The Blood Singer_A Haden Church Supernatural Thriller

by Patrick McNulty

  However, the down side was that once in the deep, coma-like trance, their natural body was completely vulnerable to those that would rather have the Reapers become extinct.

  Enter the Avernus Collective.

  This organization as far as she knew was as ancient as The Ministry of the Wraith, made up of supernatural beings that would rather watch the world burn than hear a baby laugh. Similar to the Ministry of the Wraith they have their own agents and use their own loyal ghost network to gather intelligence and so far the balance has remained in check.

  After her own personal tragedy in Pennsylvania she was contacted by Moses. He had told her of the death of Haden’s latest overwatch, Sean Berlin, and lobbied the Ministry director, Madeline LeClerc to assign Nyah to his team. To which she grudgingly agreed.

  Moses had spoken highly of Haden, almost fondly. They had been inseparable for thirteen years and she feared just by listening to way he spoke of the boy’s unruly and unconventional behaviour that he had lost all, or at least most, of his control over the younger man.

  Moses described him as impetuous, spontaneous, reckless, and the best Reaper he had ever seen.

  From reading Haden Church’s past mission reports it was a miracle that he had stayed alive this long. She didn’t need reckless. She couldn’t work with impetuous or spontaneous, either. To stay alive in this business there had to be rules and protocols and systems in place. Things were about to change for Haden Church.

  Nyah finished her protein bar and slipped behind the wheel of the Camry and fired up the engine. She dialled the phone number associated with Haden Church and she listened to the phone ring and ring and ring in her ear before finally, she killed the call.

  Perfect, she thought wryly. He’s already dead.

  10

  Haden Church glanced at the vibrating phone on the bedside table and pressed a button to disable the ringer. He then swept the little irritating device into a drawer next to the complimentary bible.

  Technically, he was on vacation.

  The woman lying next to him hadn’t stirred. Pale blonde hair covered most of her face but the sheet had slid down revealing a long slender back. Haden smiled and settled his head back into his pillow, raising a battered copy of Sour Candy by Kealan Patrick Burke up to eye level.

  He was on vacation and he planned to enjoy it. He licked his index finger and turned the page when the temperature dropped in the room. Haden let out a long sigh that clouded in the suddenly chilly air of the bedroom. Next, to him goosebumps dotted the flesh of the woman’s back, stirring her out of sleep. Haden’s eyes cut to Moses who had materialized out of the gloom and was leaning against the bathroom door.

  “I’m on vacation,” Haden said.

  “Its called convalescing. You’re convalescing.” Moses replied. “And it's over now.”

  The girl, shivering now beneath the thin sheet rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows.

  “Did you turn on the AC?” she asked, her breath frosting in the air.

  “No.”

  “It's freezing in here.”

  Haden stared daggers at Moses.

  “Something I can help you with?” Haden asked.

  The girl, whose name was Janet, or Jasmine or something like that stared at the empty bathroom doorway and asked who Haden was talking to.

  “Moses.”

  “Who’s Moses?”

  Haden bent the corner of the page he was reading, marking his place and set the book aside. The girl looked a little unsure.

  “He’s a ghost that follows me around, asking me to do shit.” He said. “He’s standing right there in the bathroom doorway.”

  The girl smiled, thinking he was joking, cut her eyes to the empty doorway and laughed nervously. There was no one there.

  “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.” He replied. “I think you should go.”

  The girl gathered the sheet around herself and climbed out of bed, searching the floor for her clothes.

  “You’re fucking weird, man.”

  Haden swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his head with both hands, scratching at his close-cropped hair trying to massage away a headache that was building between his eyes. He watched the woman gather her things and stomp to the bathroom.

  Moses didn’t move.

  The woman unknowingly passed through him scattering his image into oblivion. She slipped into the bathroom slamming the door.

  “She smells like peaches,” Moses whispered, as his body quickly reformed.

  Haden nodded his agreement and yawned letting his jaw click and pop.

  “Why is it so fucking cold in here?” the woman asked from the bathroom.

  Haden stood and stretched, reaching his full height of six foot two. Twenty-three, he was wire thin with the long ropy muscles of a professional soccer player or a long distance runner.

  His back and shoulders and chest, even his neck bore scars. Some deep, some shallow, some healed and some in the process and still tender. Haden shifted a beer can and an empty chip bag away from the side table and found his pack of Marlboros. He rifled through the pack and found one last coffin nail.

  “Sweet Jesus, thank you.” He whispered.

  And slipped it between his waiting lips.

  “You know you shouldn’t smoke,” Moses told him.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Moses glared at him.

  A moment later the bathroom door opened and the woman stomped out.

  “Don’t call me.”

  Moses waited until the hotel room door slammed closed behind her and the pair was alone.

  “Another satisfied customer?”

  “Everything was going fine until you showed up.”

  “You didn’t have to mention me.”

  “You’re right,” Haden said, drawing deep on his cigarette. “I didn’t.”

  Moses settled on a chair that faced the bed.

  “Why are you here, Moses?”

  “The new overwatch is supposed to arrive today,” he said. “Have you heard anything?”

  Haden shrugged.

  “She hasn’t called?”

  “I’m on vacation, Mo.”

  “You look well enough.”

  Haden blew twin streams of smoke out of his nostrils and pointed to the fresh scar still an angry red that ran in a wavy line from his right ear down to his trapezius muscle.

  "Look at my fucking neck, man." Haden spat. "I could've died."

  “But you didn't."

  “But I could've.”

  Moses cocked his head.

  “Is this about the overwatch?”

  “He had a name, Mo.”

  “Sean. Yes, I know.”

  “Yeah, maybe it's about Sean. I don’t know.” Haden said taking another legendary hit from his cigarette. “Three fucking days. He lasted three days, Mo.”

  Moses didn't respond.

  “So maybe I feel like taking it easy for a while,” Haden said. “Just Netflix and chill.”

  Moses settled into a chair across the room and waited until Haden grew quiet.

  “I need a favor,” he said finally, “There’s a woman.”

  “There's lots of women.” Haden replied.

  “She’s a newbie and some wraiths of ours found her skulking around the local police station trying to get the attention of anyone who would listen. This woman needs your help, Haden.”

  “What part of recovery do you not understand? I'm convalescing here, Moses. Resting, recuperating. Healing.”

  “I spoke with the woman and she says that her son has gone completely off the rails and is planning something terrible.”

  “Terrible, like what?” Haden said. “Scratch that. Don’t tell me, ‘cause…”

  “She says her son has buried his eight-year-old daughter alive.”

  Haden stared at Moses drawing up the last of the precious nicotine of his cigarette. His fingers pinched the filter and then crushed it against his empty beer
can.

  “And if I say no, I’m…“

  “…the asshole.” Moses said, “Yeah. You got it.”

  “Does she even know she’s dead?” Haden asked.

  “I’ve tried to explain it to her, but, she’s resisting.”

  Haden shook his head reaching for another cigarette and finding only the empty pack.

  “Great, where is she?”

  In just under an hour Haden was showered and dressed in his cleanest clothes which, after the job in Baltimore, meant that he was down to one pair of jeans and a Death Wish Coffee hoody.

  When he exited the bathroom Moses was sitting on the sofa next to a heavy-set elderly woman who wore cats eye glasses and her grey hair pulled straight back into a severe bun knotted at the top of her head. She was tipping the scales close to two-hundred and fifty pounds with the entire package wrapped in a dark blue dress dotted with tiny white flowers. She held her purse on her lap like someone was going to steal it.

  "Edna Walton,” Moses said, “this is Haden Church, the man I was telling you about."

  Edna stole glances at Haden nervously as he stirred his customary five sugars into his instant coffee. She nodded and cut her jittery eyes back to Moses.

  “He looks so young.” She whispered. “It feels wrong to be in a…hotel room. I have to tell you that I’m a little uncomfortable.”

  “It’s all right, Edna. Haden is very professional.”

  “And discreet.” She said, “I don't want my Freddy to get into any trouble. He's a good boy."

  Haden carried his coffee to the only chair facing the couch and sipped his coffee, grimaced and set the cup down.

  “Edna, can I call you Edna?” Haden began.

  “Yes, please.”

  “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news here, but we got to establish some things before I can help you.”

  “Okay…” she said, fidgeting in place.

  “First of all, and this is gonna sting: you’re dead.”

  Edna stared open mouthed at the young man sitting across from her.

  “What?”

  “You’re no longer alive,” Haden continued.

  Edna looked to Moses who nodded solemnly.

  “But that can’t be,”

  “Take your time, let it settle.”

  “But I went to the police station and…”

  “How did that go?” Haden asked.

  “No one would listen to me, they wouldn’t even, look at…”

  Haden stirred another packet of sugar into his coffee, took a sip and shook his head again.

  Edna sat slumped on the couch, deflated. Tears swelled in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. She opened her purse and rooted through for a tissue.

  “Does it even matter now?” she said, “How can I be crying if I’m dead?”

  “It’s okay, Edna,” Haden said. “It’s different for everyone. Some people, after they die they go straight to judgement. Others, like yourself, need a little more time.”

  Edna found some tissues in her purse and wiped her eyes and then blew her nose with a honk.

  “Something powerful is keeping you from leaving this place. Something important.”

  Edna wiped her face and shifted on the couch until she was sitting up straighter. Her face was flushed but her eyes were clear.

  “If I’m dead, then, Freddy is in more far gone than I thought.”

  “Tell me about your son, Edna,” Haden said. “Tell me about Freddy.”

  Edna squared herself to Haden and held her purse tighter in her lap.

  “It wasn’t his fault, you know.” She began. “He never used to be like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “So angry. So mean.”

  Haden waited.

  “Like I told Moses, I blame Maura.” Edna spat out the woman's name like she tasted something vile.

  “And Maura is…” Haden asked.

  “Freddy’s ex wife,” Moses told him.

  “And after the divorce you think I get to see little Charlotte any more?” Edna chimed in. “Forget it. And I liked Maura. Before I knew she was cattin' around. Before that she was fine. A bit quiet. A little too liberal if you know what I mean.”

  Haden didn’t.

  “She was cheating on him. Can you believe it? She cheats on him after he built them a dream home out in the country with a pool and everything. I told him it was too big, but he would’ve moved heaven and earth for that woman. Then she hooks up with some guy in her office. Freddy lost the house and his job. He barely gets to see Charlotte now. She took everything from him.”

  Moses fidgeted in his chair and tried to steer Edna back on point.

  “Edna,” he said. “Tell Haden what you told me. About last night.”

  The fat older woman stared hard at Moses for a beat, then pivoted and stared at Haden square in the face.

  “I think my Freddy is planning on doing something … awful.” She said looking guilty. “I walked in on him while he was at his computer. He was making some kind of recording. Like a movie. He was saying … things. Horrible things.”

  Finally, Haden thought.

  “Like what?” He asked.

  Her eyes cut quickly to Moses and then back to Haden.

  “I don’t know specifically know what he’s planning but I think he’s looking to hurt somebody. Now I don’t hold any stock in Maura or that new beau she’s living with but I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I think Freddy needs some help. Some professional help. Maybe he needs to change his diet like on Dr. Phil. Sometimes these things are all because of what you eat. I watched a story one time about this man in Atlanta. He killed his whole family cause his sugars were low.”

  “Low sugars,” Haden repeated. “Could be, Edna.” He felt Moses squirm in the seat beside him.

  “Can you help me, Mr. Church?”

  “Where is your son now?” Haden said.

  “He’s at home. With me, he’s staying with me.”

  “Can you talk to him, Mr. Church?” She pleaded.

  Haden could feel the weight of Moses’ stare and said, “I can have a chat with your son.” And forced his lips to smile.

  “Oh thank you, young man.” She beamed. “Thank you. He’s such a good boy, you’ll see. He just lost his way is all.”

  11

  Charlotte Walton leaned against the bathroom doorway and dredged up her most pitiful expression. Equal parts sick tummy and my goldfish just died.

  “Please don’t leave me alone with Ted.” She whined to her mother.

  “What? Why?”

  Maura Walton (nee James) dragged a brush through her hair, wishing to Christ she didn’t have to go to work today. She checked her watch. She didn’t have time to talk Charlotte down. She barely had time to get ready.

  “Why? You guys get along.”

  Charlotte crossed her thin arms across her chest and said, “Kinda, I guess. But when you're not here he always makes me do stuff.”

  Maura froze, mid brush stroke. Her eyes ratcheted to her daughter’s.

  “What?” she asked. “What kinds of stuff, Charlotte?”

  All business now. The hairbrush forgotten.

  Charlotte looked anywhere but at her mother, knowing she struck a chord, but not really realizing how or why.

  “I don’t know, stuff. He’s all like, can you get me a beer, Charlie? Do we have any chips, Charlie? I hate it when he calls me that. My name is Charlotte. Charlie is a boy’s name.”

  Maura let out a breath she felt embarrassed to be holding. Of course, that's what she meant by stuff. Ted was a good guy. Not the best with Charlotte but Charlotte still held a candle for her real father, Freddy. She laughed. It was more like an Olympic torch. Charlotte idolized him. Of course, she didn’t know half the shit Freddy put her through. No one did. Scars she even lied to Ted about. She finished brushing her hair and slipped the brush into a drawer.

  “And he never does anything with me, Mom. You know how he’s all ‘ let's do something li
ke a real family’ when you’re here? He’s totally different when it's just me and him. All he wants to do is watch sports and boy movies.”

  “You gotta give him a chance okay? Ted is a really sweet guy.“

  “Why can’t I stay with daddy today?”

  Maura’s face hardened even thinking about Freddy. She saw his face in her mind’s eyes. Flushed red and that central vein pulsing in his forehead just outside the courtroom. It was just after the final verdict came back. She had won full custody and he was only allowed supervised visits. Her lawyer, a small brittle looking woman had eyed the exit door nervously and asked if she would feel better about being escorted out of the courtroom by security. She had waved her off then, smiling tightly.

  “It's fine.” She had told her.

  Together they pushed through the doors and there he was. His own lawyer a heavy set middle aged woman made a weak attempt at standing between them, but he stepped around her easily and in two strides he was right up in her face, spittle flying from the corners of his twisted mouth.

  “You fucking WHORE!” he had screamed.

  The waiting area was of course packed with other broken families and nearly all of them took a break from pondering their own woes to turn in their seats and watch the latest family disintegrate before their eyes.

  “I want to see Charlotte.” He told her through clenched teeth.

  Maura’s lawyer pulled her sleeve, dragging her away as uniform cops had begun to move in. One on each side of Freddy. They were on him now, grabbing an arm each. He ripped his arm free and they grabbed him again, this time there was no asking. They were telling.

  “I want to see my daughter! You fucking CUNT!”

  Freddy was really struggling now, wriggling like a mental patient. The two cops on either side were fighting to keep him restrained. Grinding his teeth and making this horrible noise in his throat as if every horrible word he wanted to call her filled his mouth at once.