Draugr

By K.M. Spires

Josh Cohen is devastated by the death of his girlfriend, Mia. He knows she didn’t commit suicide, as everyone claims, but he can't convince the authorities of his small town to open a murder investigation. Pushed to the brink of insanity by the crushing weight of his grief, Josh will do anything to have Mia back.

Anything.

Love conquers all, but vengeance can transcend death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.M. Spires
• Release date: Dec 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370735358

K.M. Spires

Hi, everyone! Thanks for taking the time to read this bio. I’ll try to keep it short. I’m an independent author from Texas. I rock the whole “wife and mother” thing, too, but you don’t care about that. You’re here for the stories. I began self-publishing in 2011. When it comes to writing, I prefer the paranormal genre, but I’ll read just about anything. There are so many authors whose work I enjoy that I can’t point out any specific influence. I am currently wrapping up the third book in my Watcher in the Darkness series. You can read what I have so far on my personal website.

Book preview

Draugr

By

K.M. Spires

Copyright 2012 K.M. Spires. All rights reserved.

This book is dedicated to my family, who is and always has been wonderfully supportive.

Last but certainly not least, hail to Odin the Allfather for his gift of inspiration.

Chapter 1

Mia’s voice carried like birdsong over the preacher’s droning prayer. This was troubling, to say the least. Up until that moment, gruesome sanity hadn’t allowed me to deny that I was attending her funeral.

Auditory hallucinations aside, I was overcome by a profound sense of wrongness. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, the sky played host to fluffy white clouds, and multicolored flowers were just beginning to bloom in the churchyard. How could catastrophe be set against such a backdrop? It was an affront.

Abuela put her hand over my wrist when I squirmed in my seat like a restless toddler. She clutched her leather-bound bible in her lap, her black rosary beads draped around her forearm. I knew she was doing her best to be stoic, but her eyes overflowed and her frail jaw trembled. I forced a grim smile and made my body as wood, even though it felt like I was sitting on a bed of broken glass.

Mia’s open casket was like the center of the sun, inasmuch as it burned my eyes to look at it for longer than a second or two. I stared instead at the artwork that adorned the walls. It was ornate and colorful, pretty things that Mia would have appreciated far more than I ever could. The church ceilings were tall, yet so clean. How did one knock a cobweb from such a lofty height?

It was apparent that whoever had done Mia’s makeup hadn’t seen so much as a picture of her. Her skin was so smooth and pale that it glowed against the shimmering pink lining of her coffin. Her cheeks lacked any sort of blush, and the smattering of freckles across her nose had been obliterated. Her eyelids were brushed with a smoky grey shadow I know she would have hated. Her lips…

Her lips had been so soft. If I just closed my eyes, I could feel them again with little effort.

I took a heavily perfumed breath to settle my thoughts. What was the deal with all of the bouquets that lined the walls? It was as though everyone that bothered to show up for the funeral had brought at least five arrangements with them. The heady floral scent mingled with the smoky incense to become an asthmatic’s nightmare.

I’ve never understood flowers as gestures of sympathy. What was the logic there? ‘Hey, we’re sorry the most beautiful girl in the world just died. In commiseration, we’ve sliced these living blooms from the very heart of the plants that bore them. They’ll be dead soon, but the landfill-clogging plastic sheets we’ve wrapped them in are forever. Enjoy.’

Whoever made the funeral arrangements should have set up at least a few candles. Mia had loved candles, preferably vanilla or rose scented. She’d claimed that candlelight could make even a dungeon seem cozy and romantic.

Behind the podium, the pastor gazed at the meager assembly through a mask of compassion. Blessed are those who mourn.

I’d been aware that he was speaking, but these were the first words that registered. They made me arch an eyebrow.

Friends, we gather here today to lay to rest the body of… He glanced at the podium for a second or two. Mia Dominique Conti, only daughter of James Conti and Robyn Higgins.

My inner voice snarled in disdain. He’d mispronounced her name. It was supposed to be Me-uh, not My-uh. Dumbass.

She was the granddaughter of Salvatore and Dorathea Conti, only granddaughter of Avery and Susan Higgins. Her aunts were…

A tight band of muscle along my brow threatened to crush my skull. The two bites of scrambled eggs I’d managed to choke down that morning ricocheted against the walls of my stomach. I closed my eyes and willed this stranger to stop talking.

The preacher took a deep, contemplative breath through his nose. When someone we love, especially one so young and full of potential, takes their own life, it is difficult to find comfort. The sixth commandment states that we shall not commit murder, but what is suicide if not the gravest form of murder for which no atonement can be found?

Seriously. Shut up, dude.

To find the answer, we must turn once again to scripture. Proverbs chapter three, verse five: ‘Trust in the Lord with all of your might and rely not on your own understanding.’ God has a plan for Mia, and though we may never know that plan, she stands before him now. John, chapter five, verse twenty-four; ‘Most assuredly, I say unto you, he who hears my word and believes in Him who sent me has everlasting life, and shall not come unto judgment, but has passed from death into life.’

I couldn’t tell if this was a sermon or a sales pitch. Why did so little of his eulogy actually concern Mia? He should talk about her intelligence and ambition. He had yet to mention her resilience. This man had never even met Mia, so how was he qualified to patronize her loved ones regarding their grief? Was his consolation really that as long as Mia believed in God, she would be okay in heaven? Mia was an atheist; by his logic, she was already being roasted in a fiery pit.

Asshole.

Mia’s stylist had made a second blunder, in that her hair was twisted into a long, dark braid. Mia had been so tender-headed that even brushing had to be performed with extreme care, yet they had ensured that she would be uncomfortable for all eternity. I was besieged by the urge to march up to her coffin, pull her hair loose, then spread it over her shoulders as she’d worn it in life.

I’d loved Mia’s hair. Soothed by the sound of her soft breathing, I could run my fingers through it for hours as she slept.

A wave of lightheadedness washed over me, followed by nausea so intense that it nudged me to the edge of my seat. The sickness passed in seconds, after which I was numb again.

Preacher Man hadn’t stopped babbling. We may find ourselves turning to one another for answers, but there are none to be found. Only God knows how and why such things happen. Only God knows what was in Mia’s heart when she made her final decision. Therefore, we must turn to God for comfort and trust in his plan.

He actually said this with a smile, as though such a sentiment was meant to comfort. I’ve never been much of a churchgoer, but decided that this would be my very last visit.

Mia’s mother was doing a poor job of muffling her sorrow with a white handkerchief. Robyn rocked back and forth like a mental patient as her sister, Connie, rubbed her back. I’d never met Mia’s father in person, but James was easy to identify. He sat in the pew across the aisle from his ex-wife, his expression cold. A gorgeous woman half his age hugged his arm, her bleached blonde head resting on his shoulder. I wasn’t at all surprised to see that Mia’s parents couldn’t set aside their differences long enough to grieve for their daughter, but Mia would have been devastated.

Her grandparents, at least, were grouped together in the same pew, well away from their respective children. It didn’t appear as though anyone else in Mia’s family had bothered to attend. I wanted to believe that it was because most of them couldn’t manage the long trip from New Jersey, but I was far too cynical.

Mia’s co-workers were on the opposite end of my and Abuela’s pew. Jackie texted while Susan gnawed a piece of gum, her head propped on her hand. Only Carla dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. I’d always liked Carla.

Mia’s white dress hadn’t turned out as I’d expected. The design was modest and a bit old-fashioned, but the outer layer of the bodice was lacy and it fit her rather well. Her hands were folded on her stomach and stripped of nail polish. I’d never seen her nails naked before, unlike the rest of …

Something quivered within my chest as though mortally wounded. I wanted to sprint out of the glacial air conditioning into the sunlight beyond the double doors, but there was no escape from this pain. Not ever.

Casey Matthews had an entire pew to herself, three empty benches acting as a buffer between her and Mia’s grandparents. She lifted her head to stare at Mia through her black veil then Casey’s face collapsed in sorrow. Her agony tugged at me, but I couldn’t even stand with the rest of the congregation when the preacher asked us to rise.

Ben and Syl were in the pew behind Mia’s mother. Ben stared at the ground, slouched and disheveled with grief. Syl had her arm around him, her free hand on Robyn’s shoulder. Syl’s golden hair shimmered when she turned her head to look at me, her profile so angelic that it caused me physical pain. Something in my face must have upset her, because fresh tears filled her eyes as she mouthed an apology.

I bowed my head, hoping Syl hadn’t gotten the wrong idea. I didn’t blame her for standing by her cousin instead of me, not that I couldn’t have used her support. I made a mental note to call her later.

Josh…

I winced, and it felt as though I breathed liquid fire.

Josh, what’s happening?

No one else reacted to Mia’s phantom voice, which was disheartening. I stared at her sapphire pendant necklace, and was positive that I could see the rise and fall of her chest.

I noticed then that Ben was glaring at me, the bruises under his red-rimmed eyes as dark as our mutual hatred. I gave him the single-digit salute, to which Ben sneered as he turned his attention back to the pulpit.

Let us pray. Heavenly Father, we may never fully understand what torment from within or without forced Mia to feel as though she couldn’t go on living. Comfort those she’s left behind, as only You can. Remind us that judgment is reserved for You alone.

Abuela pressed her hand to her lips, her eyes shut tight as her shoulders shook with quiet sobs. I wished that I could be more of a comfort to her, but I was totally depleted.

Josh…help me…

Go with God and seek comfort in our lord, Jesus Christ. The preacher lifted his hands, which made me scowl. He was up to the benediction, already? No one else had anything to say, any memories of Mia they wanted to share? Mia will be interred in the Waterman Cemetery on Harvest road, immediately following this service.

Mia’s father shot to his feet, his companion tottering on her high heels as she struggled to keep pace. James paused by Mia’s casket, his back to me, and I saw the line of his body stiffen. He didn’t afford his ex-wife so much as a sideways glance as he strode through the exit off the nave. Robyn watched him go, then turned into her sister’s arms and began to bawl.

Abuela made the sign of the cross before she allowed me to help her to her feet. Her rosary clacked against her walking cane as she linked her arm through mine. In the aisle, she had to take a moment to stretch her aching back.

I felt a faint stirring of concern at her discomfort. Are you okay?

Her smile was affectionate but cheerless. I’m fine, Mi’ijo. Are you okay?

Before I could reply, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Jackie standing behind me, flanked by Susan and Carla. Jackie held her arms open as she said, I’m so sorry, Josh.

Thanks. My gratitude was as mechanical as their sympathy, but I accepted a hug from each of them in turn.

We made our way toward Mia’s coffin, in no rush to pay our last respects since Robyn was making an unabashed spectacle of her grief. Black rivulets of mascara streaked her face as she smoothed Mia’s hair back and wept unintelligible platitudes. I wondered how drunk Robyn was, or if this was just her histrionic comfort zone. Connie patted her sister between the shoulder blades even as she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

When Connie was finally able to steer Robyn toward the door, Ben and Syl approached the coffin. This proved to be more than Ben could handle, and he slumped forward as though punched in the stomach. His expression anguished, he took Mia’s folded hands in his. I understood that Ben was probably the only person in the world that had an inkling of what I was going through, but I would merrily see him in his own coffin. When he leaned over to kiss Mia’s lips, a curl of rage snaked through my heart. I didn’t realize I’d taken a step toward them until Abuela’s arm tightened and she jerked me back. For such a tiny woman, she was as rooted as Mt. Everest.

He has the right to mourn. Her tone was uncompromising.

Disgruntled but obedient, I nodded once in accord. My teeth ground together as Ben pressed his forehead against Mia’s then whispered something I couldn’t make out. He had to lean on Syl for support as they walked away.

Casey was next. Her back was ramrod straight, her pale blonde hair a stark contrast to her black dress. Her eyes closed, I saw Casey swallow hard several times. She finally slipped a square of folded pink paper into the satin folds of Mia’s coffin then strode away in a flourish of black skirt.

It was my turn. My feet felt leaden, but the coffin possessed a gravity that pulled me forward. The air grew dense and adopted the faint essence of swamp water, which sickened me again. When she was alive, Mia had smelled of floral perfume and sweet sunshine. This carcass held not even a fraction of that radiant warmth, therefore it couldn’t really be her.

Abuela watched me as I studied the porcelain face on the pillow. Mia didn’t appear to be sleeping; what lay before me was nothing but an empty shell. The contours of her beauty were all there, perfect to the last synthetic detail. An experimental brush of my fingertips over her right hand determined that her flesh was cold and hard, not unlike that of a mannequin.

Manic hope flared within me. This was a hoax, a bad dream, or some sort of crazy conspiracy. Mia was safe and alive somewhere; I just needed to find her.

I squeezed Mia’s hand in mine, felt the chilly meat and rigid bone, and my heart sank. Miserable obligation took over as I slipped the diamond engagement ring onto her finger.

Chapter 2

Tragedy began on the hottest autumn day of my memory. The sun beat down upon the basketball court until the pavement cooked my feet through the soles of my shoes. My teammates and I had amended our pick-up game in accordance with the weather, as it was almost too hot to breathe. Huge beads of perspiration rolled down my forehead and dripped off the end of my nose. I would have blotted my face on my tee shirt had it not already been soaked with sweat.

It was Homecoming weekend, and our small town of Clayton had always made a big deal over the event. In the nearby park, vendor booths sold cans of cold soda and iced lemonade, but our game had evolved into something of a standoff. I refused to be the first to break weak and call it quits, only to be labeled a wuss for the rest of my natural life. It was apparent despite their misery that Austin, Jorje, and Lane were of the same mindset.

Languid, Jorje dribbled the ball at the free throw line. Austin stood in front of him with his hands on his knees, his face soggy and red.

So, there we were there at the Overlook, right? Austin said, smiling and out of breath. And we were, like, the only car there for a change. So I look over at her, and she’s got her legs crossed in that little sundress, you know? I could see all the way up her thigh.

Jorje prepared to throw the ball with a deadpan expression. Dude, you’re talking about my sister.

I know that. Anyway, she had this look on her face, and I could tell that she was thinking the same thing I was thinking. Well, right about then, the roofies kicked in.

Jorje’s shot bounced off the rim of the basket onto the backboard. It sailed into Austin’s smug hands, who passed the ball to Lane. Lane slam-dunked it with a whoop of victory. Jorje cursed under his breath as Austin took his place. I moved up to block as Jorje fell back to flank the basket with Lane.

I don’t think we were capable of keeping accurate score at that point, but I was pretty sure that Jorje and I were losing. That wasn’t cool, I said as Austin dribbled. I waited until two seconds before he took his shot then said, Was it payback for all the naked pictures he took of your mom?

Austin closed his eyes in dismay as his shot missed the hoop altogether. The ball bounced along the pavement, coming to rest by the tall chain link fence that surrounded the court.

You’re wrong for that, Austin said without a trace of humor or irony. You can go get that shit, now.

It was Lane’s job, as Austin’s teammate, to retrieve his wild throws. Laughing too hard to argue that point, I jogged to the fence to retrieve the ball. I’m relatively sure that I can blame Austin for everything that went wrong in my life from that moment on.

It appeared as though the entire town milled between the vendor and carnival booths, but the bright gleam of blonde hair drew my gaze. Sylvia DeMarco never failed to capture my attention; of course, the fact that she wore an ankle-length, sequined ball