A Quick Death Read online

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank everyone who has read my stories, whether it be this book or any of my novels. Thank you to my beta readers and friends who show constant support. Thank you to my editor and cover artists. You help me bring these stories alive.

  A special thanks to my Patreon, Tui Snider, for her support, encouragement, and listening to me rant.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Serial Killers

  Murder

  Ghosts

  Death

  Sneak Peek: Being Human

  About the Author

  SERIAL KILLERS

  Magical

  THE BODY LAY IN a puddle of blood. One eye was wide with horror. The other was an empty socket. A bloated tongue bulged from between blue lips. Debris piled around the corpse, hiding it from view. Only the rats knew of its existence.

  They slunk to the body. Their noses twitched, and their beady eyes glinted with hunger. One nibbled on a decayed finger. More rats converged. Their teeth gnashed as they tore flesh and fabric.

  A car horn in the distance sent the rats racing back into the shadows.

  I walked to the corpse. The remaining eye seemed to lock onto me, as if demanding to know why.

  “I thought you were special,” I told it.

  Briefly, I considered touching it, caressing it the way I had when he had been alive. I stood. No, the magic was gone. If I wanted to feel it again, I’d have to go searching for it.

  I left the alley and rejoined the living, leaving the body and its memory behind. A man sipping coffee by a fountain paused me. My heart beat faster. I had never found someone new so quick. This had to mean something. Something special.

  Something magical.

  The Perk of City Life

  SOMETIMES I DIDN’T know why I stayed in the city. It was crowded and smelled. It never shut up.

  The only reprieve was when it rained. Then the city went silent, and an earthy scent filled the air. It dulled the harsh lights. People hid from it as if it were harmful.

  I loved it. The gentle patter was like a lullaby. Rain caught on my eyelashes and tickled my cheeks. I didn’t have to weave through crowds of people. If only the rain wouldn’t stop. Then the city would finally slow its mad pace.

  Why do I stay? I asked as I sloshed through puddles. It wasn’t like I had to stay. Maybe a cottage in the woods. It’d be private and I’d have no fear of being interrupted. I could do my in work peace. But...

  My gaze roamed my dreary surroundings. Ahead was a man. His head was bowed against the rain. He was the only other person out besides me.

  Why do I stay?

  Because the city had one perk that a cottage in the woods never would. I slipped my hand into my pocket and grabbed my knife. It was time to get to work.

  Home Cooked Meal

  NOTHING BEAT HOME cooked food. He couldn’t wait for dinner. His mother had hinted at something special. A meal he would never forget. The last time she had said that, she had made a banquet fit for a king.

  It was also the day after her fourth husband took off on her.

  Gary grit his teeth. His mother had been through five marriages. Each ended with the asshole leaving. He didn’t understand. How could a reasonable man abandon the perfect wife?

  Glancing around, Gary saw no sign of her recent husband. It appeared history was repeating itself. He strode through the kitchen. “Mom?”

  Noise from the backyard drew him. He caught a whiff of smoky meat. His mouth watered. He picked up his pace, eager to glimpse what his mother had in store. He froze in the doorway.

  A tarp was drenched in blood. Bones covered in chunks of flesh were scattered about. His mother stood among it, hair styled neatly and apron on. She held the head of her fifth husband, his mouth open in silent horror. When she saw Gary, her eyes widened momentarily, but was replaced by a polite smile. “I guess I’m having dinner alone tonight.”

  Amnesia

  HARSH LIGHTS BEAT down on me and caused sweat to bead across my brow. The detective sat across from me, a frown wrinkling his face. He opened the folder before him. Silence spread between us as the seconds passed.

  “So,” he said finally. “Amnesia.”

  I nodded. “Doctors say it may take years for my memory to return.”

  The detective's frown deepened. “That sounds...difficult.”

  I hung my head. “I can’t even recall my wife’s birthday.”

  A fraction of sympathy twitched the detective’s frown. “Still, you must be able to recall something.”

  Familiar desperation twinged his voice. I had heard it in my family’s voices, their hope that they would be exempt. A few got bitter and accused me of faking.

  “I really wish I did, but I can’t.”

  The detective sighed. “Then you’re free to go.”

  I stood. “I hope you find the girl.” My head down, I trudged out of the interrogation room. Outside in my car, I slumped into the seat. Amnesia was rough, but it did have some perks. It was a great excuse that made life easier. All I had to do was explain my condition and I was off the hook.

  Now, to bury her body.

  The List

  MARYJO

  Abigail

  Tamara

  Marcy

  Susan

  Candice

  The list taped to the mirror in the bathroom held my attention as I brushed my teeth. Every day, I read it as I got ready for the day. I would not forget a single person named. Not after how their actions had changed my life. I vowed to repay them. I just had to wait for the right moment. Some I already had.

  My day was mundane. I ran errands and chatted about weekend plans with my neighbors. A couple who had moved in recently invited me to watch the football game after dinner.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m busy with a project,” I told them.

  “Oh, you must,” she said as she laid a hand on my arm.

  I smiled politely. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t. Maybe, next time.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled with delight. “Please, I’m dying to get to know you.”

  I bid goodbye and went home. Back in the bathroom, I stared at the names. My gaze locked onto one name: Candice. I rubbed the spot she had touched. Her voice whispered in my ear, echoing, Please, I’m dying to get to know you.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “You will.”

  Survivor

  ANOTHER WOMAN DEAD.

  Detective Matthews buried his face in his hands. Would he ever catch a break? How many more women would suffer and die because of his failures? He couldn’t bear the thought of looking another grieving family in the eyes.

  For years, he had been chasing this killer, following the trail of bodies he left in his wake. Each time Detective Matthews thought he was close, that he had cornered the murderer, they slipped through his fingers like sand.

  A knock on his door drew his attention. “Yes?”

  Officer Ryan rushed in. His face was flushed and excitement danced in his eyes as he waved a folder through the air. “We got a lead.”

  Detective Matthews’ pulse quickened and he bolted to his feet. Before he could grab the folder, he paused. Doubt soured his voice. “And this is different from the other leads how?”

  “Look for yourself.” Officer Ryan shoved the folder into his hands and he opened it. A woman’s photo stared at him. He scanned what was written, his eyes widening. When he looked at Officer Ryan, the young cop was bouncing on his heels and grinning.

  Detective Matthews’ voice was a whisper. “She lived?”

  Unspoiled Nature

  THE HORIZON STRETCHED out endlessly before me. My kayak bobbed in the river’s current. Quiet surrounded me like a warm blanket. This was bliss. Heaven on earth. And yet...

  All I could think about was her. The way she smiled. Her low laugh. Sunlight glinting off her golden hair as she tossed it over her shoulder. She stole my heart, and I couldn’t find it in myself to complain. She was different from all the other women I had met.

  Or so I thought.

  She crushed my heart the faster out of all of them and left me broken. My friends were sympathetic. They encouraged me to take the weekend off. Do what you always do, they said. Lose yourself in nature. It always cheers you up.

  I grabbed my gear and left the city. I tried to leave my latest heartbreak, to remind myself there are other fish in the sea. But everywhere I looked I was reminded of her. The sun: her smile and hair. The river: her blue eyes. Birds singing: her voice.

  I sighed and looked at the pieces of her body in the kayak, wrapped in plastic. Nature would never be the same after her.

  The Message

  YELLOW POLICE TAPE flapped in the breeze. People stood on the other side, muttering to each other. Detective Anderson elbowed his way through the crowd, ducked under the tape, and strode the crime scene. He paused to survey the blood-splattered alley walls. In the center, covered with a sheet was the body. The ME knelt next to it.

  Detective Anderson strode over. “What have we got?”

  The ME stood and consulted her clipboard. “Twenty-eight-year-old Caucasian woman. Died approximately six hours ago.” She bent over and pulled back the sheet to reveal a mass of blood and bones where the wom
an’s head should have been. “He made sure she didn’t get up unlike the last girl.”

  Detective Anderson’s stomach lurched at the sight. Twenty years on the force and humanity still managed to stun him. “We sure it’s the same guy?” He motioned to the location. “Past victims were found in well-lit areas.”

  The ME yanked off her gloves. “Oh, yeah, it’s him.” She led the detective farther down the alley. “He left his usual message.”

  On the wall next to a dumpster, writing in blood—Detective Anderson assumed the poor woman’s blood—was the message: Only the clean will survive.

  Aunt Margaret

  EVERYONE DESCRIBED AUNT Margaret as warm and friendly. They said her home was even more so. People easily trusted her, spilling their deepest secrets to her because they knew she would take them to her grave. She was also looked to for advice, and most importantly, comfort.

  Dark times gripped the small town of Brimley as a serial killer haunted the residents. The body count grew every day. No one was safe. Doors that used to be open were locked twenty-four-seven. People traveled in pairs or groups. Tension ran high as fingers were pointed. Yet still, people died. How? The police had no answers. Neither did the FBI when they came to investigate.

  Through it all, Aunt Margaret was there with a box of tissues and a shoulder to cry on. She listened as residents vented their frustrations with the police’s incompetence or the wildest rumors and theories.

  If they had bothered to look closer, they might have seen the signs. They might have realized why Aunt Margaret was always the first one to find the body, to be able to take police to where it lay hidden. They would have realized the blood on her hands was never hers.

  Last Meal

  THE HOUSE WAS dark when police entered. Their flashlights shimmered through cobwebs that hung from the ceiling. A rotten stench hung in the dank air. Flies buzzed around their heads as they crept forward.

  In the kitchen, they found a table set for one. A pot sat on the stove. More flies hovered around it. One officer stepped up to it and peered inside. He stumbled back, whirled around, and raced outside. There, he threw himself on the ground and vomited. Moments later, his fellow officers joined him. All refused to go back in.

  When the lead detective arrived, he observed the officers’ slack and green faces before entering the house. He walked to the stove and glanced inside the pot.

  A pair of eyes stared back, floating atop a congealed mass of fat.

  He scowled. His suspicions were confirmed. This killer enjoyed cannibalizing his victims. But how many of the missing people reported this past year were because of him? He radioed for someone to come collect the pot. If they were very lucky, they could get some DNA from the contents, put a face to the victim, and stop the killer before he sat down for another meal.

  A Good Time

  SANDY AND I walked arm in arm down the busy street. A handsome, young man caught my eye. I slowed down and nodded toward him. “Check him out.”

  Sandy examined him. “He’s kind of pretty.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Kind of? He’s gorgeous. He’s perfect.”

  Sandy tapped a manicured finger on her chin, her head tilted. “You’re right.”

  We changed our direction and followed the man for a while. Excitement beat through me as I watched him move. His gait was sinuous, his legs long. I could imagine them wrapped around me. A giggle burst from me and he turned, seeing us.

  Sandy let go of me and sauntered up to him. “Hey, handsome. What’s your name?”

  He smiled. Dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Jared.”

  My knees trembled. I almost couldn’t wait until we got him alone. Already, I could feel the heat of his blood gushing over my hands as I sliced him open. The sound of past men’s screams echoed in my memories. The light dancing in Sandy’s eyes told me she felt the same.

  “Well, Jared,” Sandy took one of his arms.

  I took the other. “Let’s go somewhere more secluded and we’ll have a good time.”

  MURDER

  A New Beginning

  I LEFT EVERYTHING behind when the leaves changed colors. It seemed apt. Summer was over and so was my life.

  I moved across the globe to Australia. Summer had just started. It was a new beginning. A new life. One I desperately needed. Only one regret held me back. One man.

  Jackson.

  Doubt kept me up at night, hours lost stewing over what I could have done differently to salvage the situation. What could I have said? Or was it something I did say? Maybe if I had tried harder our marriage wouldn’t have failed.

  I didn’t know and that fact hung over me like a dark cloud. It dampened my new life, haunting me at every turn. I couldn’t escape him. He was a ghost, determined to make my new life miserable.

  But I refused to give in. The woman who had loved Jackson was gone, buried six feet under with him and the bloody knife in the fields surrounding the house that had promised us the perfect life together. What a lie that had been. Now, I looked to the future and for another who wouldn’t disappoint me the way Jackson had. My new life was starting today.

  Final Goodbye

  PAPER LAY SCATTERED across the office floor like leaves. Thomas stared at the mess surrounded him, but he didn’t really see it. His thoughts were far away.

  How could he have been so foolish? Of course, they’d come after him. He betrayed them by speaking out.

  He trudged to the living room and sank onto the couch. Faintly, as if ghosts, he heard the laughter of his children and wife, saw their outlines gathered around him. Tears filled his eyes. Would they understand? Forgive him? Or would they only see a monster who deserved to die?

  They had to know the truth.

  He found pen and paper. The words poured out of him, spelling out the ugly reality he had hidden from them. I know you’re disappointed with me, but I only wanted your happiness. Should he say I’m sorry? He chewed on his lower lip.

  I love you. Goodbye, he finally wrote.

  His fingers lingered on the note a moment, then he rose. Smoothing his hair, he strode to the front door. The sun shown down on him as he stepped outside. A gunshot split the silence. He didn’t feel a thing as the bullet slammed into his forehead.

  Regret

  DAVID SAT IN the kitchen, his hands resting on his knees, and his gaze unfocused and distant. On the table, his coffee had gone cold hours ago. Vaguely, he chided himself for wasting it and considered dumping it, but he didn’t move. A sigh burst from him instead.

  What was the point?

  To live? But what for?

  David knew he was being a drama queen, but he couldn’t muster the effort to care. After losing the love of his life, he felt he deserved this moment to lament and whine. It was part of the grieving process.

  But for ten years straight?

  David scrubbed a hand over his face, the tiny hairs on his chin rasping against his palm. He didn’t know why he hadn’t moved on yet. It was as if he was stuck in a time loop, reliving the day after her murder, focused on everything he had done wrong and was unable to fix. Maybe this was his punishment. His purgatory. His hell.

  Her revenge?

  David closed his eyes. If only he could turn back the clock to that fateful day. He’d reign his anger in. Take back his bitter words. He wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.

  Loyal Soldiers

  THE EXPLOSION ROCKED the world. Rubble rained down over the soldiers in the trenches, clinking on their helmets. Gunfire cracked. Dead bodies littered the blood-soaked ground. A haze hung in the air and turned everything a sickly shade of yellow.

  A soldier, dirt and blood caked on his face and uniform dove into the trench. He clamped one hand to his helmet as if that would protect him from the hell raging around him. In his other hand, a piece of sealed envelope was clutched. He jumped to his feet and ran to the Sergeant. Between pants, he explained, “Sir, this just came in from command. They said it’s urgent and need you to respond ASAP.”

  Sergeant snatched the paper. “This better be about the troops I need.” He opened it. His lips thinned as he read the words.

  Enemy has overrun.

  Surrendering.

  Return now.

  He crumpled the paper and unholstered his gun. He’d be damned if he’d accept surrender. He faced the soldiers watching him. Hope of good news shone in their sunken eyes. He swallowed. “This is it, boys. Victory is ours!”