Dead Man Walking: Nick Holleran Series A Paranormal Investigator Book One

by David Green

  Revenge is a sin—I know this—but Dean Wheeler doesn’t get to exist. Not anymore. Yanking an Expunger from my pocket, I charge towards him.

  As I reach him and thrust my arm out, I see Michelle look up at me. I can’t place the expression twisting the scars on her face. Relief? It must be.

  The Expunger makes contact.

  “Die, you fuck!” I scream, pushing against it with all my strength, as if I can ram it into the heart he doesn’t have. The heart he never had.

  Steam rises from it. Dean Wheeler lurches around to face me. I grin as I stare into his wide eyes. I want him to know that it’s me that ended him, but Wheeler doesn’t see me. The dead man stares into oblivion as realization dawns on him that the void is his eternal damnation.

  His spirit unravels, like invisible hands have found the end of his thread and are pulling on it with all their might. From his head down to his toes, he disintegrates, steam hissing, his mouth open and slack in a soundless scream until it’s no longer there.

  And that’s when my many mistakes hit home.

  It wasn’t relief. She was smiling.

  Michelle Wheeler watches her husband’s Expunging with delight painted across her ruined face. It hits me as Ruby’s words from earlier slam into my head.

  How’d she know Wheeler trailed her to your place? Could she see him?

  She could see him. She’s been able to see him all along.

  Haste makes sloppy fucking work, Nick.

  Only Wheeler’s legs are visible, and they’re deteriorating fast. His feet are standing inside a pentagram etched into the ground, and so are mine. Not just that. Stones with glyphs I don’t recognize circle the pentagrams, petals from flowers and herbs crammed into the spaces in between.

  Things I should have noticed, would have noticed on any other case. The name Dean Wheeler crawled into my head, made me lose my judgment, and it cost me.

  Cost me big time.

  I take a step forward, and it’s like running into a window. Michelle had trapped Dean, and now she’s done the same to me. We’ve both been pawns in her game. She’s played it well, but she never had to.

  She had me from the moment she told me her husband’s name.

  I set the trap off alright. I stepped right into the fucking thing, like a sap on a day trip to Disneyland.

  Michelle circles her husband’s pentagram, a knife in her hand. The runes etched into the steel flash as she brandishes it, ones that match the glyphs on the floor. The pain when she plunges it below my ribs drives me to my knees. I slide down the barrier keeping me trapped. My blood flows, pouring from my side and onto the ground, running in grooves cut into the stone floor. It trickles into my pentagram and fills it before spilling off into another groove, linking my trap with Dean’s. Strength evaporates from my limbs. If the invisible wall didn’t hold me up, I’d slump onto my face and die without a struggle.

  Eyes are on me. I pull my stare from Dean’s rapid disintegration, with just his feet left visible, and squint through the mist. Charon, that undead Clint Eastwood motherfucker, watches me. His words from earlier flood back into my mind.

  Be seeing you.

  I throw him a snarling grin. I ain’t finished yet.

  Michelle crouches before me, scarred cheeks flushed.

  “When did you die?” I ask.

  Most would ask ‘why’d you do this?’ but I figure she’ll tell me anyway; the satisfied smile informs me she’s the type to boast about her cleverness. I’m a captive audience until I bleed out. And what can I say? I’m a great listener.

  “The first time? On our honeymoon. Dean choked me with a scarf he bought me from the hotel gift shop. I still have it in the closet. Never wore it after that though. See, it got him off. Never more aroused than when he was watching the light dying in my eyes. But I guess it was my fault. I introduced Dean to the occult in the first place. My mother told me stories when I was a little girl. She could see, Nick. Like you and me. She died in the asylum my father put her in. I never got to say goodbye before she passed. I wanted the chance, Mr. Holleran. I longed for it. I even told Dean. It piqued his interest, killing someone and bringing them back, dominating them in life and death. He took it to the next level, pushed my body to find my limit. I never did see my mother again. Maybe she just didn’t miss me that much.”

  She spits on where Dean’s remains would have fallen, but there’s nothing there except my blood mixing with the artifacts. For a second, I feel a pang of pity for her, even though she’s killed me. Murdered by both fucking Wheelers. I chuckle and blow a bubble of blood onto her.

  Two things occur to me at once—her knife passed in through the barrier, and now my blood’s passing out. Interesting.

  “What’s so funny, Mr. Holleran?”

  “Please,” I say, “call me Nick. No need to be formal now you’ve driven six inches of steel into me. How long have you planned this? Before or after you killed your husband.”

  “Oh, for quite some time, Nick. I’ve watched you with great interest since you began your second life.” I glance at her bare feet and notice Michelle takes care not to step on either pentagram. She doesn’t want to break the flow of blood. “You’ve earned your reputation for diligence, but there’s nothing like the promise of revenge and a damsel in distress to make a man stupid. Especially when you add pressure and heat. I thought your bartender friend or maybe the ex-girlfriend would be the perfect motivation, but the old man and his wife were just too perfect.”

  “That was you?” I growl. “So you’ve been controlling him since his death?”

  “Why not? This is my world. I introduced him to all of this, and you? You’re just a fuck-up detective who wandered down the wrong alley. I deserve control.” She laughs then. “I wonder how it burned him, being under my heel for a change. Oblivion must have been a relief to him.”

  “Michelle, you don’t know enough if you think anything welcomes Expunging.”

  The mist billows and I see an altar at the rear of the basement room. Michelle walks to it in silence. I listen to her feet slap against the concrete. That’s not all. The wind’s howling outside, loud enough to make its presence known down here. The darkness swells and grows, dimming the candles, but that might just be my vision failing.

  My blood continues to fill my pentagram, the excess flooding into Dean’s. Michelle approaches, holding an Expunger. I can only shake my head. She’s played me for a sucker.

  “The erasing of a spirit as evil as my husband’s, by a man he murdered, is a powerful sacrifice. Death links your souls. You know what would be even stronger?”

  “Enlighten me,” I reply, though I can read between the lines.

  “The sacrifice of a soul that’s lived twice, tainted by revenge.” Michelle crouches, those beautiful, bronze eyes staring into mine. “People have dominated me my whole life, Nick. My father had…appetites, and with my mother out of the picture, they only grew. And then there was Dean. The perfect husband, on the surface, but behind closed doors… I used to think he could keep me safe from men like my father. Turned out it was just more of the same. I don’t need them anymore. It’s my turn to be in control. For eternity.”

  She reaches out to me, as if to caress my face, but stops herself.

  “You’re the key. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

  Listen, I’m half-dead for the second time, face pressed up against a wall of magic and blood dripping off my chin. Charon’s staring at me like a lion watching a gazelle, and the wind outside’s howling so loud I figure the windows upstairs have shattered. But I’m not going down without a fight. I’ve got a plan.

  No idea if it’ll work, but I’m out of options and any plan’s better than none.

  “Sorry, lady. Your life sounds like Hell, literally, but you’re not getting away with what you’ve done tonight. And it looks I’m going downstairs anyway, so…”


  Smiling my boyish, lopsided grin, I pull my Ruger from its holster.

  Michelle Wheeler’s eyes widen as I aim at her and pull the trigger. The bang echoes through the small room. Her brains splatter the altar and her body topples to the ground. Her leg sprawls across the grooves on the floor, sending the glyph stones flying, breaking the circle.

  I fall forward, released from the pentagram, and crash face-first into the stone floor, arms too weak to catch my fall.

  “My luck’s in,” I say out loud, for reasons that escape me.

  I struggle to my knees. Charon’s waiting, and I don’t wanna die on my face. A cold numbness is setting in, telling me I haven’t got long left.

  The wind howls inside the basement as, like clockwork, Michelle’s spirit rises from her dead body. No warm glow beckons her. Heaven’s Gates are shut.

  Revenge is a sin, and even though Dean deserved it, killing him and making it look like a suicide is still murder. Not to mention the business she conducted tonight.

  The basement’s cold, like the grave. Charon flows forward, a shadow rippling across the wall, and halts beside Michelle. He bends to whisper in her ear. Fear floods her face at his words; words she won’t have time to forget like I did.

  I fish my last Expunger from my pocket and toss it at her, then I look away, screw my eyes shut. Despite what she’s done, I’ve no desire to see it carry out its work.

  I count to twenty before I open my eyes. The wind’s bluster has stopped, and the green flames have died, plunging the basement into darkness. I crane my neck to stare at the ceiling, hoping against hope that they view my deeds tonight as just, or else forgive me for services rendered. Will the Gates of Heaven open for me again? Miracles happen, right?

  A second passes.

  Then another.

  A third.

  “You’re looking in the wrong direction, you know.”

  The voice is silk. It’s like every accent I’ve ever heard rolled into one. It’s at once intoxicating and terrifying. I can’t hold my head up any longer and it drops. I can’t move from my knees.

  A figure steps from behind me and crouches to peer into my face. At first, I think he’s a Nephilim. His intimidating size, his vibrant color, his sharp features remind me of Suraz, but his sheer presence tells me he’s something more, and he doesn’t wear armor. Instead, he’s draped in a crimson robe. His stare is like a weight smothering my mind. His golden eyes hold the knowledge of eternity and, unlike Suraz, he’s bearded, black hair styled to perfection.

  Nephilim are beautiful. This being is beyond that.

  Shit. He’s an Angel. A fallen Angel.

  “Lucifer?” I cough, blood dribbling down my chin.

  Satan smiles and produces the whitest piece of cloth I’ve ever seen. It’s a shame when he presses it against my mouth and cleans away the blood dripping from my lips.

  “I should thank you,” he says, glancing down at the pentagrams and artifacts. “I suspect I would not have enjoyed what Michelle Wheeler had in store for me.”

  He’s urbane. Jovial, almost. Fucking Lucifer seems like a nice guy. Who knew?

  “What do you mean?” I ask, and sway forwards. The Devil himself holds me upright with the little finger of his left hand.

  “The woman had clearly done her research. These sacrifices aren’t something I could just ignore. You have my brother to thank for that.” He points to the ceiling. “He does so love his obscure rules and laws. Unless they concern him, of course. But then, maybe there’s a reason hypocrisy isn’t on his list of sins. Oh well. Anyway, a spell this powerful is not a mere invocation. It’s a binding. I would have had to carry out Michelle’s every command. Anything within my power would be hers. My agents have worked hard to conceal that knowledge, and how she found it puzzles me. I suppose that’s a question for another time.”

  “Right…”

  I’m so fucking tired. Wait… Brother?

  “Your brain is not working as it should, my friend. Understandable.”

  Lucifer taps me on the cheek with a light touch. It feels like the time Rosa slapped me. The fog clouding my brain thins for a second.

  Did he just say God’s his damned brother?

  “Excellent news. You completed the ceremony when you Expunged Michelle. Lucky for you, healing is a skill I excel in, so why not command me to mend your broken body, and we shall part as friends?”

  He blows into his palms and rubs them together, like he’s firing up the magic.

  “Wait!” I shout, a reserve of strength coming from somewhere.

  He fixes me with those million-dollar eyes, like he’s reminding me to be very careful with my next words. But the Devil is at my beck and call. I want to make this good.

  “There’s a soul trapped here. A good one. She meant to ascend decades ago but didn’t. Her name’s Maeve Wells. Can you do it? Send her to Heaven to be with her husband? He departed today. Michelle, she...”

  A hacking cough interrupts me, sending warm blood down my chin. I’m hoping he got the point.

  Lucifer rises to his feet and glances around the room, shock etched into his obsidian features. He stares at Michelle’s corpse, then back at me. He crouches again. The Devil produces his white cloth, somehow unstained, and dabs at my face.

  “Human, that is the first time I have felt something other than apathy in millennia. Eternal life is quite boring, you know? You would sacrifice your life for the chance to reunite a couple in Heaven? You do realize those pearly gates don’t wait for you? When your body gives up in one hundred and ninety-four seconds, you are staying in Hell. In His book, revenge is revenge.”

  I nod. There isn’t a second thought in my mind.

  “Done,” Lucifer says, with a thunderous clap.

  He stands and looks up at the ceiling. I can see in his eyes that he sees straight through it; his gaze goes directly to the Heaven.

  Smiling, he glances down at me, the grin turning to a frown. I flinch as our eyes meet. Somehow, I know I shouldn’t be able to withstand his sheer presence. Maybe it’s because I’m almost dead, or maybe it’s the effect of the sacrifice.

  “You know what? I am in a fine mood, Nick Holleran. You have surprised me, and that occurs all too seldom in Hell. This will not do at all. This is my kingdom. I have fulfilled the terms of our contract, and I am not meant to meddle in the lives of humans. His Rules.” The Devil grins at me. “Fuck them.”

  Lucifer crouches and lays his palm against my side. It’s like lightning’s struck me. He holds me down with his other hand as I gasp and convulse, as power blasts through my body, blowing away the cobwebs in my mind, healing the cracks in my bones and the tears in my flesh. It hurts—Christ, it hurts so goddamn much—but I feel alive. More than I ever have before. He lets go and I spring to my feet, ready to run the New York Marathon.

  “Fixed that rib too,” he says, with a wink. “Now, if that is all? You need to stay out of trouble, Holleran. Only one life left.”

  “Wait,” I shout, as he moves by me, patting myself down. Blood soaks my shirt but, underneath, my skin’s unblemished and I feel like I’ve slept for a month. “I need to know something. Why is the world like this? Why are we all in Hell? I thought God was your father?”

  Lucifer pauses, his back to me. He looks over his shoulder, golden eyes narrowed.

  “Father. Yes, that is how they like to tell it,” he says, turning to face me. The sheer force of his will batters against me as his stare penetrates mine. “I suppose there is no harm. The one you call God is my brother. He cast me and my supporters out of Heaven, thousands of years ago. They got that part correct. Back then, there wasn’t a Hell. God created it for those who supported me. Humans included.” He places a hand on my shoulder. It’s like being squashed by a bus. “Your people were always the most loyal to me. Now you have to prove yourselves before you are allowed back h
ome, and my brother is rather fickle.”

  With that last word, Lucifer spins and strides into the darkness at the end of the basement. The candles spurt back into life, orange flames illuminating the room. I gaze at Michelle’s corpse, then holster my Ruger.

  “One life left, Nick,” I murmur, turning my back and heading for the stairs, lost in my thoughts as I ponder the Devil’s revelations.

  EPILOGUE

  AFTER … SEPTEMBER 21st

  “Next Friday then?” I say, pausing for Rosa’s reply.

  I flick my eyes to the girl in the corner. I wonder if Darcy can hear the excitement in my voice, or if she listens at all.

  “Okay,” Rosa replies, “it’s a date then. Wear something nice, and no ghost stories, okay? I don’t care how many dead guys are in the restaurant with us.”

  “Have it your way.” I laugh. “Deal.”

  “See you Friday, Nick Holleran.”

  “See you then. And Rosa?”

  A pause.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, big guy. You suck at first dates.”

  She laughs as she hangs up. I whoop as I lean back in my chair and reach for my packet of cigarettes. I pull one out and go to light it, staring at the beautiful day outside my window.

  “They’ll kill you, you know?”

  The cigarette hangs from my lip as I turn, dumbfounded, towards Darcy. That girl has haunted my office in silence for at least five years. Now, she’s standing on the other side of my desk, so close I can feel the flames licking from her empty eye sockets.

  My cigarette falls to the floor.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  It’s all I can think of to say. Better than nothing.

  “Yes, Mr. Holleran,” she says. “I have a case for you. I want you to find out who murdered me.”