Grave Beginnings (The Grave Report, Book 1)

by Virdi, R. R

  James was lying slumped against the legs of one of the massive tables on which were dozens of items for the upcoming exhibit. His features had a sunken look to them, he looked forty years older since the last time I had seen him. Before he simply looked a bit haggard, pulling one too many all nighters. Now, now James looked utterly emaciated, like the life had slowly been sucked out of him, which in a way is exactly what had been happening to him.

  “Not looking too good there, are you James?”

  He craned his neck up to look at me; it looked as if it was pretty difficult for him to make even that much effort. His movements showed signs of fragility, “Norman?” he rasped, it was more a question than exclamation. I didn’t think he was capable of being surprised in the state he was in, not that it mattered because I was pretty sure that he couldn’t even see me, or well atleast.

  “God,” Ortiz gasped when she saw him.

  James’ entire face was gaunt and hollow looking, around his eyes were massive rings of blue black as if he had been socked too many times in the face, minus the swelling. His skin clung to him with an unnatural tightness, it looked stretched, it was seriously disturbing.

  A wisp of smoke caught my eye and I turned away from him to face the other person in the room. She was dressed in the exact same manner as when I had first met her. A very small black leather jacket over her strategically slashed shirt, baring the skin of her chest and taut stomach beneath, equally slashed jeans that eventually led to a pair of oversized studded black combat boots. She sat there on of the tables, having brushed many of the artifacts and pieces rather unceremoniously aside, her legs dangling there as she regarded Ortiz and I.

  Her molten brown eyes narrowed as I stepped towards her, I could see her posture changing, becoming more rigid as I approached. A few tendrils of smoke were wafting out of her mouth and her left pocket where her hand was stuffed as if concealing something, it was a nice act but I wasn’t buying it anymore.

  I reached into my pocket and removed the carton of the cigarettes I had bought earlier, smacking the container until I was able to pull one of them out. She arched an eyebrow in surprise as I held out in front her, inches from her mouth. I arched an eyebrow of my own; surprised that it wasn’t so obvious to her, “well?” I said expectantly.

  “Well what?” she snapped haughtily.

  “Can I get a light?” I asked quietly.

  Her haughty demeanor quickly faded away and was replaced by something else, there was an unfocused look all over her, she looked startled by the question. “Uh…” she began, looking confused, “what?” she finished. You’d have thunk I had asked her that question in another language by the way she sounded and reacted.

  I breathed out slowly before I spoke, “can. I. Get. A. Light?” I repeated much slower and loudly.

  She stated at me with her mouth agape, still just as startled as she was a few seconds ago, apparently her English skills still needed some work. It’s funny, yesterday she hadn’t had so much trouble giving me an attitude, hell five seconds ago she was giving me an attitude and now she conveniently forgot how to speak.

  I clapped my hands together rapidly and loudly, “come on, chop chop, I need a light.”

  She looked terrified, operative word being looked, she wasn’t going to pull anything else over on me again. “I…uh…I….” She stammered nervously.

  “I…you…uh…. ahhh…what!? I snapped aggressively.

  A soft hand fell on my shoulder, gripping it lightly, “Hey Norman, take it easy on the kid.” Ortiz whispered.

  I ignored her and continued eyeing the girl, waiting for her to answer me.

  “I don’t have my lighter anymore,” she replied, “I tossed it when I heard footsteps outside,” she continued.

  “Why?”

  “Because you already caught me once,” she said sheepishly, “I didn’t want to get in trouble again,” she added as she hopped off the table. “I’ll leave, I promise I won’t come back,” she said softly as she tried to walk past me.

  My arm shot out, grabbing her around her upper arm, hard. I shoved her back rather forcefully against the table, “oh no you’re not doll, sit!” I said harshly.

  “Norman!” exclaimed Ortiz; a bit scandalized by the way I was treating the “poor little girl.” “What the hell are you doing!?”

  I continued ignoring Ortiz; I figured the best way to get her to understand would be to simply show her. I turned my attention back to James’ “daughter,” who was now sitting on the table once again. “Turn out your pockets,” I said slowly and with an edge in my voice.

  She did, very hesitantly, one at a time in fact. First the right one, which turned out nothing, then the left, which turned out what I was looking for, the cigarette she had stashed. She held it up rather weakly, her hand trembling in fear, she was a fantastic actress but then again, so were most of the monsters I’d hunted. “Sorry,” she mumbled apologetically.

  I snatched the cigarette out of her hand, it was old, hell it was ancient. Comparing it to the brand new unused one in my other hand showed me there was a helluva of difference. The pristine white upper portion was severely distressed and yellowing, this thing had been stowed for a long time and not properly. But the real kicker was that it was never lit, or never lit properly and that’s all I needed.

  “That’s funny,” I said with a grim laugh.

  “What?” Ortiz and James’ daughter asked simultaneously.

  I held the cigarette up for Ortiz to see while turning my gaze to the girl when I spoke, “when did kids start smoking these things backwards?” I asked.

  “Huh?” was the brilliant reply I got from the young girl.

  “Ortiz?” I said tilting my heads towards her, my tone making it more of an open question.

  “The butt’s been lit…but the rest is… fine?” Ortiz said in confusion.

  “Yup,” I replied simply, “you know what I think?” I asked, turning back to the girl. I held up a hand as soon as she started to speak and she shut up, “I think that this is the same cigarette I saw you smoking yesterday. Hell, I think this is the only cigarette you’ve been smoking. And I’m pretty damn sure that you haven’t really been smoking this at all!” I said, my voice getting louder as my anger started taking over.

  “But—” she pleaded, leaning forwards and casting a nervous glance towards Ortiz as if she was going to save her.

  “I also!” I began, raising my voice much higher than hers, “think that it’s not a new trend for kids to light up cigarette butts and put them out on their tongues!” I turned my head slightly towards Ortiz and asked in a much softer voice, “it’s not is it?”

  She shook her head.

  Right then, just had to make sure, kids are doing all manner of stupid things these days.

  “What I think is,” I growled, “that you don’t have a lighter because you haven’t smoking, not really at least, or not by the standards of mortals anyways.”

  “What are you talking about?!” she shouted in a terrified and shrill voice, “you’re crazy,” she continued, turning to face Ortiz she pleaded, “help me, he’s insane!”

  I glanced at Ortiz, she was biting her lip, a sign that she was carefully observing and weighing the situation. She took a step a back and remained silent, deciding to stay out of it and allow me to continue.

  Looking back at the now teary eyed girl I picked up from where I left off. “I think the reason this cigarette looks like it’s ten years old is that you weren’t smoking it but keeping it for appearances. You don’t carry a lighter because you don’t smoke cigarettes, you just smoke!” I said with particular emphasis on you.

  “I…don’t…I…I….” She stammered and cried.

  “Gun!” I said sharply.

  “What?” replied Ortiz.

  “Give me your gun Ortiz,” I growled.

  She hesitated for an instant but she gave it over, rather reluctantly I noticed but still, she gave it to me.

  “Oh God,” cried James’ d
aughter, “you’re gonna kill me,” she turned towards Ortiz again, “please,” she whimpered, pleading for Ortiz’s help.

  I arched an eyebrow at Ortiz, asking the silent question if she was going to intervene or not. I could see her struggling on the inside but she didn’t get involved, she did however forcefully squeeze her eyes shut for a moment and let out a heavy sigh. I took it as a sign that she was going to let me do my thing but that she wasn’t exactly comfortable with it.

  “All right,” I snarled, pointing Ortiz’s revolver dead center in the girl’s face, eliciting a large shriek from her as well as another plea.

  “I didn’t do anything!” she cried, “I didn’t—”

  “DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!?” I roared in outrage, “you’re the reason James is lying there with the life sucked out of him,” I shouted with a quick nod to James’ emaciated figure lying against the legs of one of the tables. “You’re the reason I was nearly eaten by Tony the fucking tiger! You’re the reason I was ambushed by a Wraith in all my naked glory!” I continued shouting, the gun shaking in my grip due to my rage. “You’re the reason the museum janitor is dead, you’re the reason Rick the security guard is dead, you’re the reason…” I broke off suddenly, struggling to say her name.

  I tightened my grip on the revolver and pushed it right into her face, the barrel literally resting on the tip of her nose, “YOU’RE THE REASON MARSHA IS DEAD!” I snarled in pure fury and reached out with my free hand, grabbing her mouth and giving it a violent shake, the gun still never wavering from her nose.

  “Norman,” Ortiz said in hushed whisper, I could hear how worried when she spoke, “I think you’re going a little—”

  I cut her off with a gesture, I knew where she was going, one simple show of my hand was enough to get her to understand what was really going on here. I rubbed my fingers together on the hand I had just grabbed the girl with, the hand Ortiz was currently looking at in an awestruck state. After I pulled my hand away from the girls tear stained face, I found that my hands were covered in a fine powdery black substance, a substance that had coated the scene where I had killed the tiger. It was on Marsha’s bed, the janitors bed, hell, it was on the will back in Norman’s place.

  The whole damn thing had been staring me in the face the entire time and I didn’t realize it, I was too obsessed with finding a monster in monsters form. I wasn’t looking for a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Not all creatures can take human like form; I didn’t know what to expect on this case so I guess I expected the obvious, the easy and I expected wrong! And my expectations had cost two people their lives and if James didn’t make it, then three people would’ve gone down.

  I thumbed the hammer back on the revolver when I spoke, my voice had dropped to a deadly sharp whisper, “you’re the Ifrit I’ve been looking for,” my finger now actually placing a bit of pressure on the trigger. “I think I’m going to put a bullet in your head.” I said quietly.

  Ortiz didn’t move, she would’ve been completely motionless save for her tightening her grip on the fire stoker and bring it in front of her, holding it at chest level.

  That’s when something weird happened, ok, weirder than being chased by a giant golden tiger across the streets of New York and being caught naked in Norman’s apartment by a Wraith and pretty much everything else that had happened. The girl, the Ifrit had a small smile on her lips.

  I had a gun on her and she was smiling.

  It’s always disconcerting when a person, or a monster, has a smile on their face when you have a revolver pointed at them.

  Her voice was exceptionally clear when she spoke, no more whimpering and tears but rather a deep smoky voice, “well,” she said, sighing, “it was inevitable.”

  I nearly leapt back when I saw her, its eyes, they were smoldering! Not like oozing with sexuality and come-hither eyes, they were on frickin’ fire! Her pupils had dilated and began to take up much of her eyes, they had darkened as well into two complete pools of onyx. I could actually see lines of ashy gray and an all too familiar fiery orange flecked throughout her eyes. It gave them appearance of two pieces of charcoal that were on fire. Even after seeing that, I still didn’t move the gun from her face, I was seriously freaked out, but I had a gun in her face. I had the gun.

  Not like it did very much to terrify her.

  “Yes,” she said in that still smoky husky like tone, “I seem to remember killing you, twice, in fact.” She said, placing heavy emphasis on twice. Guess she was counting the time she tried to tear my soul out of Norman’s body…well she failed.

  It was a smart move on her part, mentioning that, not that it bothered me but it did manage to get the attention of one FBI agent who already was aware of my dishonesty.

  “Norman?” Ortiz said hesitantly, “what’s she talking about when she said she’s killed you?”

  This was what I was afraid of, Ortiz somehow finding out just how not normal I really am and finding out before I had a chance to explain it to her.

  “Ooooh,” said the Ifrit with a delightful peal of laughter, her volcanic eyes beaming brightly, her legs actually kicking like a little child. “He didn’t tell you did he? Yes, I already killed him once, in fact, he should be dead now but obviously something happened there,” she said leaning closer, pushing up against the barrel of the revolver. “Tell me what happened,” she said with a massive smile.

  “Norman? What’s going on, what the hell is going on here?” Ortiz asked, her tone nervous and taking on a bit of an edge.

  “Oh yes,” laughed the Ifrit, “tell her, tell the human what’s going on, I must admit, I’m curious as well. Maybe if you tell, if you’re a good boy, I’ll end you quick, you can see that mortal cow….what was her name ag—”

  The report of the gunshot filled the small room, the Ifrits beautiful face rocked back violently, causing her body to fall back across the table. Ortiz swore and jumped in place when the shot went off.

  “Marsha,” I said in a deadly quiet whisper, “her name was Marsha.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Is…is it over?” Ortiz asked in a quiet and uncertain matter.

  I shut my eyes and sighed heavily, “yeah,” I said, my voice coming out a bit rougher than expected, “it’s over.”

  Ortiz pursed her lips and asked, “I thought the plan was to seal the thing up, I thought that it wouldn’t have been so easy to kill.”

  I shrugged.

  “Didn’t your contact say something about stopping it by trapping it once again?” she pressed on asking.

  “Guess he was wrong,” I said dryly.

  “And….” She began, pausing before asking, “what about all that stuff it said, about you and dying?”

  I sighed again, “yeah, we’ll talk, I promised so yeah, we’ll talk,” I said, heading past her and towards the door.

  Ortiz grabbed me by the arm gently but firmly, “what about him,” she said with a nod towards James.

  “Leave him,” I said in a harsh tone.

  “You can’t be serious?” Ortiz said sounding a bit scandalized.

  “He brought this on himself,” I replied, still sounding rather harsh.

  “But—”

  I waved her off, “but nothing, he’s the reason three people are dead, that’s counting only the employees!” I said, my voice picking up a great deal of heat. “He’s the reason I was nearly assassinated by a wraith, devoured by a tiger and trapped in a burning building with you! People died in that fire Ortiz, you told me, people died!”

  She looked at me stubbornly but I could see a hint of sadness in her eyes, when she spoke, it was a very soft and gentle whisper, “at least call him an ambulance or something.”

  “Fine,” I said a bit begrudgingly as I shrugged my way out of her grip and began heading out the door.

  “Uh Norman?” she said, getting my attention once again.

  I looked back over my shoulder at her, “yeah?”

  She pointed at the Ifrit’s corpse, there was a small wisp of s
moke from the center of her face, it was where I had shot her. “That doesn’t seem right…” she said trailing off into silence.

  “No,” I murmured, “it doesn’t,” I said as I approached the Ifrit’s body, sprawled lifelessly over the table. As I looked down at her limp figure I noticed something else was wrong as well, the bullet had gone clear through her but there wasn’t a hole in the wall behind her. I had shot her with a .357 a point blank and yet the round hadn’t impacted the wall behind her?

  Where the hell did it go? I asked myself silently.

  I raised Ortiz’s snub-nosed revolver and aimed it at the Ifrit’s still chest and was about to squeeze the trigger.

  The Ifrit’s “dead” body surged forwards, both of her hands clamping around my forearm and wrist with pressure akin to hydraulic machinery. In one smooth move she pushed down and forwards on my arm causing me to kneel with my arm bending backwards and the pistol being shoved up and under my chin. It hurt too much to scream, my teeth were grinding against each other violently as I struggled.

  She was still smiling as she stared at me; the hole in the middle of her face wasn’t really a hole anymore. It looked like a tunnel that was flooding…with molten hot lava. The dark hole in face was slowly filling with fiery hot liquid and spouting bits of smoke and steam, the lava like fluid coalescing inside the empty spot and filling it back up. Within an instant the hole her face was perfectly healed, returning back to the shape and form of her missing nose and everything else that was blasted away by Ortiz’s hand cannon.

  When she spoke, her voice had gone from smoky to downright disturbingly baritone and distorted, it was the voice I had heard earlier in Norman’s office. “Well, that was unpleasant,” she said, applying even more pressure on my arm, jamming the barrel of the gun deep into the soft tissue beneath my chin. “What’s the human expression?” she mused in that awful and unnaturally low basso voice, “a taste of your own medicine?” She released one of her hands from my forearm and slowly slid it up atop of the hand that was still on the trigger, her other hand now applying an excruciating amount of pressure on my arm, keeping it in place.