Dead Wrong Read online

  Dianna!

  Help us!

  Don't leave us to die, Dianna!

  Dragging a hand over my mouth, my hand ended stained in the remnants of the workday's mask of makeup and blood from my nose. As my adrenaline faded, pain slammed into my side. Reminding me of the injury. Changing the station to the local classical station, my body started to shake. Bach filled the car.

  After dealing with my injuries, I would deal with the Shadowed Man's return.

  It was over. This is now.

  "This is now."

  Chapter Two

  I sat alone with my back to the wall. The safety of having my back to a shadowed area was questionable. Especially when you took into consideration how the Shadowed Man traveled through them unseen. In spite of that knowledge, it made me feel better.

  I had come to grab sushi and to heal.

  This night, the restaurant had a sea of new faces. The place was technically a café and had an eclectic collection of cuisine. At Dhalaights, you could get various types of coffees and teas, but also pancakes, curry dishes, some types of sushi and sashimi, or a veggie burger with zucchini fries. I wasn't much for veggies, so I stuck to the fish parts of the menu.

  The walls of the café were done in rust-colored brown and metallic bronze damask wallpaper. The original hardwood of the building had been restored. They were dark and patched from various dents and scratches. The booths, chairs, and tables were all done in brown leathers and dark wood. It had solidly built furniture, old made new through re-upholstery, with typical tables, booths, and chairs.

  The Dhalaights was comfortable enough and had good food. Most nights the place held only a handful of patrons. Tonight it almost every seat was taken. Looking around at the various groups of people made me wonder.

  The odds were the people in here had never encountered creatures at nightfall, or noticed the monsters among them until it was too late.

  I didn't understand how I could see things others couldn't. I'd been on meds for a full month, thinking the horror of my friends' deaths had driven me mad. But I hadn't gone insane. Instead, I'd been given gifts or curses.

  Breathing in and out deeply, I fought the panic welling inside my mind. Instinct was telling me to keep running. To hide. But I needed to heal.

  The bullet wound hadn’t finished mending. The scrapes and bruises on my hands and face were almost gone. As if they’d never been. The physical wounds healed, and the pain of it had me clenching my teeth.

  The image of the man's shoes peeking out from a mouth of teeth popped in my head. The image burned into my mind. Another soul I'd failed.

  The nightmare was back. Maybe the Shadowed Man wasn't bound to the Lake Clare area where I'd first encountered it six years ago. I'd assumed it was since I'd lived after getting away. It had never shown up before.

  Why was the shade in Fort Augustine? And why had that jack-ass held up the kid in the parking garage? Why had they been there? A drug deal? Wondering about it all again, I couldn't help but think about the music box.

  What a strange thing for someone looking to pawn things for quick cash to take. Maybe it was actually an antique, once the blood was cleaned off of it. The music box looked common and made of hard plastic. The other items in the bag had been worth decent change except for the bizarre craft supplies of the feather and the glittering powder.

  The smell of incense pulled me out of my wandering thoughts. I saw Whisper: the most beautiful person I'd met in real life. Her skin was like perfectly blended kobicha, and her slanted eyes were amber. She had her thick hair pulled back into a ponytail of cascading natural curls. Lips that were naturally dark and full were always ready to smile. Her skin was what models looked like after an editor got to the photos. Smooth as silk and seemingly without any large pores or cellulite. Her body had the appearance of a teenager on the edge of puberty, thin and sleek.

  Her yellow polo had the shop's logo "Dhalaights" on it.

  "Dianna, what's up," she asked.

  How old was she really? I didn't look my age. Whatever had given me my abilities had stuck me to look, so far, as I did at twenty. I often contemplated what had happened to her. An encounter with the supernatural around fourteen, she gained visions, and ended up stuck looking like a teen?

  We both knew about the things that went bump in the night, but we seldom discussed the nature of those things. We also avoided talking about how we became aware of the monsters. I never bothered to ask her, so what was the first horror show you witnessed? Not something anyone wants to have idle chit-chat about. Plus, Whisper was kind. Innately kind. Hurting her, even emotionally, was like kicking a Spaniel pup.

  She was the type of person who rushed across a busy street to help a complete stranger pick up papers that the wind was trying to snatch away. It was wrong to push someone like that for answers they probably didn't have.

  I shrugged at her words, what’s up. Too much. I worried about my recent failure. The man had been a criminal, but no one deserved a death like that.

  She looked at me and tilted her head, "Sometimes life is a ball of suck."

  While she looked into my eyes, I wondered if she could see the terror that shrieked behind them.

  "What bad mofo has you here instead of on the streets," Whisper asked. While asking, she put down her tablet and tided the table with a damp gingham cloth.

  She had an old movie playing on the tablet. Two barbarians that looked identical were fighting a small group of what I presumed to be the bad guys.

  I shook my head.

  Whisper loved cheesy movies with beefed up men.

  In the café, the local news showed pictures of the most recent victims of a serial killer. The press had named the person behind the home invasions and murders the Music Man. Apparently, anything relating to music was taken from the victims’ homes. The perpetrator had yet to be caught by the Fort Augustine Police Department. The crimes had started in October, two months ago.

  The police advised everyone in town to stay in after ten o'clock at night. However, residents loved the night scene.

  A curfew for the city loomed. Debates over civil rights versus finding the culprit and stopping the crimes were all over the local media outlets. Talk of the curfew had spawned a conversation you could hear friends and strangers debating at places like the café.

  She looked at me, "Be right back."

  When she left to help a customer, I realized I felt calmer. It was always nice to be near someone equally crazy, or sane.

  While she dealt with business, I watched the tablet she'd left. The movie had one of the barbarians being hanged. The bad guy looked like a man trying to dress up in drag but had ended up looking more like Marilyn Manson. The barbarian broke the noose with his neck while making gasping noises that sounded like a donkey.

  I winced. To each their own.

  Whisper came back with a tray of tea. She put a cup and saucer down in front of me. Then put in some leaves followed by water from a kettle.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We watched her movie while I drank.

  She didn't laugh but looked happy enough watching it.

  I sipped the tea. Honey lemon. Tea for healing a bad cold or the flu. I must look like something the dog left behind.

  After I drank the sweet brew, Whisper stopped watching the movie and took the cup.

  She dumped the remaining bits of loose tea and water into a bowl covered in runes on the tray she’d brought. Pushing the bowl aside, she examined the remnants of the tea leaves inside the cup. Her eyes searched the patterns. After a couple of minutes, her eyes became unfocused.

  The air in the café grew colder. Whisper's body grew unnaturally still.

  "Salem and Gideon. A blue home." The tone of her voice changed, becoming fuller and deeper. "Unchecked rage." Her eyes closed and her breath was fast.

  She opened her eyes, full of unshed tears, and focused on me. She said, "Stop this evil."

  I nodded.

  I searched th
e web on my phone for where the two streets met in town, and sure enough, there was a blue house on the block. Whisper had visions, I went there. Usually, there was a monster. I destroyed it, and she fed me sushi at a discount.

  I shoved the last roll in my mouth.

  The taste of the salmon was divine. Whisper's sushi chef was a Korean-American man, named Dan. He was getting his masters in sustainable architecture at the downtown state university. Now, sustainable architecture was definitely an important issue, but it seemed a waste of his talents.

  Wiping my mouth, I said, "It’s done."

  "So, what scared you so much that you look paler than normal, white girl," Whisper asked. Her amber gaze held concern.

  "There was a holdup. The attacker shot me.” I kept silent about the Shadowed Man.

  I wasn't remotely ready to discuss it.

  Whisper stared at my side without me gesturing to it or mentioning where it was, "I can have Dan make more sashimi if you like. Sea bass or salmon roe."

  My mouth watered, but my stomach felt alright. The hunger had been subdued. "Thanks, but I am full." I asked, "So, what's with all the new faces?"

  "We got some pretty good reviews from a local foodie that calls himself Gil Grubz. He put his review and pictures of some of our dishes all over his social media accounts. And then someone else shared the photos. It snowballed, and seems to have caught on for now." Her gaze drifted around the café, while her hands cleaned my area.

  I nodded at the television, where reporters rehashed the list of victims and sites of the murders. "I hope they find the Music Man soon."

  She frowned, "Me too." Shuddering she said, "Too much evil is man's doing." She gathered my empty dishes on a tray. Whisper talked to me as she finished cleaning the table, but her eyes continued to travel around the large room. "There is a new gang out there."

  "Who are the new boys?" I asked.

  Whisper put down everything she had been holding onto the serving cart. "No ideas on the name. But the tattoo is a serpentine one." She put her arms up, bent her elbow pointing out like wings, and then she put her fists pointing towards each other. She said, "Two intertwining snakes. Like dis."

  "Hmm," I said, not appreciating her movie reference. She really did have a thing for barbarian films.

  Whisper stopped gazing around as she found whoever she’d been searching. Smiling, her right dimple winked back to life, "Take care, Dianna."

  Whisper headed off through the crowd towards was a Japanese woman. The woman had short, business style hair, and wore a dark tank top with jeans. The woman held a leather jacket in her arms. Odd, wearing a tank top in the middle of an icy winter.

  A large, exquisitely detailed dragon ran from the base of her neck down to her shirt and then appeared on most of her left arm. The tattoo shifted.

  I blinked. The tattoo didn't move again. Maybe the encounter had shaken me up more than I realized. Now I saw things that weren't there.

  It was time for a step back and some rest.

  Thinking about what Whisper had said, the assailant had on some snake shirt. I hadn't really gotten a look at it before he was eaten. Walking to exit lost in thought, I didn't notice them until I ran into one of them.

  My face hit his chest and the hard muscles underneath. I came up to his nipples, so his belt hit me below the breasts as I squished against him. His arms held onto me so I didn't fall, and I could feel more sinew under his coat. His large hands cupped my elbows. The heat from his hands penetrated the chill inside me. He wore a worn black leather coat, a pale button up shirt, and black wool-blend slacks. His black winter boots were typical this time of year.

  It wasn't snowing at the moment, but the forecast said a huge snow storm was coming soon.

  Looking up at him, I had to move back a step. His hands released me.

  His dark brown hair was cut short, typical modern young businessman style. His eyes drew me in. They were dark brown with golden flecks inside them. He had thick dark brown lashes that matched his hair, which was just shy of being black. His gaze was unwavering and filled with warmth. His face was broad, with chiseled features and a thick scar on his right cheek. His chin was prominent and had a dent in the middle, like how superheroes of old were drawn.

  I wanted to reach up and touch the divot but didn’t. "Excuse me," I said. The heat from his body, arms, and hands lingered. His scent remained on my face.

  He smiled, "It's alright. No harm, no foul." His smile was like the smell of the sandalwood on him, sincere and inviting. The tenor of his voice was pleasing with a faint Eastern European accent. His chest and shoulders were broad. He definitely worked out often and regularly.

  His gaze rested on my lips.

  As he raised his gaze to meet my eyes again, my insides tightened. My lips felt dry, and I licked them. I looked at his mouth. I touched my ponytail. My life didn't need any more complications. I noticed a man near him. Closer to my age. He was dressed more like the crowd normally at Whisper's.

  He had the same eyes as the first man, and also had a cleft in his chin. However, his face and whole frame were narrower. His hair was short on one side, almost shaved, while long on the opposite side. It looked blue-black, with purple mixing into a dark blue on the ends. It hid half of his face. His ears had multiple piercings. He gave a wave, and I saw his fancy tattoos on his wrist in some dead runic language. The side of his neck was visible under his sweater and wool coat, and another tattoo peeked out. He noticed me looking, and met my eyes before turning away.

  "You certain that you're not hurt," the man I'd bumped into asked. His hand lightly caressed my arm.

  I smiled my business grin and shook my head.

  The large man lightly squeezed my arm before moving away. My heart started to pound at the contact.

  The younger man looked at me. He didn't smile as he passed me, but stopped and stared into my eyes before moving on. He didn't say anything before following the bigger man.

  Before I exited, I watched the man I'd bumped into sit at a table. Forcing my gaze away I reminded myself that I had an urgent problem. I had enough trouble in my life. I didn't need to find a man to add more.

  Somewhere in a blue home on Salem and Gideon, a monster raged unchecked.

  I left the shop but looked at the windows as I left. The large man met my gaze through them. His eyes were so warm. My lips answered his smile by reflex. I waved.

  Get a grip, Dianna. Meeting a nice looking man isn't a reason to lose focus. As I got in my car, I thought about how wonderful sandalwood smelled.

  Chapter Three

  Inside my sedan with the heater on, I could feel the chill through the car door. The sedan was paid off, and about five years old. It had been in decent shape before I'd been bounced off the hood. Low mileage, previously only a few nicks on the doors from other cars, and never wrecked. The seats were okay. I’d gotten used to only sitting in the seats for fifteen minutes at a time.

  Living downtown had its benefits. In spring and summer, I lived walking distance from work, the gym, and pretty much everything else.

  The navigation on my phone told me to exit the highway onto the exit for Kingsport, which led to the just after World War II section of town. It was the section behind the pharmaceuticals factories. Once a thriving area, but over time the people who'd once lived there moved out sprawling north. What remained was considered a less than desirable part of town.

  Giant pharmaceutical companies researched and developed medicine in and around the city. However, the number of illegal drugs made and designed in our city rivaled big pharma's numbers. The illegal drugs mimicked the drugs being produced. While most of America had an opiate problem, Fort Augustine had moved onto things much more interesting.

  The news had been following Crash, a drug designed to make the user able to stay up and party for two days straight. The downside to the drug, which had remarkable similarities to Vigorate a prescription drug still in development, was that it made the user suicidal after the initial e
nergy bursts. Vigorate had never gotten past human trials before it was on the streets in the form of Crash.

  The death toll had been in the low hundreds. The walls of the bus stops still had up the posters with, "Don't Crash!" on them. It seemed bad business to kill your clients, and the drug had only been around during the holidays. The city had moved on and through various other street drugs, but Crash was still a favorite talking point of the local journalists.

  The drive would take a while, so I turned up the radio slightly. It was caller time, and the hosts were talking to a worried woman about a missing friend.

  "It has been half a year, and the police are doing nothing," the woman said. "The police still don't care about her. It's like her disappearance doesn't matter."

  "The FAPD couldn't find their asses with both hands. Look how they handled the widespread use of Crash last year," said the male host, Gil.

  They all laughed, except for the caller.

  The head, female host, Mika, said, "New illicit drugs are in the hands of children every day in this city, and the police do nothing! When will people wake up and smell the bratwurst?"

  The hosts laughed. Gil said, "C'mon! Everyone knows the drugs are pushed by all the Big Three, not just the Krauts."

  "Perhaps," Mika continued, "but the police have a slew of missing women and unanswered questions. When will they-"

  I changed it to the no-host holiday music station. The radio journalists referred to the mafias as The Big Three. They consisted of the Germans, the Japanese, and the Irish. I'd never seen proof of three mobs organizing the gangs that plagued the city, but the media constantly mentioned them like they were a known threat. Rather than something more like the Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy.

  Or the boogie man.

  My pulse quickened as thoughts of swirling shadows started to swim through my mind.