Grave Beginnings (The Grave Report, Book 1) Page 5

  And that was Yahtzee on the location and identity of the monster that did in Norman, well minus the identity part. Part of me wanted to jump out of the door, surprise the pair of them and waste ‘em but reason won out. I still didn’t know exactly what supernatural creature I was dealing with and if I came out prematurely I could be in a world of hurt. I had no idea how to kill it quickly and efficiently; all a confrontation would lead to is my dying for the bajillionth time.

  Oh, and it had nothing to do with me being utterly afraid of a paranormal baddie that sent shockwaves through the air when it frickin’ spoke!

  Nope, I wasn’t scared at all; I am a consummate badass at ganking monsters. I just thought it was best to listen up a bit more and get my bearings, be prepared and all that. Discretion is a part of valor, being sneaky and planning, searching for your opponent’s weakness then taking them out.

  Yup, not afraid.

  “Well…well, he’s um back now, what do we do?” The first voice said in a nervous stammer.

  “I don’t think that that is Norman at all, whatever it is, it’s a threat.” The second voice said.

  Crap…cover blown.

  “How do you know it isn’t really him?” Questioned the first speaker.

  “Because…” the second speaker began in a tone almost like that of a teacher explaining something to a child, “the dead don’t come back to life on their own.”

  “But…” the first voice began.

  “No, I did not intervene, that was not the deal.” The second voice explained.

  Deal? So whatever it was liked to deal huh, well that actually narrowed it down quite a bit, I was starting to get a handle on what it might actually be.

  “So what we do?” the first speaker asked.

  “We kill him, it, again.” The second voice said in an eerily neutral tone, seriously that calm about killing someone…monster all the way through.

  Wait a second, kill him, kill me!? I thought in a jolt of sudden and panicked realization.

  The. Fuck. You. Will! I thought as I ground my teeth furiously.

  “You’re right, it has to be done doesn’t it?” the first voice said resignation.

  “Yes, he’s digging too deep whoever or whatever he is.” Agreed the second speaker.

  “Part of me still doesn’t like it, killing a person, I don’t like it.”

  “But—’’ The second voice began.

  “No, I agree with you,” the first voice interrupted, “I just don’t know what to do, I just wish he was out of our way.” The voice said sullenly.

  “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” The second voice said in a caring tone a mother would take when reassuring her child.

  I had just about had enough of hearing them plotting to kill me and decided it was time to go crashing through the door all heroic like and kick their asses up between their ears…except it didn’t really go down like that. As soon as I made a move to fling open the door, my entire body erupted in agonizing pain.

  The sensation that overwhelmed my body felt much like having your hair pulled sharply except that it was occurring throughout every square millimeter of my body simultaneously. Millions of microscopic claws were tearing at me, at my insides. It felt like I had dozens of fishhooks inside of me and they were all being pulled at exactly the same moment, I had no other way to describe it. It’s like someone was trying to pull my insides, well out. I wasn’t going to scream, wasn’t going to give whatever it was the satisfaction of hearing me shriek in agony.

  So I blacked out.

  Chapter Four

  Blacking out isn’t so bad, what’s bad is not knowing whether or not you’re going to wake back up. It could very well be that your last blackout was in fact, well your last blackout.

  That wasn’t the case however and thankfully too, I had no desire to die so early into a case, dying comes later, after I solve it.

  There is a proper order to things you know.

  I awoke on an uncomfortable flat wooden surface and was staring up at a simple and yet beautiful ceiling. It was full of intersecting wooden beams that were stained a dark cherry red color; a pair of ornate chandeliers hung parallel one another, illuminating the complex wooden architecture that made up the ceiling. There was an archway directly above me and painted into it were a series of rectangular portraits of angelic figures. Small archway shaped windows on the sides, each one divided into four parts, each part was stained an individual color no doubt to help bathe the church in a beautiful glow in the mornings.

  But it wasn’t morning now; it was night, so there was no ambient multicolored glow. There was only the bright and somewhat painful light of the chandeliers shining into my eyes and preventing me from falling back into a blissful sleep.

  “Wuzza hell?” was my oh so coherent response.

  “You blacked out,” replied a very familiar kind and clear voice.

  Waking up sucks, why, because you can’t feel the pain that caused you to blackout when you’re unconscious but you can once you’ve woken up.

  I groaned and reached up with my right hand, grabbing the back of the pew for support as I gingerly hauled myself up. My entire body still ached and panged here and there, not to mention the fact that parts of me were spasming like I had been electrocuted. It was hard holding onto the back of the pew with my right hand, the muscles in my forearms were rapidly contracting and twitching. I didn’t really have a choice though, I had to grit through it in order to face my rescuer and find out what exactly had happened to cause the blackout.

  I slowly and very carefully rolled my neck a few times in an attempt to loosen the stiffened muscles, doing so caused my entire body to convulse and the muscles around my neck twinged.

  “Don’t stress yourself,” his voice said in a gentle and soft tone but then he almost always spoke softly.

  I finally managed to turn my head to face him, although it was seriously difficult, the muscles in my neck didn’t so much turn as they did grind. It was like trying to turn rusted gears; whatever had knocked me out did a helluva job in kicking both my physical and incorporeal ass.

  I mean I was hurting on a metaphysical level, which is … a lot!

  “So?” he said simply.

  “So?!” I asked indignantly, “so what? What the hell happened Church?”

  He sat there staring at me for a moment, thinking I guess, of how to properly describe my ass kicking. He pursed his lips and rested his chin in both of his hands, occasionally using one of them to brush away a few wavy blonde locks of hair that managed to fall over his rectangular glasses. His glacier blue eyes didn’t blink the entire time whilst he sat there staring at me and we sat quietly for quite the while.

  Personal note: Do not get in staring contest with Church.

  Ever.

  Creepy.

  When he finally did speak, he didn’t exactly give me the answer I was looking for, “something unexpected” was all he managed to say.

  “No kiddin’ something unexpected happened! I feel like I swallowed a taser set on full!” I growled.

  “I thought it felt more like fishhooks tearing at your insides,” Church replied.

  “Yeah that too…wait, uh, how did you know about that?” I asked dumbfounded.

  He didn’t answer; I mean why bother when you could remain silent and appear all omniscient like.

  Another few moments passed in silence before he spoke again, “it tried to kill you, you know?” there was a shade of sadness in his voice, just a shade but it was there.

  “Aww shucks Church, I didn’t know you cared that much. Uh wait, dumb question again, why didn’t it kill me?”

  “Because I rescued you.” He said flatly.

  “Oh, uh how?”

  Silence.

  Of course, why bother to explain anything to me whatsoever. I mean it’s not like I’m constantly putting myself in danger working for you, which I don’t want to even do in the first place but apparently I have no choice in the matter anyways…


  I’ve got some pent up hostility caused by being… pent up in dead people over and over again. It’s like supernatural PTSD or something; I get angry, it’s normal for someone in my line of work

  “Ok Church, let’s try another one, uh why did you save me?”

  “Because, I couldn’t let it do to you what it was doing, it was,” he pursed his lips again, “wrong.” He finished after a brief pause.

  “Ok…” I said exhaling in frustration; I rubbed my temples a bit too, making it easier for Church to catch on that I was getting a little pissed now. “Let’s try this again but how’s about you actually give me an answer that you know, oh, makes some sense!”

  “The way it was killing you was by tearing your soul out of Norman’s body, it was trying to rip you out.” He actually shuddered a bit when he said that.

  I had never ever seen Church actually be freaked out, even a teensy bit by something in the supernatural world. Whatever the creature was and whatever it tried to do to me must’ve have been all manner of wrong on all sorts of paranormal levels to creep Church out.

  “And why is that so bad and wrong Church?”

  “You just,” he began, pausing to inhale deeply before continuing, “you can’t do that to a soul, you just can’t. It’s wrong.” He said with utter finality.

  Anything that rattled Church at all was something I had to be seriously wary about, I mean I had faced some pretty nasty things in my time and none of them ever caused him to blink. Hell forget blinking, I can’t remember a time when Church had actually even gotten involved before, asides from giving me a few tips here and there. This time however, Church, the man of little or no words actually saved my soulful rear end.

  My left forearm was itching and felt a little hot, like I had a rash or something. I pulled the sleeve or Norman’s suit up to see my tattoo had changed; the time was thirteen hours again.

  Church had reset my time…Church had give me more time? Church threw me a frickin’ bone!?

  Wow.

  I nodded at the tattoo and then turned my gaze back to Church, “what gives?”

  “You need more time now, after what happened so I gave it to you.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  He nodded quietly.

  “Uh Church?”

  “Yes Vincent.”

  “Look, if you ah saved me and all, you know something right?”

  He just stared at me, emotionless, no tells, no signs, no nothing.

  “You know something that I don’t, don’t you?”

  His face remained neutral as he spoke but his eyes shone with amusement, “of course, lot’s of things.” He said nonchalantly.

  Asshat.

  “Look Church, I’m a bit lost on this case—

  “Yes,” he interjected.

  Deep breaths, try not to punch Church, try not to punch Church. I settled for rubbing my forehead, right between my eyebrows with my thumb and forefinger so he’d get the message.

  Church, you can be a major dick.

  I exhaled in exasperation before speaking again, “I could use a bit of help, a finger in the right direction, a clue, something.”

  “Can’t,” he said through gritted teeth, it was like he actually had trouble getting the words out.

  Weird.

  “Uh, dumb question numero dos for the evening Church.”

  He rolled his eyes at that.

  Seriously? I get no respect.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Pushed it,” he replied.

  “Pushed what?”

  “I’ve already interfered too much by saving you, by allotting you more time, can’t do much more…sorry.” He said sullenly, what was strange was that he actually, genuinely seemed sorry.

  Oh, and he actually answered a question in a complete and somewhat helpful sentence.

  “What? You’ve got rules too Church?”

  “Yes. Many. Harsher, stricter than yours.”

  “You got a boss too?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “Yeah well, I hope he or she is infinitely more vague and mysterious to you than you are with me!”

  I could’ve sworn to God that Church was actually fighting not to smile when I had said that. Church’s boss was a dick too, justice!

  “Well,” I said clapping my hands together, which wasn’t smart because it sent painful jolts up my arms, “I think it’s time for me to get back to work.” I tentatively got up from the pew and walked passed Church, as I did he gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “Vincent,” he said softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve still got friends you know?”

  I arched a quizzical eyebrow at him and snorted, “yeah, what friends?”

  He handed me a phone card, seriously, not good ole cash or a cell phone but just a phone card.

  I looked at him perplexed, waving the card to accentuate the fact that I had no idea who exactly I was supposed to call with it.

  “You’ve met beings with access to vast pools of information and knowledge, beings that owe you,” he said.

  “Oh…right,” I said sighing, I wasn’t exactly all to keen on talking or meeting with some of these beings, I say beings ‘cause they aren’t people, literally.

  “You have someone in mind Graves?” Church asked, although I suspected he knew the answer to that one, hell, I had a feeling that Church knew exactly who I was going to call.

  “Yeah, I do, I’m gonna need a bit cash though.”

  He didn’t say anything but produced a clean crisp twenty dollar bill out of his pocket…it, well it wasn’t even folded or creased.

  The hell?

  I took the bill from him, folding it as it slipped it into my own pocket, “thanks for spoiling me Church.”

  Of course he felt as if he didn’t need to reply to that.

  “So, I guess I’ll be going then?”

  He nodded.

  I took several steps towards the door out when I remembered; I had no idea where the nearest pay phone was.

  “Uh Church—

  “Two blocks to your left as soon as you hit the street, it’ll be right outside an organic food store. He likes raspberry.” He said matter of factly.

  Right, so Church is apparently psychic and can pull money out of nowhere, my boss is frickin’ Criss Angel.

  I pushed through the heavy wooden door and left the church, my eyes struggled a bit to adjust to the night sky and cold wind bit a little. It was uncomfortable but then my job always was.

  “I swear, one of these I had better end up inside a dead guy on a Caribbean getaway with a smoking hot missus or something.” I muttered to no one in particular.

  I walked quietly along the streets for a while, muttering to myself angrily, drawing strange looks from passersby. Guess that was a normal reaction, I mean I was walking down the street talking to myself and there was no Bluetooth on my ears. I finally made it to the organic food store though; the pay phone was right outside, like Church said it would be.

  It was a tiny little place with a homely sort of look to it. Outside hung a giant whiteboard, written on it in marker were today’s deals and specials and such. The windows had thin olive green wooden paneling around the edges, the top of the building had the same color paneling with the store’s name printed in giant white letters. Through the windows you could see a display of pumpkins and other massive fruits.

  Is a pumpkin a fruit or vegetable?

  Whatever.

  The windows were full of organic and healthy foodstuffs that looked good for you and probably some of which actually tasted good, like the pie. I gently pulled opened the door; a soft chime sound went off, signaling the arrival of a customer. I looked around the store a bit, the floors were made of massive burgundy tiles with white grout between them, the isles consisted of wooden shelves. More whiteboards, both large and small were peppered around the place and multicolored messages were scrawled on all of them. The shelves looked like they were actually handmade, wh
ich is impressive. They were filled to the brim with neatly packed glass containers with metal rings holding their tops down. Some containers didn’t have tops but instead were covered with plastic wrap that was held tight by little plastic snap rings.

  “Need help?” A sweet feminine voice called.

  I turned to look at the counter, it wasn’t very high up but it ran a pretty good length down the store. The coloring of the wood was beginning to fade, atop it were some of those wooden baskets you see at farmers markets and the like, they were filled with an assortment of fruits and vegetables. The counter had a few shelves running down it filled with a variety of granola and energy type bars, there were mix trail packets and organic gum.

  When the hell did they make organic gum? Wasn’t gum always organic? Gum’s just rubber right? I puttered around with those thoughts for a few moments before turning my attention back to the source of the voice.

  The girl behind the counter was a pretty eyeful, about five five, one ten maybe. She had her blonde hair pulled into a neat and short ponytail that bobbed a bit whenever she moved her head. Cute little smile, white teeth and come to bed brown eyes. She couldn’t have been out of her early twenties yet, probably a college student working here part time. She was wearing a dark brown t-shirt that seemed to be just a little too tight for her, across her chest in bright white letters it read HOMEGROWN in all capitals. On the bottom, closer to her midriff it read in equally bright white letters, organic shirt.

  How the hell do you make an organic shirt?

  “Yeah,” I began, “I’m looking for raspberry preserves, honey, chocolate syrup and uh some spiced gin if you have it?”

  Both of her pale blonde eyebrows shot up at the list, “You can find them in the first three isles, the gin and condoms will be in the last two.”

  “Uh, condoms? I didn’t say I wanted those.”

  “Didn’t have to, with that list,” she said with the most wicked smile I had ever seen, seriously it needed to be grounded or something. “I like the cherry flavored ones,” she added in a seductive tone.