Better Dead (The Dead Version) Chapter 1 (improved) & 2

Hey all!

As I have said in a couple videos now, I LANDED A NEW AGENT! YAY! But he didn't like this book for my first stab at trad. (Boo.) Thought the execution was interesting enough to sign me, but wanted me to take a stab at something more traditional before we revisit this again down the road.

BUT that turns out to be for your benefit. Because, why not show you what I got?

This is how I hope you feel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7tT0-vdqAk&ab_channel=PaxDelgado 

So every week, I am going to be releasing one chapter of this "on ice" book until y'all are caught up to where i'd stopped.

Sound fun? Too bad. It's happening any way.

THERE ARE RULES TO THIS!

1. These are still drafts. No outside editing has taken place. See an error? Dope. I bet there are more.

2. I am not looking for corrections or edits from the audience. Love ya'll, but that's a waste of everyone's time. Just sit back and enjoy!

3. Want to give thoughts? Those are more than welcome! Just not technical stuff and please understand this is still VERY subject to change. There is a very good chance this story will be published some day in the future and, like all stories, revisions will happen.

All of that out of the way, here are chapters 1 & 2 of Better Dead (The Dead Version):

Part 1 - Friends

Chapter 1 

Whoever I had been in life had truly managed to screw me over in death.

Don’t get me wrong, I was fortunate enough to be damned for eternity in the District of Columbia—the most powerful city in the living world—but the timing had been a bit unfortunate to be undead in the capital. 

Every day, hundreds upon thousands of tourists, students, and government drones navigated through a labyrinth of gleaming white monuments, casting long shadows over a skyline unbroken by skyscrapers. The city pulsed with the ceaseless tide of commuters, a steady thrum that monstrosities like politicians and the waking dead, fed upon.

Despite my initial reservations, its pearly charm had grown on me. The organized chaos—swarms of children on school trips, men and women in suits clutching coffee cups, chattering into earpieces or smartphones—had become familiar, along with how blissfully unaware they seemed to be of the level of scrutiny they were under. And I didn’t just mean the security sectors.

In fact, until recently, most otherworldly beings hadn't minded the men and women in disguise patrolling the streets for one simple reason: they had no reason to notice us. Their focus remained on mortal threats to the House and Senate, only appearing in force when the president had an event in the city.

But the September attacks three years ago shattered our world's fragile anonymity when the demon surrounding us all was summoned into existence by those elected to protect us all. Explained away through legislation, its eyes spread through D.C.’s forgotten corners, yielding their sight to the greatest superpower the world has ever seen. The wisest among us recognized the righteous justifications, the promises of impenetrable security, and the appeals to revenge for what they were: Profiteers seizing at opportunity.

One particular proverb haunted my thoughts whenever I glimpsed one of those damned eyes: "Debt to a demon is hidden within the truth of your desires."

I pulled my cap low as I passed beneath the streetlamp, aware of the unblinking eye nestled beside the bulb. Stepping off the sidewalk and onto the grass of the Mall, I kept my gaze firmly on the ground, shielding my face from its view. 

Hours had passed since the last of the buses had groaned onto the beltway, and the commuters dispersed back to Maryland, Virginia, or beyond. Yet still, throughout D.C., the demon stood watch, revealing what no entity could endure: everything. Consciously or not, all felt its dispassionate gaze, oblivious to who might witness their smallest decisions. It was a power like nothing living or dead had ever seen.

And one now working against us unchecked by any living within the parallel world. 

I couldn't help but let my gaze drift toward the Capitol building, where hundreds of spirits had once dedicated themselves to documenting history unfold for an eternity. Once the closed door meetings were discovered, discussing the existence of our now recorded world, historians had turned spies, sucked in through their own fascination on how modern leaders would react to our existence.

Now, they were gone—taken from us, purged in a single, silent night. The eerie stillness confirmed our worst fear: they had discovered our spying and retaliated right under our noses. Slowly, the word spread—humanity had struck the first blow to guard their secrets. Spirits, once a near constant presence, no longer dared to walk within secure halls.

It had been a little over three years after my death in 1998 that the United States Government became irrefutably aware of at least one of the myriad of worlds coinciding with their own. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly who or what had fumbled the ball this time, but most of the whispers I trusted agreed that several cameras near the Smithsonian had captured an imp tinkering with a car. Others claimed a shapeshifter had been caught by the living and was now being held in some government facility. 

Whatever the cause, once the feds were on to us, we were too disorganized to mount any response.

While bad blood had been great for business, as more of my kind began to run into hiding, the chaos had stripped away much of the support I’d been getting for my personal uses—to understand how I’d become a shade in the first place. 

Ironically my only real lead was my suspicious knack for helping shady figures of all varieties out of tough spots—for a price. A career only possible to me due to my peculiar ability to live in both worlds. Unlike most of my fellow paranormal peculiarities, I didn’t have many restrictions, allowing me to move about without scrutiny. I could drift beyond or put foot to pavement passing as a rather unremarkable, medium skinned, middle-aged man in need of a shave and trim.

My number began circulating through the living and dead city, whispered as a promise of help for anyone, regardless of how bad the situation was. If you were afraid of attracting the wrong attention, I was the one you called, always ready and willing to walk into a nightmare as long as it promised to pay my rent.

Despite my anger at whoever I had been in life for striking a terrible deal that left me floating around D.C. for eternity just as World War Supernatural was about to erupt, I had to admit, spirit walking had its perks. It was certainly better than stumbling around as a half-rotted zombie or a decaying human. As a spirit, I could still sit on the grass at the National Mall—the very heart of the city—enjoy a cigarette without consequences, and wait for a call to start my shift, disconnected from the passage of time.

Offering up a prayer for my safety and peace, I watched the cigarette’s last wisp of smoke drift away in the humid air.

Ensuring I was out of sight of any of the demon’s eyes, I loosened my connection to the physical realm, feeling the dirt beneath me fade into the ether. I slid as far as I dared from what was to what lay beyond, dissolving from the tangible realm and stepping closer to the boundaries of the afterlife. Time fluctuated in an erratic smear, the stars burning brighter as the capital’s structures shimmered like a mirage. Only the oldest buildings remained solid to the naked eye.

Few beings could traverse this realm with any semblance of control. The present faded into insignificance as memories became the only anchors to reality. Here lay the infinite peace of witnessing our world's history. I listened as garbled jazz from a long-ago concert melded into the sounds of soldiers marching within the capital. A man called for a taxi while a siren wailed in the distance. Voices protested in the streets; children giggled at a tour guide’s rehearsed joke; a generation-defining speech echoed across the granite buildings—the city's history swirling within me. All that was alive and still possibly slipped away, leaving only the inky story of the past. This was the thin line between life and the void I had traded so much to avoid. Too much.

This was the closest thing to sleep that spirits could experience—drifting through the beyond, detached from all the pains and pleasures of life. Near this void, the essence of existence changed as existence melded with memory. The remnants of a recent day could sweep consciousness away for hours here, while the entire burn of 1812 took only seconds. The strength of anything between life and death was tied to its impact on living memory, making my notable skill in navigating this void an ironic highlight of my current state of amnesia.

I couldn’t tell how long I skimmed through the history of the Mall, but a ringing jolted me from the serene memory of a day when cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Pink petals dancing across spring grass were replaced by the pulsing of my phone. Grunting at the returning ache in my feet, I pulled the cellphone from my pocket. An unknown number flashed up at me from my Nokia 1100. 

I answered. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Is this…” There was a pause, followed by the sound of a man taking a shaky breath. “Are you… Whistler?”

“I am.”

“I think you can help me.” It was a plea, panic barely held in check.

“Did you call anyone else before me?” I kept my voice neutral, almost clinical.

“N–no, just you.”

I stood and began making my way toward my car. “Where are you located?”

There was a long silence before he replied, “1115 Savannah St. Do—God, fuck. Fuck! …Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” My car’s lights flashed over the Mall as I unlocked the doors with my fob. “Are you in immediate danger? Are there any weapons near you?”

“N-no to both. I hurt…” It sounded like he put down the phone before picking it up again. “Her.”

“Hurt or killed?”

I slowed my pace as a silence stilled the air, the calm before devastation. Something was here with me—something strong enough to alter both of the realities I walked.

“Killed,” came the confession through the phone; a whisper, barely audible.

A few feet away, shimmering white fabric caught my eye. I pulled the phone from my ear and froze. 

She couldn't have been older than twenty, standing motionless as a tree trunk split her body in two; one unblinking eye, sunken in its socket, stared toward me with pure indifference. No human could be as gaunt as her and still have the strength to stand.

Slowly, a trembling hand rose, the not quite translucent skin stretching as it emerged from the trunk; the gauzy sleeves of her dress slipping down her wrists in a style decades out of fashion. Her hand came into the moonlight, tendons visibly pulling as she pointed, and despite nearly a dozen or so feet spanning between us, I stepped back. Silence blanketed my bubble of the world as the leaves stopped rustling in a breeze barely felt. For me, here and now, all that existed was the omen.

I followed her finger, looking back out at the Mall. Nothing. Just the same grassy field I’d left. 

Before I even turned around, I knew she’d vanished—clued in by the subtle sounds of the city creeping back.

Well, damn.

I’d heard of others encountering omens, usually before something awful happened to them. Though, that might be a self-fulfilling superstition. Warnings from the universe itself were often misunderstood. Technically, they were neither good nor bad—simply an indication of important trouble looming on the horizon.

“Please, help me.”

I blinked, realizing the kid’s voice was still coming from my phone. “I was told you handle this type of situation, man. I can pay, okay? I promise. Did I not use a code or something? Please. Please. I need help.”

"I apologize. Bad service." I paused, trying to recall my last words. "One body then?" I heard a rustle on the other end and assumed he’d nodded. "Please don't touch anything and try to remember what you’ve already done."

As I sat in the driver’s seat, I couldn’t help but stare back at where the woman had pointed, realizing it might have been near my bench where I waited most nights. Why would an omen point back—

There was a wet sucking sound on the other end of the phone.

So, this was a supernatural client—at least, I hoped so. While helping a human killer was far more common, it came with the disadvantage of having to hide what I was. Helping whatever was feeding on the other end of the phone call wouldn’t require such restraint which was a blessing in itself. “Are you still consuming the victim?”

A pained cry answered. I’d been around plenty of freshly awakened monsters, panicked yet feral, unable to resist their new instincts. Usually, it meant sloppy work and possible rule violations. Rules that had been put in place to keep our community off the living’s radar. 

Despite what countless movies and books claimed, encounters with those living outside the living world hardly ever turned fatal. Vampires preferred a donor who was willing to return over the mess of a murder, and zombies certainly didn’t need to specifically eat brains.

Some of the rules were binding, like: don’t kill the innocent and never harm your kin. But the most important, and most recent, of all: don’t leave a trail for the newly formed Department of Information Eradication to follow. 

Strange as it was, it seemed the real-world superpowers-that-be were just as invested in keeping our community out of public knowledge as we were ourselves. Sloppy work could end up summoning hunters from both sides if I didn’t intervene.

“I would appreciate it if you finished before I got there.” I grimaced, familiar with the kind of bloodbath I was likely headed toward. “Should I anticipate anyone else being there?”

At first, there was only heavy breathing. By the sound of his voice, I could hear that his lips were wet, smacking on what had to be blood as he breathed. 

“It’s just me.”

For a moment, I considered whether or not the omen had been telling me to sit my ass back down and ignore whatever this kid had gotten himself into, but omens were never that direct. 

The only reason I was able to keep a clientele was by coming through for everyone who managed to get ahold of me. I respected the rules and depended on them. My credibility, like so much else in the world, relied on a bit of a myth.

I ignored a second call from an unknown number before starting the engine. “Are there any witnesses?”

Silence stretched for a beat. “No.”

“Good. Now, do exactly as I say.”

Chapter 2

I headed south in the roughed-up yellow sedan I’d stolen that morning, leaving the polished marble and unblinking eyes of the Mall behind. 

The cigarette in the cup holder had just enough cancer left for a few more puffs, and I savored every drag as the street lights flicked by overhead. My focus wandered as the host's muffled ramblings on FM 99.5 mixed with unfamiliar songs.

As I made my final turn, my headlights illuminated the numbers ‘1115’ painted on a mailbox. The house was narrow, with a red door tucked behind a black railing, hidden under the shadow of a slate roof. 

I parked two houses down, turned off the headlights, and took a moment to observe the quiet street. Row houses with faded paint lined wide, uneven sidewalks. A sporty black Corvette with its brights on slid by, causing the shadows in the neighborhood to lurch to life. 

Seeing no immediate red flags, I picked up my phone and redialed my contact.

“That you?” he breathed.

“Yes, it is,” I replied. “Good. The lights are off. What else did you get done?”

“I pulled the curtains, and the lights—uh—yeah, it’s dark.”

Surveying the surrounding homes, I let him stew in his omission.

“There isn’t much blood left. I couldn’t move her… I just couldn’t.”

I grabbed two caddies of cleaning supplies from the passenger seat and tossed down my cap in their place before pushing open the door.

As I stepped into the waning night air, I felt it—the taste of murder in the air, sending a chill down my spine that sank into my very bones. By morning, the living in this neighborhood would sense it too, unconsciously aware of what had happened. A tickle of fear they couldn’t shake, warned by the same primal instinct that made people walk a bit wider around a windowless van without realizing it.

All throughout the neighborhood, dreams were churning into nightmares, reacting to the surge of a soul disconnecting from the world before its time. 

Fortunately, the street itself was empty. No beasts had caught the scent yet. 

I pulled my hood up and ascended the steps, leaning against the rail, taking in the white wood and the concrete porch. The door opened before I knocked.

I waited until a hushed voice rasped, “Well, c’mon, man.”

Repressing fear of my own, I pulled out a pair of latex gloves from my pocket and yanked them on before stepping into the dark house, the smell of blood filling my nose as my eyes adjusted. 

It was a simple home with white walls and minimal furniture. It wasn’t clean, but I’d seen worse. There was no sign of a pet—thank God—and it lacked any real personality aside from a colorful rug, now ruined. From what I could tell, it looked to have been white, yellow, and orange, though now it was mostly crimson.

A young woman was splayed across a couch, the glass coffee table beside her smashed sprayed with red. Her throat had been torn so deeply that her spine shone wet in the light of the waxing moon. Fortunately for me, she looked damn near drained. 

Now certain of what I was dealing with, I turned to the responsible party shaking in the living room. 

The vampire cowered in the far corner, as far from the body as he could manage. He was scrawny, hunched over a bloated stomach, his face twisted in sweaty revulsion. Blood and regret smeared his blonde hair, face, and neck. It was clear he had spent the better part of the evening feasting before summoning me.

Turning back to the girl, I let go of any shred of hope for a pulse. I’d witnessed people survive horrific injuries before, and the miracles of modern medicine often felt like true magic. But the blood soaking into the carpet was already congealing, its sickly sweet scent heavy in the air. Time was the enemy of survival.

The rug was a lost cause. We’d have to take it too. The couch could be salvaged at least from a surface level lookover.

“She said I’d be able to resist, and I… was...” His eyes were fixed on the girl, tears mingling with the blood smearing his cheeks. “I… didn’t mean to…”

He flinched as I stepped toward him. I paused, considering his condition, before raising one of the caddies for him to take. 

Two shaking hands lifted it from my grip.

“How old are you?”

The kid forced himself to meet my eyes, false strength making his voice brittle. “I don’t have to tell you shit …right?”

I walked to the large window overlooking the street and made sure the curtain was pulled as tightly as it could. The fabric was worryingly transparent. 

“You know my name. It’s only fair I get yours.”

“Whistler’s… your real name?” Sniffs interrupted his words. 

“Closest thing I have to one. I’m going to need your age please.” 

There was too little coverage from the street. We’d have to move before the sky began to gray. I turned back to the problem at hand, unsatisfied with the situation.

I could feel his eyes on me, fear being the only thing keeping his emotions in check. His shock was a typical reaction to committing a first murder, but the way his eyes flinched as I approached the girl told me he had a connection to his first victim.

Reevaluating the situation, my curiosity spiked. “Listen, this is important. You’re hiring me to take care of a problem in its entirety for four hundred dollars. I encourage you to tell me everything so I can do my job better. It’s just the one flat fee unless you do something to complicate our day. The D.I.E.—have you heard of them? No?” The shake to his head was delayed. “The new feds? Really?” He shook his head again, a droplet of blood dripping from his earlobe. Taking a mental note of where it landed, I continued, “Alright, well unless things go terribly, you don’t have to yet. Just, for me to be satisfied, I need you to be completely honest with me and lie to everyone else. When we’re done, I will give you a story, and it will become your reality. Understand? Hey, please pay attention. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he said, beginning to bounce with nervous energy. The kid was a mess. “What do I need to do?”

I didn’t answer until he relented.

He started, remembering the question. “Seventeen, but I just graduated, alright?”

“Wow.” He was even younger than he looked. This was the first time I’d had to clean up a murder for a minor. While it didn’t feel right, if I didn’t do my job, this kid seemed well on track to piss off the wrong people. 

When I raised my finger, he stepped back, startled despite the distance between us. “Do you have the money?”

“I thought I could pay afterward.”

“You can.”

“Yeah, I got the money.” He muttered, his voice strained to the point of cracking. “It’s most of what I got, but I can pay.”

Officially on the clock, I got to work on the girl.

Keeping my tone detached from my grizzly work, I asked, “What’s your name?”

Silence stretched as I carefully moved the corpse from the couch to the rug.

“I’m Shane.” He turned, forcing down a heave.

I used the opportunity to assess the kid again. His eyes were wide and unfocused, as if the reality of the situation taking place around him was too much to comprehend. His hands shook uncontrollably as he compulsively wiped the blood onto his already stained jeans. A shudder wracked his frame.

He looked so young, almost childlike in his distress. The flimsy tough-guy veneer was cracking under the weight of his actions. Even in the dark, I could see his mind was a tempest, struggling to reconcile the person he thought he’d been with what he’d just done.

Questions began to nag at my instincts; something was off. I’d seen similar situations before, but this kid was freshly turned. It was true that biters' irises grew a bit more crimson after feeding, but Shane’s were blazing with venom in his veins. Where was whoever the hell had turned this kid and why had they left him with a human?

There was something about the way he carried himself that gave me pause—his eyes and hands gave it away. Shane kept notting his fists into his shirt—cheap, but not filthy, aside from the blood. Everything technically fit but was awry: shirt half-tucked, belt too loose. A jacket hung over one arm of the couch, matching his sloppy attire. His teeth were clean aside from the blood, suggesting the shaking wasn’t from drugs, just trauma. If I wasn't careful, he would either freak out or go catatonic. This wasn't one of my typical repeat killers. It would be best to get him out of the room and away from the scene.

“Hey,” I nudged the girl with my shoe, keeping my tone steady. “I’ll take care of her. You go clean yourself up in the bathroom. Shower with plenty of soap and shampoo. When you’re done, clean the shower with what’s in that.” I gestured to the caddy in his hands. “Clean it like your life depends on it… because it does. After that, fill the drain with that entire bottle of bleach. Take the towels and your clothes and put them in one of those trash bags. I’ll have new clothes waiting for you when you’re done. Don’t come out of the bathroom until I tell you to.”

He was staring at the body, more tears welling in his eyes.

“Shane, please look at me.” I stepped closer and put my hand on his bony shoulder. He didn’t flinch as I turned him. “I’m not here to judge you. But unless you want something worse than myself coming after you, I need you to go into the bathroom, puke if you need to, that’s fine, and clean yourself up. If you do that for me, all of this will go a lot easier. Then we can start figuring out how to best smooth all of this over. Right?”

Shane's face twisted in agony. "How could she not know?"

His question stopped me from gently pushing him out of the room. What the hell was he talking about? The body certainly wasn’t vampiric, so what was she supposed to have known? 

I doubted many high school kids knew to keep an eye out for the undead. Especially when it was one of their own friends—at least what appeared to be so, if I judged the situation right.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me. “Who said you’d be safe with her? Kid, who turned you?”

“I–she–” The kid fell to his knees, wails of grief stifled behind a fist. He convulsed, falling to the floor as heartbreaking cries escaped around white knuckles. 

It took me several minutes to get the weeping boy into the bathroom, but I heard the shower turn on not long after I closed the door behind him. So far, not so smooth, but I still had hope this could be wrapped up before noon.

The ruined rug would come with us, but the missing table would raise suspicions. The rest of the cleanup went smoothly, aside from the sounds of sobbing from the bathroom. By the time the shower turned off, I had the body wrapped in the carpet and the blood on the couch reduced to a faded orange. 

I smiled at my work with satisfaction after taking a blacklight to the wall and floors. As brutal as the killing had been, the area of impact had been remarkably contained. We were on track to move on to the second phase of cleanup well before the sun touched the sky.

I only needed one bag to contain all the blood-soaked rags and brushes. The only remaining evidence was—

My heart sank as I grabbed the clothes I’d taken from the body to clean and sell. 

I’d missed the stitched-on tags.

There was an audible yelp when I knocked on the bathroom door. “We have a small problem, Shane. She’s wearing a sweater worth more than you’re paying me.”

“Gwah,” Shane spat before answering. “I need another minute.”

“Getting sick during something like this is quite normal. Don’t worry, just clean.”

“So much blood,” Shane uttered faintly.

Christ.

“That’s to be expected. It’s important you remember to be thorough.” I frowned at my watch. Three-thirty A.M. was ticking close. “I’m going to back my car up to the house. Where’s yours?”

“My what?”

The question made me blink. “Where is your car, Shane?”

I heard the shower hiss on again.

“I don’t have a car.” He sounded exhausted. That was good—he’d have less energy to lie. “She–uh–drove here.”

“Who dropped you off?”

“No one. I didn’t mean to mislead you, but—look, I didn’t want you to know where I lived. This is my house.”

A chill shot down my spine. I let my vision extend beyond, scanning through the walls for signs of—well, I wasn’t exactly sure what.

None of the reflected souls from the physical world stood out. Their only awareness of us coming from the unconscious flow of death fading through the night, tangible in the realm beyond life’s reach.

The kid and I were alone, our crimes unobserved.  

Still, something felt off.

Hearing Shane noisily vomit in the shower snapped me back to the more immediate problem at hand.

I took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “Shane, you need to get in the habit of taking initiative on telling me important information like that. I promise, after this is done, I won’t be a threat to you or yours. I can only be dangerous if I don’t know everything. Is there anything else I should know?”

“...no.”

I swore at the hesitation in his voice but kept my tone soft. “So she drove here?”

“Yeah,” he said weakly.

“What did she drive?”

I was forced to listen as Shane continued to spit for several seconds.

“Blue Toyota. It’s out front.”

I vaguely remembered seeing it across the street when I came in, parallel parked between two pickups.

“Have you gotten in her car recently?”

“Yeah, man.” Shane’s exasperation was clear despite my own effort to stay calm. “Last week.”

“What did you touch?”

“I don’t know!” He shouted with blind frustration. It was nothing to take personally. “The handle, seat belt! I don't know.”

I would have to wipe down the entire interior to be safe. “The keys weren’t in her pockets.”

“Yeah, they—oh. Is she…gone?” His voice turned panicked. “I should have helped. I don’t–”

“Where are the keys, Shane?” Talking through a door was growing tiring.

A long silence was broken by, “Counter in the kitchen. Under the microwave.”

They were indeed. I soaked a rag in disinfectant before jogging across the street to the blue Toyota, careful to keep my face in the shadows of my hood. 

After checking for anything Shane might have forgotten, I drove the car several blocks away, then wiped it down a second time. On my way back, I moved my car as close to the front door as the sidewalk would allow and took a backpack from the trunk containing a black hoodie and sweatpants for Shane.

He stood, stock still, in the middle of the living room wrapped in two towels staring down at the rolled-up carpet.

“I asked you not to come out.”

With visible effort, he turned his head towards me.

I tossed him the pack to snap him out of it and said, “Please get dressed. You won’t want to change out of those after we’re done. Since you’re out of the shower, help me carry.”

Shane stared hollowly at what he’d done. "How can I fix this?"

It wasn’t the usual question I heard on nights like these, but with time pressing down upon us, I decided to stick with honesty. 

“No one in your position has ever found an answer to that question. You can’t fix what’s done; you can only manage.”

After dressing, Shane didn’t blink as he helped me lift the carpet but gasped when I folded it to fit in the trunk of my car. By the time I closed the trunk, he had wandered halfway down the driveway, staring numbly into the night. His eyes were unfocused. Shock was clearly setting in as I guided him into the passenger seat.

Kneeling before the open door, I gave him a light shake, careful to keep my irritation from tightening into my hands. “Listen, stay here. I’m going to do one last sweep. Nod so I know you’re not going anywhere.”

I felt a twinge of pity as I watched his head bob limply, his spirit clearly shattered. He was on autopilot, unable to grasp the reality around him—the consequences of his horrid meal. I strapped his seatbelt for him, hoping the extra effort would keep him secure.

Without my client to guide me, the final sweep took longer than I wanted. Shane had done a mediocre job of cleaning the bathroom, and I wasted precious seconds debating whether or not I should simply burn the whole thing before deciding to grab a bucket and give the shower another quick wash. 

Checking under every piece of furniture, I found a candy wrapper that I pocketed out of paranoia. The job was pushing what I considered to be acceptable, but at least the first part was done. Now, came the hard part. 

I rinsed the kitchen sink one last time, grabbed the supplies, and stepped out onto the porch, only to freeze under a pair of eyes watching from the second-story window across the street. A monster's eyes always glowed when it fed, revealing its true nature. They held a pale glint in the shadows, the curtain boldly pulled aside. The figure was tall but indistinct, with a vaguely feminine shape. 

Slowly, a hand rose in acknowledgment. I gestured back, understanding.

I phased my left eye, taking in the creature’s spirit pulling on the aura of death filling the air. Whatever it was possessed a human soul, yet some curse was glommed on. The way the curse shifted the spinning soul heavy, speaking to years of comfort with its host. Whether the human sharing the body was aware of the split consciousness was another matter.

Living here among these people, it had been awoken by the feast of murder in the air. Tragedy had drawn the creature from hiding, wanting to share in the pollutant twisting at the space between worlds. Some monsters fed in ways beyond the physical—craving pain and loss in place of marrow and flesh. There was no danger here, only a visitor from my world going about its business.

Shane didn’t make a sound as I got in the car next to him. The engine sputtered to life, and we left the crime scene behind with plenty of time before sunrise. I kept half an eye on the traumatized kid beside me. He was shaking, jittering his legs, and repeatedly running his hands through his hair.

I’d dealt with clients burdened by guilt before, but nothing like this. Shane had been told he’d be okay, even freshly turned, around someone he cared deeply about. The depth of his remorse was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and I still had no idea who would have done this to some punk kid.

The few small families of vampires living in D.C. kept their ranks closed, rarely turning anyone for many reasons, but mostly fear of discovery.Shane had been turned and abandoned, left to navigate a lonely existence, misled into feeding on a friend. 

Supposedly, there were safeguards to prevent stray predators like Shane, but the terrified kid beside me was dangerously unaware of the world he had joined. And yet, somehow, he had found my number. 

Against my own rules, I felt my guard slipping, my instincts sharpening with unease. I couldn't help but search again for the beast across the street, torn between relief and disappointment when I couldn’t find them.

I didn’t tell Shane about the witness. If anything, it was good. Supernatural beings looked out for each other, and the right kind of nosy neighbor might help with any surprises. If the D.I.E. started poking around, our observer might even pass along a warning.

"Why can't I smell you?" Shane's question startled me, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused. "I mean, you don't smell like food."

“Because I’m not.” I did not elaborate.

“You’re not what I expected.” He was staring at his reflection in my side view mirror.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.” He let a moment pass. “So, this is what you do full-time? It's your job?”

There was something darkly amusing about the question, given his tear-stained cheeks. 

I suppressed a smile and replied, “Part-time. I do a couple of jobs to pass the time.”

Shane pulled his head up from a rigid slouch, some of his confidence returning. “What are you?”

I could tell he was looking for a distraction. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? Shane didn’t strike me as particularly bright or dim, but there was something vulnerable about him. Every bit of his personality was so shaken that it was easy to see the teen regress into the child—a scared, clueless kid who had no idea what he was doing. He needed a carrot, not a stick.

“Tonight, I’m your best friend.” I tried to sound reassuring. “And you’re going to have to tell me exactly how you got into this situation.”

“Why?” He gestured back toward the trunk. “We’re going to burn it all, right? Then it’s done. Like, then we’re done. This is over. I don’t want to see you again. No offense, but I need a bit to figure all of this shit out.”

“I’m sorry; that’s not how this works,” I said. “I need to make sure tonight never happened. So, I need to be the one person who knows what actually did happen. Get it?”

I wasn’t sure, by the look he gave me, if he understood.

“This doesn’t end until you’re in the clear. That’s not for your sake, it’s for me and the community. Alright?” I gestured between us. “Her car is safe for now, so we handle the body. While we’re on this trip, I need you to tell me who sent you down the river without a paddle.”

Shane recoiled. “Look, I have someone looking out for me. She’ll be back soon.”

“Well, who is ‘she’?” I sighed internally, frustrated by his immediate silence. “You said you were told being around your friend back there would be okay.” It was an incredibly stupid or deliberate situation for a freshly turned biter to be in. “Is ‘she’ the one who told you that?”

The sound of air whistling through a door that wouldn’t shut properly echoed between us as the city faded into the smear of highway.

It wasn’t until we pulled off near the Potomac, coming to a red light, that Shane spoke again. “It’s not her fault, aight? I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Bud, no one is dumb enough to think putting you in that house was safe. I recommend you don’t get in the habit of putting yourself down to account for other peoples’ actions.” 

It was something most people needed to learn. That singular shared trait allowed so many predators to thrive.

Determined, I said. “You got screwed, and I need to find out why.”

He tensed, shrinking into his seat. “We’re getting the body taken care of. Sir, please. I don’t need whatever it is you’re trying to sell me on.”

“Shane, please listen—”

“Fuck—off!” His curse sounded forced, explosive in its volume. “I’m not looking for a goddamn P.I.!”

Perhaps the stick might be necessary.

As we came to a stop at a red light, I shifted the car to park, undid my seatbelt, and opened my door nearly blinded by a black Prius pulling up behind us.

“What are you doing?” Shane scrambled from the car, tripping as he joined me at the trunk. “Whoa, hey. Hey!” Shane yelped as I tried to open the trunk, slamming it shut. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It seems there has been a misunderstanding as to the services I provide. Would you prefer I leave you here with her or back at the house?”

The light turned green.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Shane growled between clenched teeth.

I tried to open the trunk again, pulling a louder protest from him. He stepped dangerously close, standing as tall as he could manage.

“I’m not a private investigator.” Shifting parts within my throat, my voice took on a haunting rasp, like a death rattle from a bottomless canyon. It was nothing more than a supernatural party trick, yet Shane’s eyes bulged. “Do you even comprehend what you’ve put at risk?”

At his lack of answer, I let my voice return to its normal medium bass. “If you stir up the D.I.E., it won’t be just badges wanting to hunt you down.” 

I stepped closer, looming over the boy. “I’m not someone you call to hide a body. You broke the rules, and if the families find out, your life is forfeit. Consider my pay tonight an enrollment fee to the community. Now, I can either do my job to its completion, or I can leave, and we can see how long you last before a hunter finds you.” 

I let my hand fall flat on the trunk. “Make your call.”

Shane bared his fangs in an imitation of countless Hollywood caricatures.

Before he could issue any empty threats, I slid my hand across the trunk, taking his hand roughly in my own. He tried to pull away, but I phased my hand before he could. There was no pain, nothing but an intense, bone-deep chill that rippled outwards. I knew he felt it, too; a touch of the spirit world slipping through his fingers.

Wide-eyed, the vampire stared at my hand, the flesh he’d just passed through. “You’re…what the fuck?.”

I turned away from the trunk as the Prius honked, a suited man gesturing angrily inside. “What’s your decision?”

Shane followed my lead back to the car, grumbling low. “Guess I don’t really have a choice, now do I?”

“Not my fault you got yourself killed without knowing what that entails,” I said, giving him a pointed look until he buckled up. I put the car in drive. “But I promise, I’m here to help, and I can’t do my job if you don’t answer my questions. Who is she?”

“You gotta explain the community thing first.” He waited for me to get through the intersection before insisting. “C’mon, man, you can’t keep all of the cards to yourself.”

I sighed, gesturing toward the glovebox. “Hand me a cigarette.”

Shane opened the compartment, but instead of reaching for the pack at the top, he pulled out a bottle of nail polish near the back. “Shit, Whistler, you stole some bitch’s car?”

I glared at his rough attempt to lighten the mood, but he didn’t notice, too busy unscrewing the top and sniffing at the paint.

“God, the smell turns my stomach, ya know?”

“Then stop sniffing it.”

He finally handed me a smoke. “Whose car is this?”

“Finding the owner isn’t typically part of the hotwiring process.” I lit the cigarette, took the polish from his hand, and tossed it back in the glovebox before closing it. “The polish is mine.”

For the briefest moment, revulsion flashed across the boy's face, quickly replaced by feigned interest. “Oh, you’re like a poof or something?”

“Or something.”

“That’s cool.” Shane dusted his hands on his pants. “Uhh, yeah. Live and let live, right?”

“Right.”

The slippery bastard had killed the conversation between us, hoping the tension would keep me quiet.

“Shane, I’m not going to hurt her.” To my surprise, he understood exactly what I meant.

“She’s already got it bad, man.” Shane was suddenly interested in the passing billboards. “Doesn’t need any more trouble.”

“I don’t think she needs all this protection you’re giving her.” I was annoyed, but at least it was progress. I needed to get a better look into the kid’s head before we could go further. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve seen someone convinced they were some blood drinker's chosen soulmate.”

I didn’t add how rare it was to see someone actually turned in return for their devotion. It didn’t seem likely Shane would take that revelation the right way. 

“Whoever she is, putting you in this position is a terrible crime. Do you know what neighborhood she resides in?”

Shane’s eyes grew wider. “So there are more vampires around?”

I had to remind myself to look at the road. “My god.” I couldn’t stop an unwelcome chuckle. “You might be the least informed immortal in centuries.”

“Lucky me.” Shane’s tone didn’t reflect his words. “I screwed this up, man. Me! I’ll learn, okay? Like, whatever rules there are, I’ll learn ‘em. From here on out. I don’t need to nark on my friend to do better.”

I flicked my blinker on. We were well into Virginia and coming close to the edge of where I could haunt. 

I didn’t want to hurt the boy, but it was time to test a new nerve. “Yeah, you do. Cause if I’m right, you’re dead.”

“Why’s that?” Shane spat.

I decided to state the theory forming in my mind plainly.

“Because you don’t set someone up for murder then leave them alive to contradict your narrative. I’m personally thinking whoever your friend is wanted that girl in my trunk killed but understands what DNA is. If you show up dead, invested parties will just assume someone got revenge. I could be wrong, but do you want to bet on it?”

“N—no.” 

Shane fell silent for the rest of the ride, lost to his memories.