Absolution

By Louis Corsair

In 1947, a gangster murders private investigator Raymond Adams. In 2011, he’s brought back to life for 24 hours to solve the supernatural murder of a Hollywood Adult film star.

When the son of a Pit Lord is murdered in Hollywood, the celestial beings in charge of the Four Realms ask Raymond Adams to figure who did it and find the victim’s missing soul. Without memories of his life, he accepts the case to gain eternal peace. But the job is daunting:

24 hours to nab a killer...
24 hours to find a missing soul...
24 hours to unravel the victim’s exotic private life...
24 hours to stop a plot to send the universe into chaos...

With only the help of a possessed cop and a medium, Adams must trek through a Hollywood underground filled with pornography, prostitutes, the homeless, and sadists, along with supernatural monsters. But can he solve the case when his own haunting memories keep surfacing, telling him exactly what kind of man he was in life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Louis Corsair
• Release date: Apr 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476436203

Louis Corsair

Louis Corsair is an eight year veteran of the United States Army. Currently, he lives in Los Angeles, CA. In the year 2020 he hopes to publish several more works.

Book preview

This is dedicated to all of us who have ever received a Form Rejection Letter in the mail.

Acknowledgements:

Special thanks to: Melina Alderman, Veronica Ayansu, Jose Garcia, Jessica Lubofsky, Carol Mohle, and Eve Wittenmyer--all of whom read this horrible mess with many more flaws than it has now. Also, Brad Listi, Stephen Cooper, and Tyler Dilts--these gentlemen instructed me in the craft of fiction writing. And to my new friends across the pond, Franny and Silvia (who know who they are). And of course, Mr. Timothy Lantz.

Foreword

All works of literature have flaws. This includes simple works of genre fiction like the one you have in your hands. It is inescapable. The writer is not perfect.

If you notice, most chapters cover a certain gap in time, one hour, thirty minutes, and less. This does not mean that the events depicted in each chapter perfectly fit into that timeframe. I did not act out the events and time them.

There are other flaws, of course, but if you can get past them, I hope you enjoy the story of Raymond Adams.

Louis Corsair

February 17, 2012

Prologue:

1947

It was the middle of the night in January of 1947 and I was on my knees in front of the Municipal Ferry building in San Pedro. The docked boats were silent sentinels watching me, indifferent giants. I imagined God and all His angels the same way, looking down constantly, not really caring about the foibles of a sap like me. At least that’s what I hoped.

Sorry, Ray, said Hargrove, my friend. In his hand was a smoking gun aimed at me. Sansone knows about my secrets. You understand, right?

I managed a smile. The funny thing was the bullet in my gut wasn’t what bothered me, not the betrayal either. The breeze from the Pacific Ocean in winter has a way of breaking down a bird, even one with warm blood oozing out of him. I was cold, just so cold. People think being a gumshoe is easy business, but dime-store novels don’t call us hardboiled for nothing. Mind you, at that moment I was having serious doubts about my life as a private investigator. The iron hard faces of the mugs standing over me didn’t help.

Lieutenant Detective Hargrove was a copper with a nice square jaw and a suit that always looked slept in. Next to him was Lucky Sansone in a tuxedo, one of the gangsters that festered Los Angeles, the typical Italian with slick black hair, but peppered with gray; his goons were next to him, their pistols out. Trying to pinch Sansone didn’t look like such a good idea now. It’s what they called irony. I had tried to do something in the name of justice and look what it got me.

A priest, I said. The lead pill hadn’t killed me right off. I might live if I could get to a hospital quickly. Confession of sins... You gotta give me that.

Lucky pulled out his gun and pressed the muzzle to my forehead. Hargrove turned away. I raised my hand, but Lucky squeezed the trigger. Nearby, the docked boats watched without comment or judgment. The wind picked up, maybe to lament. And that was it. I was dead.

There was a great, black emptiness and I was feather-light, rising above it all. I remember looking forward to meeting God and all His angels before being sent to Hell for eternity. It’s a shame the afterlife wasn’t what I pictured.

**~~~**

**~~~**

I:

The Abstract Realm

Chapter 1:

The Case

I awoke in a replica of my bedroom, breathing heavy, thinking it was because of a nightmare. There was so much sweat on my face and body that I wanted to towel off. The moment passed and I settled down. I rolled over and curled into a ball, enjoying a moment of tranquility apart from the reality of being awake. But it didn’t last; a rush of anxiety hit me hard. I got up and looked around unsettled. Something was missing that was supposed to be there. And I couldn’t put my finger on what it actually was.

The uncertainty nailed me so bad that I hadn’t noticed the time. It was almost nine in the morning and I was supposed to meet a client. I couldn’t keep a rich cat waiting. The shower and shave brought me back to life. Once out, I took a shot of whiskey and dressed in my best suit, which was waiting for me by my closet door. But there was a hazy quality to everything which wasn’t the result of the liquor. This tipped me off that something wasn’t right. My mind went to work.

And then I said the words aloud: I’m in a replica of my bedroom. If I wasn’t home, where was I? I leaned against the davenport taking deep, panic stricken breaths.

Here we go again, Adams, said my shadow and then broke apart from me.

This startled me and I considered that I might have gone insane.

What are you? I said.

The shadow creature threw his hands up and let out a frustrated groan before saying, You ask that every time! Every friggin’ time! And I’m tired of answering!

He considered me while I trembled like a child and then, for no reason, let out a throaty laugh. Inconsiderate bastard. I had these flashes in my head. I had spoken to this thing before. He was a Shadow Monger named Harrahk. I had nicknamed him Harry. He was the only friend I had now who wasn’t part of a twisted scenario. We looked at each other and it all came back.

After Lucky Sansone murdered me I thought I would go to Heaven or Hell, but what I got was something else entirely. There was this mechanism Harry called the Process, which determined where souls ended up based on the type and quantity of spiritual impurities they had.

Harry said my impurities were all Corruptive, as opposed to Destructive. So the Process sent me to the Abstract Realm, one of four realms in this plane of existence lorded over by a mysterious race of celestial beings. Here I would stay until the impurities in my soul were purged through scenarios meant to bring out my better self or some nonsense like that.

The only reason Harry had told me all this and a multitude of other things about the afterlife was because I couldn’t overcome my detective nature. I had snapped out of every scenario before I could learn anything. Harry had met others like me and sometimes spoke to them out of pity...because with every failed scenario, a little bit of me was leeched out. In time, I would become a prop used to create scenarios for other souls stuck in the Abstract Realm.

You must feel that knowing all of this so suddenly is overwhelming, but just think of how I felt remembering it all at once. It was mind boggling. Debilitating.

So you remember now? said Harry and produced and smoked a shadowy cigarette.

I nodded. Sorry...

It’s alright, Adams, he said. He offered a shadow-cigarette to me.

The smoke it gave off wasn’t right, but it was better than just looking at him smoke. What’ll happen to them? I said and took a long drag.

Hmm?

Humanity. Will they be alright?

He laughed and patted my back. Somehow, they’ll manage without you, he said. Dumb bastard. He made me laugh.

Looking over my bedroom I succumbed to grief, but not for the world. See, my memories had become a patchwork of knowledge and the only thing I remembered with any clarity was the way I had died. I could describe the tarry taste of cigarette smoke to Harry, but I couldn’t tell him the name of my mother. I could talk endlessly about the ins and outs of being a shamus, but I couldn’t recall any cases I had worked on. That’s what truly stung, not knowing about my life or what kind of man I had been. There were clues, like I had tried to take down a gangster, but nothing else. Death stunk. At least Harry fixed it so I never woke up again thinking I was still alive, like a sap.

***

I awoke in a replica of my bedroom, which the Abstract Realm had probably created using what was left of my memories. I rolled over and curled into a ball, enjoying a moment of tranquility apart from the reality of being dead. But it didn’t last; a rush of anxiety hit me hard. I got up and looked around unsettled. Something was missing that was supposed to be there. Maybe they had moved or changed it, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it actually was. The uncertainty nailed me so bad that I jumped when the Shadow Monger spoke.

Raymond Adams? he said and stepped out of the shadow of the bed. He was thin as a noodle and stood there, statue-like. This wasn’t Harry and a primal fear came over me. You used to be a gumshoe in Hollywood, right? said this Shadow Monger and stared at me with a pair of beady eyes--or more like through me as if trying to figure me out.

I nodded. What’s it to you?

He didn’t smile. I have a proposition for you from the Realm Above, he said and pointed upwards. The son of a Pit Lord was murdered in Hollywood and the Committee wants to bring you back to life to figure out who did it. If you succeed they’ll immediately grant you the highest of rewards: Absolution.

I stopped him right there. Hope is a virus in the Abstract Realm. It exploited me when I heard the word absolution--it was a one way ticket out of this place and into the Collective Whole, where the Process sent the purest souls. But there were too many inconsistencies with the Shadow Monger’s story for me to believe it.

So what’s the problem with some lordling getting a taste of the big sleep? Didn’t the Process send his soul back home to the Pit? I said. I’m sure he can gripe to his daddy about who murdered him.

The Shadow Monger stumbled before he said, How did you know about... and stopped. The lordling’s soul never left the Realm of the Living and it has not contacted its father in the Pit. Part of your task would be to find the missing soul and retrieve it.

That was an interesting twist but I still had my suspicions. The Committee had a universe of resources and celestial beings it could use to solve this if it was real. Why go to all the trouble of bringing me back to life to do it? I couldn’t overcome this logic and I began to shake my head.

You’re lying, I said and backed away. This is all another lie!

No it’s not, Adams, said Harry’s familiar voice. He came out of my shadow and leaned on the davenport smoking a shadow-cigarette. The people upstairs asked for you by name.

What? I said. By name? What does that mean?

You need to exit, said the other Shadow Monger, tension in his voice.

Harry rolled his eyes. Who cares? This is it, your chance to get out of this hole. Don’t question it, he said to me.

You’re asking the wrong person to do that, I said.

Good point, he said and gave me a wide smile. They probably know your nature.

Enough! said the other Shadow Monger. Make a decision now, Adams.

Alright, I said. I’ll need a week to do it and access to the resources of the Enforcers.

No, said the other Shadow Monger. If you agree, you’ll have twenty four hours to complete the task. Enforcers and other celestials are strictly forbidden from helping you or even approaching you. What is your choice now?

That made things prickly. I had the knowledge of working two murder cases, but the particulars were lost to me. The Enforcers were the long arm of the law in the four realms and their help could augment my lack of experience. I thought about saying no. But I really wanted to get out of the Abstract Realm and find eternal peace. Maybe I could scare Sansone and Hargrove into helping me; for some reason, I had no craving for revenge. I still needed more time though. I had to talk to people, track others, follow leads, etc. To do all that in one day would be nearly impossible.

Why only one day?

They took turns telling me. I lost the urge to smoke. The apocalypse never looked as good as it did when compared to what would happen if I stayed on Earth even a second longer than twenty four hours. It was horrifying, like when you first realize that one day you’re going to die.

Fine, I said.

Good luck, Adams, said Harry. In a flash I was no longer in the replica of my bedroom.

Chapter 2:

A Return

I was in a preparation chamber made completely out of light. I hovered like a cloud watching child-like celestials regenerate and reanimate my corpse. They didn’t bother with new clothes and simply fixed up the suit I had been buried in. When finished, they vacuumed me into my old body, a loving experience I could only compare to dying.

Cold... I said and my throat was dry like the Mojave in the middle of summer. They explained my body was mostly dead but this would improve as time passed. To help me with the shivers, the merciful celestials threw in a brown overcoat, shoes, and a fedora.

Gun, I said. True I was dead, but the people I was going to deal with were not and I had a feeling they would want to stay that way. Protection was necessary.

They gave me a revolver loaded with ten Thunderbolt bullets. I also got a good watch to keep track of time, an enchanted magnifying glass, and a special rune to communicate with the Committee. The big people wanted regular updates on my progress.

The celestials opened a portal to the Realm of the Living and sent me through it.

**~~~**

**~~~**

II:

Not My Hollywood

Chapter 3:

6:00 AM

The portal went to a part of Hollywood that was near the scene of the crime. The cross streets were Hollywood Boulevard and Western Avenue, somewhere east of the strip. The day was pleasant with a few dark clouds roaming the sky and the temperature at maybe seventy-five degrees. I wish I could tell you I got right to work, but I was a kid in a toy store. Everything had a mystical allure to it, in part because things here lacked the gloss of the scenarios of the Abstract Realm. This childish sense of wonder lasted as long as it took me to take a few steps.

My joints ached and my muscles were stiff. But this pain didn’t stop my senses from exploring the world of the living. Near the trees that lined that side of the street, I kept getting whiffs of urine and feces in the air. My hands touched a pole and it was cold and wet and whatever had gotten it wet smelled putrid. And noise came into my ears in bursts, the noise of the vehicles that rocketed by in the streets, the noise of construction somewhere, the noise of people yelling obscenities at one another. The glare from the sun bit my eyes and there were tears and everything was blurry. Vertigo. Vomit. The wonderful taste of bile and stomach acid remained in my mouth afterwards. Here was a mystery: What in the world was I vomiting? I looked down and thought better of trying to figure that out. More vomit.

I tightened my gut and remembered I wasn’t some tourist. This was my town. My body reacted accordingly. Breathing became easier and I got used to the offensive odors soon enough. The tears and pain caused by the sunlight stopped thanks to the fedora. I tried not to touch anything unless I had inspected it first. The novelty of being alive again made me clumsy and so I didn’t notice things.

The businesses were all new and all the Stop signs were replaced by traffic lights that had more than just red-yellow-green. The rails for the street cars were gone. And nearly everyone young had things in their ears attached to cables that ran down into their pockets. I thought it was maybe to protect their ears from the obnoxious noises. Like I said, none of these things hit me the way they should have.

My first thought was to call up Sansone and Hargrove. I wanted to spook the hell out of them before asking for help. But when I came across a payphone, I didn’t find any money in my pockets. I cursed the celestials for that. But there was a store next to the payphone with a large gold sign that read, Liquor and below it in smaller letters, Beer and Groceries as if the two went hand in hand like a married couple.

I walked inside. It was more a general store with the liquor stashed in the back. In a corner a television played the news. As I came up to the front, the Mexican working the counter couldn’t stare enough. I caught a reflection of me and I didn’t blame him. My skin was pale and somewhat wrinkled.

Halloween’s not until Monday, señor, he said and chuckled. That’s a good costume, man. You’re a zombie, right?

Can I use your telephone? I said. The rasp that was my voice was more pronounced in the Realm of the Living.

He made eye contact with me for about a second and turned away, his face pale now. Not many of the living would be able to look into my eyes and not see and feel it: The pain of being stuck in the Abstract Realm and the misery that came with every failed scenario. The Mexican man pointed to the end of his counter where a black telephone sat.

Gracias, I said and hoped my accent was as decent as it had been. No matter how many numbers I dialed, the robotic operator told me that they were either out of service or did not exist. Something’s wrong with your telephone.

The Mexican looked it over and tried a few numbers before putting the receiver down. It’s working okay, he said. He dug something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was a device that unfolded to reveal a tiny set of buttons. Maybe my cell phone will help.

I fumbled around with the trinket, which made the Mexican smile. Do I look like some dumb mug? I said and threw the device back at him. What kind of trick is this?

Angry, I marched towards the door but then the television announcer said something about the President and a speech. The television set had a funny design too; it was flat like a pancake. I almost jumped when I noticed the pictures weren’t black and white, but a vibrant rainbow of hues. My jaw opened slowly when the President, a colored man, took the podium. And then I saw the date on the screen: Saturday, October 29th 2011.

I’d been dead for over sixty years. This wasn’t my Hollywood. The world really had gone on without me. My feet couldn’t move fast enough to get me out of there. Outside, the odd environment made sense. The cars were things out of some science fiction novel that flew by without much concern for the people trying to cross the street. Maybe robots from Mars drove them for all I knew. And what were those portable devices everyone carried here? I found a bench where busses stopped and people got in and out, sometimes looking me over, but mostly ignoring me and one another. Slowly, I calmed down enough to think.

Aside from the personal sense of doom I felt, there were more practical things that bothered me. Sansone and Hargrove were either dead or so old they might not know who I was, much less know about a murder. There were also the customs of the nation which had changed in sixty years; the election of a colored President was a subtle hint of that. And more importantly, I wouldn’t know how to make use of these odd machines and gadgets that were ever-present.

These were additional handicaps to deal with if I wanted to solve this case. Here my only friend would be a shot of whiskey if I could find money for it. Part of me wanted to give up and return to the Abstract Realm. But I would be damned if I let that place destroy me without a fight. And besides that, I was hungry for a challenge.

I got up and walked towards the scene of the crime.

Chapter 4:

6:28 AM

It was a suburb that had a few empty lots and small businesses. There were homeless people stirring in the tall grass of one of those lots, some who looked plain nuts, others down on their luck; they wore torn, dirty things. They were the mugs who had used the trees as bathrooms. I should have felt empathy for them, but I was numb to this version of Hollywood.

The scene of the crime was a motel. It was two stories high and had an assortment of red and white flowers clinging to the rail on the second floor. It was altogether pleasant and clean and it made me feel conspicuous. The few people out were in casual things and there I was, hiding under layers of clothing. But I eased up when I came across a red container of newspapers right in front of the joint. I sifted through one of the papers inside. Nothing but smut.

As I made my way up the stairs, I caught the scent of cigarette smoke in the air. It created a craving in me. I wanted to smoke.

Can I have one of your cigarettes? I told the first person I saw smoking.

He was a tough guy, I could tell, even though he wore his pants too loose and his ball cap sideways. The hoodlum sized me up. I sensed he wanted to rob or kill me. But one look into my eyes and he stumbled. Or maybe my corpse-like appearance nudged something in him. He dug out a pack of cigarettes and threw in a plastic lighter.

When I reached the room I lit a cigarette and took a good drag off it. According to the Shadow Mongers, the murder had taken place about two weeks earlier, but yellow police tape lingered on the rail and door like shredded dreams. I removed the tape and for a moment, I stared at the door as if it would open on its own. I had no key. On a whim I tried the knob and heard a distinct click as the bolt unlocked. My celestial friends at work. With a smile, I walked inside.

It was a plain room with one bed, a night stand with a lamp on it, and all of it pointed at a television set. It couldn’t have been more than one hundred square feet altogether, not including the bathroom. There was no chalk outline on the floor to tell me where the victim had died. As far as this room was concerned, nothing had happened here. I pulled out the magnifying glass and inspected the joint. This time the story was different.

Reviews for Absolution

[lilyroseshadowlyn · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Hard-boiled PI mixed with a little snark, some humor, and a bit of mystery. This was a great, easy read that I flew through once I started. The characters were well done, and the world building was excellent. If you're a fan of The Dresden Files, then you're going to enjoy this book. No magicians, but there is a medium, and plenty of paranormal beings floating around with the mundanes. A great book to take to the beach or curl up with on a lazy summer day!