in the car.”

  Mercer nodded, wrapping his black blazer around my shoulder. I shivered involuntary. Mistaking it for cold, Mercer rubbed my shoulders. “Kid, come back to me,” he whispered.

  I pulled my eyes from the bag into pale blue eyes. “I felt him, Mercer,” I said, grabbing my biceps shaking. “I felt the sick fuck rip their throats out. He enjoyed it, called them half-bloods.” I shook my head, my breathing irregular, looking back to the small bags. “These aren’t murders, Mercer,” I said, returning to his eyes. “This is genocide.”

  Mercer’s hands stilled on my forearms, dark alarm crossing his eyes as Jerry returned with soft jeans and a pink V-neck. “We’ll get this fucker,” Mercer said to me.

  I searched his eyes, not finding any hint of deceit or false bravo. I nodded. “Call me if you find anything. I’ll do the same,” I said, turning into Jerry’s embrace.

  “Take care, kid,” he said so softly, I thought I imagined it.

  The police had efficiently set up a barricade where the neighbors waited. An older woman with the same eyes as the dead woman cried into a policeman’s shoulder; another woman, younger than the first, just let the tears fall, patting the older woman’s back with her hand. Family, I thought quietly. My eyes landed on the demigod from the mall. He raised a dark blond eyebrow. I shook my head, pushing closer to Jerry.