Better Dead Chapter 1 (Pre-Edit)

Hey everyone! Here is the UN-EDITED chapter one of my next book, 'Better Dead.'

This is a supernatural thriller taking place in my home city, Washington DC, during the early 2000's. I was heavily inspired by Breaking Bad, Midnight Mass, and Twin Peaks for this story though IDK how much that will come through in a single chapter. The idea of someone with a full time job cleaning up after the supernatural came to me while watching Mike in BB and my protagonist Whistler popped into existence.

'Better Dead' is going to focus a lot thematically on the surveillance state we have all seen kinda just become an accepted part of life over the last few decades. I'm no anarchist, but the idea of privacy completely changed in the early 2000's and exploring that as an out of control demon in a ghost story has turned out to fit surprisingly well.

ANYWAY, this isn't supposed to be a full blog post and I should let the story speak for itself, so enough stalling through writing.

Here it is.

Better Dead

Chapter 1

Whomever I had been in life had truly managed to fuck me over in death.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d been fortunate enough to be sentenced to eternal damnation in the most far-reaching seat of power in the living world—the District of Columbia—where every day hundreds of thousands of tourists, students, and government minions, all honked and blinkered their way through a mess of pearly white monuments all scattered across a skyline without any skyscrapers. Lovely.  The endless swirl of commuters toward the historic Mall, gave the city a life of its own that the waking dead, like myself, and other horrors—like politicians—could feed off of.

In my brief time drifting throughout the city, it’s pearly charm had won me over. Organized chaos was the best way to describe the mobs of children on school trips, men and women in suits with coffee, chattering into ear pieces, and hidden security, ever-watching. Most of the other world calling D.C. home hadn’t minded the men and women in disguise patrolling the streets for a simple enough reason: They had no reason to notice us. They watched for threats to members of the House and Senate, only coming out in force if the president had an event within the city.

It was the September attacks three years ago that ruined our delicate privacy, ushering in a demon of humanity’s own creation.

Day by day, shrouded eyes had multiplied unseen, hiding from the light, spreading through forgotten corners. It was a curse misunderstood to be a tool, legislatively summoned after the pentagon was hit. Billions had been spent to spread the government’s new shared sight around the world, but paranoia always fixates on whatever is closest. The process had only just begun, echoing with righteous justifications, for the demon to be fed the greatest threat to those in power—their people.

I pulled my cap low as I passed under the streetlamp concealing an eye, crossing onto the grass of the Mall. Hours had passed since the last buses had groaned their way back onto the beltway and the commuters had all dispersed back to Maryland, Virginia, or beyond, but still the demon stood watch, giving the living what they shouldn’t see, everything. I could feel its dispassionate gaze, oblivious to who might be watching through it. 

It had only been two years after my deathday that the United States Government had become irrefutably aware of the many realities coinciding with their own. Most of the connections I trusted agreed it had been several cameras somewhere near the Smithsonian that blew it all wide-open, capturing an imp getting to work on a car. Others made claims floated about of a shapeshifter being held in some government black site. Either way, once the feds put effort into finding us, we’d been too disorganized to do anything but huddle deeper into the shadows. 

Too slowly, word trickled down from the spirits —who made a habit out of listening in where they shouldn't— that the leaders of the free world were debating a path forward in regards to us.

I couldn’t help but let my gaze wander toward the capitol building, where hundreds of spirits used to live, dedicated to spending eternity watching history. Our own silent eyes had been taken from us, purged in a single silent night. Slowly, the alarm had spread. Humanity had found a way to keep their secrets and attacked while doing so. 

Had it been a declaration of war or a simple warning? 

Attempts at unification under the weight of whatever was coming had pressed a society reclusive by nature into a disorganized panic. Disagreements between those with real power among us had rapidly spiraled into nothing but greater hostility before what was being called the ‘Calm” settled in. We all felt what was on the wind, a greater storm than any of us knew was coming, inescapable aside from hunkering down and hoping to avoid the all seeing eyes. 

 For most, death crept back to whatever normal was as we waited for the storm, and I had resumed trying to figure out how the hell I’d ended up a death walker restricted to the greater metropolitan area of D.C.

Admittedly, it wasn’t like I was sure of what the hell else to do.  My only lead was my own suspicious knack for helping people get out of tough spots for money. I didn’t have many restrictions compared to most of my fellow paranormal freaks, so I could move about without much scrutiny, passing for a rather bland dark skinned middle aged man in need of a shave. 

As much as I liked to complain, I had to admit, death walking was certainly better than stumbling around as a half-rotted zombie or flesh-crazed wendigo. It’s why I could still sit on the grass at the great Mall and enjoy a cigarette waiting for a call to come in.

I gave a prayer for safety and peace, watching my cigarette’s last good push float away in the cool humid air. 

After getting out of my own bad situations and meeting the right people, my skills had been recognized. My number was passed from hand to hand with whispered promises of help. If you were afraid of getting on the wrong person’s radar, I was the one you rang. 

 It was the reason why I came to the Mall every night, the heart of the city, ready and waiting to walk into a nightmare all so that I could make my rent.

Checking to make sure I was no longer in view of any of the demon’s eyes, I thinned my connection to the physical world, feeling the dirt beneath me fade into the remembered touch of a dream. I slid as far as I dared from what was to what lay beyond, dissolving from the physical world and stepping closer to the boundary lines of the afterlife. 

The stars burned brighter, time fluctuated in an inconsistent flow, as the capital’s structures shimmered as if a mirage; only the oldest buildings remained solid to the eye. Few were able to walk here with any form of control. The present stopped mattering here as memories grounded reality. 

I listened as garbled jazz from a concert held long ago faded into the sounds of soldiers marching. A man called for a taxi as a siren rose in the distance. Voices marched in the street, children giggled at a tour guide's rehearsed joke, a generation-defining speech echoed from the granite buildings, the city’s history smeared into incomprehensible sensation. All that was alive, still possible, dropped away, leaving only the inky story of the past. This was the thin line between life and whatever I’d traded so much to avoid. 

Too much.

This was the closest thing to sleep allowed to spirits. Drifting beyond created a disconnect from all of the pains and pleasures of life. What it was to be changed this close to oblivion as mind melted with memory. Endnotes of a day not long forgotten 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 connected to its impact on living memory, making my own notable control of navigating oblivion an ironic highlight to my current state of amnesia. 

It was impossible to tell how long I skimmed through the history of the Mall, but a ringing jolted me from enjoying the smell of a day where the cherry blossoms had been in full bloom. Pink petals dancing across spring grass were replaced by the pulsing of my phone. 

Grunting at the return of the ache in my feet, I pulled the noisy rectangle from my pocket. An unknown number flashed up at me from my Nokia 1100. I answered with, “How may I be of assistance?”

“Is this…” There was a pause as what sounded like a young man took a shaking breath. “Are you Whistler? You—I think you can help me.”

I stood and began walking for my car. “Yes, how may I be of assistance? Where are you located?”

There was a long pause before, “Seventy Five Elmira street. Highlands. Do—God, fuck. Fuck! …do you know where that is?”

 “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” My car flashed its lights over the Mall as I unlocked the doors with my fob. “Are you in 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 “someone.”

“Hurt or killed?”

Whoever was on the other end of the phone, they were young. Judging by the panic in their voice, this was their first time in a situation like this. First times were always the worst.

“Killed,” came the confession.

Shimmering white fabric caught my eye. I pulled the phone from my ear and froze. She couldn’t have been older than twenty standing uncaring of the tree bisecting her, one visible unblinking eye staring at me from a sunken socket. No human could be as gaunt as her and have the strength to stand as she did. Slowly, a trembling hand rose, emerging from the trunk she stood within. Despite the dozen or so feet between us, I stepped back seeing her nearly translucent skin stretching under the dress decades out of fashion. Her hand came into the moonlight, tendons visibly pulling as she pointed.

I followed the direction of her finger, looking back onto the Mall. 

Nothing. Just the same seemingly endless field I’d left. 

Before I even turned back, I knew she was gone.

The hush of night turning into morning returned only just as I became aware of its absence.

Well, damn. 

I’d heard of others encountering omens, always just before their deaths went to Hell. 

“Please, help me.”

I blinked, realizing the voice was 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?”

“I apologize. Bad service.” I tried to remember what I had been saying. “Just one body then? Please refrain from touching anything and try to remember what you already have.”

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 damn near my bench where I tended to wait most nights for calls to come in. Why would an omen point at the—

“Oh, God!” There was a wet sucking sound on the other end of the phone.

Young vampire. Great.

“Are you still consuming the victim?” I asked.

A pained cry answered me. I’d been around plenty of freshly awakened monsters panicking yet unable to resist their new instincts. Usually it meant sloppy work and possibly violations of rules meant to keep our communities off the living’s radar. Rules like only kill those deserving to feed if possible, never hunt someone who will be missed, and most importantly, don’t leave a trail for the recently formed Department of Information Eradication to follow. 

Strange as it was, it seemed the powers that run the country were just as invested in keeping our communities out of public knowledge as we were. Sloppy work could summon hunters from both sides if I didn’t intervene.

“I would appreciate it if you finished before I arrived.” I grimaced, familiar with the kind of bloodbath I was walking into. “Should I anticipate anyone else being there when I arrive?”

A rustling on the other end was followed up with heavy breathing. His voice was wet, lips smacking on what had to be blood. “She…I need help. What did I do? Jesus, why?”

For a beat I considered if the omen had been telling me to sit my ass back down and ignore whatever this what sounded like kid had gotten himself into, but omens were never that direct, and the only reason I was able to keep a clientele was coming through for everyone who managed to actually get ahold of me. I respected the rules, and admittedly depended on them. My credibility, like much in the world, relied on my myth. Cracks could lead to questions I wasn’t ready for. 

I ignored a second call from an unknown caller coming in, before bringing my engine to life. “I need an answer, is there anyone else with you?”

“No.” Silence stretched for a beat. “Just her.”

“Good. Now, do exactly as I say.”