Chapter 2
I parked and headed up to my apartment. The halls were cool and quiet as the normal crowd had yet to return from work.
As soon as I put my key in the lock, I heard Peanut Butter on the other side of the door.
When I opened it and stepped inside, he rubbed up against my legs and merowed at me, his thick, fleece blanket at his feet as he dragged it around the house whenever he was lonely.
“Hey, buddy. Did Nikki take good care of you while I was gone?” I bent and gave him pets, setting the box beside the door.
He stretched up to tap my shoulder with his paws, and I lifted him.
I carried Peanut Butter to the bedroom and set him on the bed, where he paced, crying his sad little tale of being left alone for two weeks, which I knew was only partially true because Nikki visited him every day even when I was home.
But I listened to his meows, nodding and giving him encouragement to continue as I stripped, feeling like the hospital stink coated my skin.
He followed me to the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid to continue his sad tale as I turned on the shower.
“It sounds horrible,” I told him. “Being home alone most of the day, sleeping. Fed by a beautiful maiden. A complete nightmare.”
He meowed.
“They think I can control dead people,” I told Peanut Butter.
He gazed at me with wide eyes as I stepped into the shower.
“I think the hospital had better water pressure,” I grumbled, but washed and used all my normal products to clean my face and hair, and moisturize my skin before I tugged on a pair of super soft cotton pajamas.
Only then did I finally start to feel some of the tension seep away.
“What do you think they’ll call me next? “Zombie Ken”?”
I turned my head from side to side, studying my reflection.
“I could use some sun maybe, but I’m not that pale.
I mean, I am Irish-American. Dead people.
Me?” On a really sunny day, red highlights glistened in my hair.
Most of the time, I was ordinary blond. The effect was part lightening, part age, though I knew I’d never go gray.
“Maybe I should dye it black for the occasion? Haven’t done that since my teens. The black makes me look really pale.”
Peanut Butter wove through my legs again, following me to the bedroom. I threw myself on the bed, grabbed my phone, and dialed my grandpa as Peanut Butter jumped on my chest to make biscuits.
“Aw, I missed you, too, buddy.”
The phone only rang once before my grandpa picked up. “Two weeks, Jude.”
“Sorry, Grandpa.”
“I called that precinct of yours and your boss wouldn’t tell me anything. Stopped taking my calls. Even Joe, the bastard, said he couldn’t tell me anything. I thought you were dead!”
I sighed, the fading adrenaline making me tired. The way Joe had turned on me still made me sick with grief and betrayal. “I’m being transferred to SED, starting next week,” I said.
“What? Isn’t that dangerous? What if some demon attacks you? Are there demons? I watched a show the other week that said there might be demons.”
“Grandpa, don’t believe everything you see on TV.” Were demons a thing? I needed to study that handbook.
“SED, Jude. Don’t they try to arrest vampires?”
“Supernatural Enforcement, so yeah, I guess it means enforcing rules on the supernatural.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why do they need rules? I mean, I don’t want zombies coming into my apartment ‘cause they have the munchies and my brains look good. Or some vamp deciding he vants to suck my blood.” I added the Count’s accent to my tone. PBS for the win.
“Your brains are scrambled, my boy. Why are you being transferred? I thought you were good in Homicide. I’d have liked you in something less dark, but your grandma loved the mystery too.
Watched every episode of true crime, anything she could find on TV.
Would have been a detective like you if she could have.
If anyone could have gotten away with murder, it was your grandma. ”
“Scary, and my brains aren’t scrambled.”
“I think it’s all that loud music you like.”
“Grandpa.”
“The bass makes your brain bounce around in your skull.”
“I don’t think that’s scientifically possible.”
“Jude, why SED?”
I didn’t want to tell him. Eighteen years and my parents’ rejection still burned deep. “They think I can control dead people,” I said, my voice cracking in the middle.
A heartbeat of silence stretched over the line.
“Grandpa?”
“Processing, my boy.”
“I can’t. They think I can. Put me in lockdown and tested me.”
The memory of being locked in the morgue during my variant testing chilled me to the bone.
Not just because of the cold—standard for preserving bodies—or the sharp scent of disinfectant trying to mask the underlying sourness and rot.
That was normal. Expected. As a Homicide Detective I’d spent a lot of time in morgues.
They all had their own feel; some heavy and tense, others sterile and lifeless.
But this, the whispering? It was probably the hum of the refrigeration units, the creak of old pipes, or movement from other rooms trickling through the thick walls.
After hours left alone, I’d curled up in the corner, shivering, mind playing tricks on me.
Exhaustion and temperature deregulation due to stress. Nothing more.
“Nothing happened.”
Whatever I thought I’d heard was all in my head. The morgue was just a room. A sterile, ugly, ordinary room.
“Okay,” Grandpa said.
“I’m marked now. Glowing armband and all.”
He cursed.
“It’s okay, Grandpa. I’m okay. Since I don’t start the new job till next week, that gives me the weekend free. Maybe we can hang out, watch some History Channel or something.”
“It’s all aliens now,” Grandpa said.
“Does that mean you don’t want to see me?”
“My boy, if I still had a license, I’d be on my way over right now.”
“And everyone in the state of Minnesota is grateful you don’t. We’d have to issue a citywide safety alert.”
“Brat.” He sighed. “I need to look at you.”
I sighed back, needing sleep. “Tomorrow, okay? Can I sleep in my own bed first?”
“Of course, but if I don’t see you bright and early, I’ll find a way to show up on your doorstep.”
“Scary,” I teased. “Your neighbors drive worse than you. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“All right,” he agreed.