To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) (2 page)

I think I spoke for everyone in the mini-mart when I finally muttered, “Holy crap.”

An aftershock of adrenaline surged through me. I slung my soda aside and raced toward the robber. Hopefully he was injured and not dead. I’d had enough of death for a lifetime.

Mr. Snack Cake seemed to have the same idea and sprang into action. He barreled around the corner, shouting, but I was too amped up to make sense of his gibberish. I dropped and slid the last foot, stopping when my knees plowed into the robber’s ribs.

The good looking guy waved his arms at me. “Don’t touch him!”

Too late. Sorry, but when I see a scraped elbow or somebody with a hole the size of a frozen pizza in their chest, my ninja paramedic skills kick into action. I pressed my fingers to the robber’s neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing. My hands drifted across his chest, but there was no place to start compressions. Not that it would have helped. Doug’s shot had hit the man dead center—no pun intended.

Mr. Snack Cake skidded to a stop beside me.

I glanced at him. “He’s dead.”

His eyes grew to the size of silver dollars. “I told you not to touch him.”

Obviously the sight of a corpse was completely freaking out this guy. Good thing I’d developed a rather unhealthy obsession with CSI shows after my husband died. I knew what to do. I looked over my shoulder at Doug. He still held the revolver, his hands shaking, and appeared to be in shock.

“Call 911.” His eyes tracked to my face but I don’t think he understood me. “Doug.” I used his name, trying to snap him back to reality. “Put the gun down and call 911.”

The weapon clattered to the floor and he fumbled for the phone. Using the dead guy’s shoulder for leverage, I tried to push to a stand. The sensation of being pulled downward tugged on my arms. I struggled to my feet and tried again, but couldn’t yank my hands off the robber.

Mr. Snack Cakes leapt over the body and gripped me around the chest. His hands locked directly between my boobs. Granted, this was the most action the girls had seen in over a year, and normally I would have been flattered, but I preferred to be groped more privately—with less dead people around.

“Hey, pal, mitts off the boobs.” I fought against his hold but my hands remained glued to the dead guy.

“I told you not to touch him.” He tugged, but I still couldn’t straighten or remove my palms from the robber’s body.

What happened next like trying to wiping sticky fingers with a paper napkin. No matter what, the napkin clings to me—just like the robber did.

I was still bent over, as if locked in a deadly game of Twister, when the cute guy heaved himself back and finally dragged me free. I won’t swear in public, but I’m almost positive he groped my boobs again.

I couldn’t be certain because at the same time I heard a zipper-like rasp and found myself reeling backward. Mr. Snack Cake caught me before we both fell into a postcard stand. I’d barely righted myself when the dead guy’s body lifted from the tile and hurdled toward me. I folded in on myself, bracing for impact. But instead of colliding, the mini-mart robber passed through me. Somebody screamed like a little girl—I’m pretty sure it was me.

The man holding me gripped my hands, curling them into fists. “Hold him, Lisa!”

Every instinct had me spinning to see where the robber had gone. Nothing made sense. Had I just imagined the man passing through me?

“He’ll run if you let go,” the cute guy said into my ear.

“Let go of what?”

That question was quickly answered as the robber snapped back through my body, slicing me with an icy chill that cut through my bones. A shudder rippled through me and my mind couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing—Mr. Bad Manners.

His translucent body flickered and a dark aura pulsed around the form. I screamed again and attempted to violently shake off the good-looking guy’s hold. I’m certain it was one of those spastic, hyperventilating convolutions. Not pretty, but I wasn’t apologizing for my freak-out.

“Stop fighting me,” Mr. Snack Cake yelled.

Yeah, right. Every survival instinct screamed for me to get away from the ghostly entity glaring at me. I dug my boots into the tile floor and pushed backward, but couldn’t get traction. Any movement I made tugged the apparition of the bald guy with me. The darkness around the robber grew and enveloped me. His anger beat against me as if it was my own emotion. It invaded my personal space, choking off my breath and the scream hovering in my throat.

The ghost yanked against my hold, which disconnected his dark aura from me. I gasped, inhaling a lungful of air. He jerked again, yanking me forward. I stumbled over something and when I looked down I saw the mini-mart robber’s body lying in the same place he’d fallen, except now a pool of dark blood seeped from under his back.

My gaze darted to the ghost attached to me and then down at his body. I screamed—again. I mean, I was all about the paranormal, but in a romantic way—fallen angels—sexy vampires—pretty much any immortal who wanted me to be the focus of his world—but not an angry ghost of a violent criminal.

The cute guy leaned in. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of him.”

Not that I could. My fingers ached from the living guy’s grip and my nails gouged my palms. He turned me toward the back of the store, which automatically dragged the apparition of the robber with us. “I’m taking her to the bathroom to get cleaned up and calmed down,” he said to the boys. “Lock the doors until the police get here.”

At this point, he frog-marched me and what I now believed was a ghost, toward the back of the mini-mart.

The apparition fought our every step. “Let me go, you stupid bitch.”

Wow, harsh.
Logic shrieked I shouldn’t argue. I’d seen the Amityville Horror. No way did I want blood seeping out of the walls of my house. It was hard enough getting red wine stains off the carpet.

“Shut up, Leroy,” the cute guy said.

That silenced the robber’s ghost. Crap, were these two partners? Had I just become a criminal sandwich? Nausea rolled through me. Maybe if I puked on Snack Cake’s fancy hiking boots, he’d let me go.

“How do you know my name?” The spirit stopped struggling. “You a cop?”

Cute guy lowered his voice so only we could hear. “You wish I was a cop.”

Chills slithered down my spine at his tone. Who the hell was this guy? The darkness pulsing around Leroy’s ghost intensified and my head started to swim. It felt as if he was sucking the life from me. Blackness crept around the edges of my vision.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.

Damn it, I’d been determined to get my life on track. It looked like the first day of my new life might be my last.

We entered the bathroom. The smell of industrial cleaner filled my nose and the flickering fluorescent lights intensified my headache. He kicked the door closed, sealing us inside the white tiled tomb.

“My name is Nate.”

I craned my neck to see if he was talking to me. “All right.”
Nice to meet you
seemed a little inappropriate for the situation. “Listen Nate, you need to tell me what the hell is going on because I am seriously about to lose it.”

“Let me get rid of him first and then we’ll talk.” His voice softened, the creepy killer tone lessening.

“Get rid of him?” I scrunched my face and laced my words with my infamous sarcasm. “Where do you think he’s going? We’re in a frickin’ bathroom of a mini-mart.”

Me and my big mouth.

“Pick!” Nate waited a few seconds before shouting the word again. “Pick!”

“Pick?” What was I supposed to pick? The ghost or me? Life or death? My fingers ached from his crushing grip. I wiggled, trying to get away, but he continued to hold me in place. “I pick life. I want to live. Don’t kill me.”

“Me too,” Leroy’s ghost said.

“It’s too late for you, Badder.”

I didn’t know who Badder was, but when Leroy began to fight me again, my keen sense of deduction kicked in, telling me it was him. Several times he tried to jerk away, but kept rebounding like a rubber band. His arms passed through mine, cutting my bones with a searing cold. My head pounded, feeling like it was about to shatter. Any minute I was going to embark on a psychotic episode of epic proportion.

A bright, blue light suddenly appeared at the end of the bathroom near the toilet. All of us stopped struggling and stared as the sink disappeared behind the elongating glow. The light widened into a rectangle and the intensity dimmed. Breath caught in my throat when an actual door appeared and then slid open. Leroy Badder’s mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped. At least I wasn’t the only one stunned by the sight. Nate, however, appeared perfectly calm, like an elevator arriving in the Holiday bathroom was a normal occurrence.

My attention drifted back to the far end of the bathroom and the man standing on the other side of the door. At least I thought it was a man. Something about him didn’t look completely human. Maybe it was his coal black eyes or perhaps the tiny bumps protruding from the front of his skull that reminded me of horns. Despite what was certainly an unfortunate birth defect, the man’s head was a perfect oval. A solid sheet of sable brown hair slicked along the top and sides like glossy frosting, and the creases in his black suit were so sharp they could cut. Mafia attorney popped into my mind.

Beyond him the room glowed red. Not like those red light bulbs hookers use to advertise their services, but more like a roaring fire burned nearby. My first impression? Modern Gates of Hell. But that would be ridiculous, right? I mean, I was standing in a mini-mart bathroom.

“I’ve got him, Pick.”

Nate’s words snapped me out of my trance. “That’s Pick?”

“Yes.” His gaze slid to mine and he lowered his voice. “Don’t let him touch you.”

Like that even had to be said. “Yeah, no problem there.”

I must have been in shock, because I should have been freaking out. It wasn’t every day you saw an elevator to Hell in a convenience store bathroom. My life was hockey games and laundry, not…well, not whatever this was.

“Nate.” Pick’s voice carved through the tension like a hissing blade. “Punctual as usual.” His gaze tracked to me and his thin lips pulled into a white, feral smile. “And who do we have here?”

This Pick character gave off a seriously eerie vibe.

“A new recruit,” Nate said.

I had no idea if they were talking about me and it didn’t matter. At this point I was doing good not to pee myself.

The attorney guy pulled a clipboard from a file pocket mounted near the entrance and scanned an attached paper. “Leroy Badder?”

“Yes.” Nate didn’t move or release his hold on my hands. “He just robbed the convenience store—or tried to.”

Pick ticked a mark on the clipboard and placed it back into the pocket. “You’ve been quite the troublemaker, Mr. Badder.”

“Yeah, well, let me go and I’ll show you just how bad I can be.” Leroy tugged against my hold, pulling me toward the elevator.

Panic shot through me. Nate had specifically said to not let Pick touch me and I had every intention of complying. Once again, I dug the thick heels of my boots against the slick tile floor and lunged backward.

Nate’s grip tightened and he leaned in, pressing his mouth against my ear. “When I tell you to release him, let go.”

“Gladly.” Though I didn’t know if my fingers would open after being crushed for so long.

Leroy shook his arms, which caused me to chomp down on my tongue. I bit back a string of name calling, most of which were less than flattering references to his mother.

“Now?” I shuffled my feet, trying to avoid Badder’s stomping boots. Then the ghost braced his foot against my thigh and hauled backward. “Now?” I shouted.

“Now!” Nate’s grip slid from my hands to my waist to hold me steady.

With the help of Leroy’s thrashing, my fingers uncurled and released the ghost. Leroy hurled toward the open door, as if being sucked in by a giant vacuum, and tumbled into the elevator. He lay for a few seconds, looking around. When his gaze tracked downward, his eyes widened and his mouth rounded in a silent scream. Before he uttered a sound, Leroy dropped out of sight. The scene reminded me of the coyote on one of those Road Runner cartoons. Seconds later, the scream he hadn’t voiced wafted up and out of the elevator to Hell.

Pick stood in the doorway, plucking invisible lint from his suit until Leroy’s voice faded. I stumbled backward and out of Nate’s hold, hitting the door. My fingers fumbled for the handle, but Nate flicked the deadbolt to lock.

“Let me out.” My hands shook so badly I couldn’t maneuver the latch back. I had no idea who or what Pick was or where Leroy Badder had disappeared to. What I did know was that I wanted to be as far away from these guys as possible. I pointed. “I’m not going in there.”

“Calm down.” Nate grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face him. “You don’t have to but we need to talk before the police get here.”

I stared at him, not sure I trusted anything he said. My fingers curled around the handle of the door. No way was I dropping my defenses so this guy could toss me through the fiery Gates of Hell. Nate released me but kept his hands raised, gesturing for me to stay put. I didn’t move—was unable to move.

He faced the elevator. “Our transaction is complete.”

Pick tipped his head in acknowledgment and straightened. “Until next time.”

With that, the door slid shut and compressed into a thin line of light, shrinking until it vanished completely. Nate walked to the other end of the bathroom. “It’s over.”

I didn’t release my death-grip. “What was that? Who are you? Where did Leroy go?” My questions flowed like verbal diarrhea. “Am I dead?”

“You aren’t dead, but Leroy is. That doorway was a portal, and Pick is what’s called a
porter
. He escorts souls to their appointed destination.”

“Appointed destination? You mean Hell?”

Nate shrugged. “Not necessarily, but in most cases, yes.”

“What do you mean,
in most cases
?”

He stared at me, his blue eyes never wavering from my face, but didn’t answer.