Murder by Love

By Marc McCall

Following the end of a romantic relationship, Lace is miserable and without hope. Longing to love but unable to make love stay, he turns his back on the most important of human emotions. Little does he know that a dark spirit waits in the shadows; through Laces bitterness, the dark spirit finds power. Soon, it makes itself known to Lace, who is unable to reject the temptation.

The spirits name is Gormant, and he makes Lace a tempting offer. Lace must die to make it happen, but Gormant claims death is the easy part. As a spirit, Lace will be given limitless power to seek revenge on his enemies and on the women who once broke his heart. Thirsty for payback, Lace agrees to Gormants terms, and the bloodbath begins.

Only too late does Lace discover theres a human who truly loves him. By the time he learns of her feelings, though, Lace is too far under Gormants influence to escape. Servant must battle master in order to stop a murderous rampage that will threaten the woman Lace now loves. Lace thought his humanity was gone, but by clinging to the love of a living, breathing woman, his lingering human feelings might be his greatest weapon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475934106

Marc McCall

Marc McCall, a United States Navy veteran, was born and raised in Queens, New York. He is a field engineer who takes pleasure in writing and spending time with his dog. He currently lives in Virginia, where he is at work on his next novel.

Book preview

MURDER

by

Love

MARC MCCALL

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Murder by Love

Copyright © 2012 by Marc McCall

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-3408-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3409-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3410-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912070

iUniverse rev. date: 7/18/2012

Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

LIFE HAS NO MEANING FOR ME; I AM NEITHER SICK, NOR DEAF, NOR BLIND, THOUGH THE DEAD FEAST ON MY SIGHTLESS, DYING, UNHEARD SOUL.

I

THE AIR WAS STILL and crisp on this March night, chilling the ground. It seemed as if the leaves on the trees and the bushes that lined the streets of Queens, New York, released iced oxygen that clung to the green globe. Night creatures were surprisingly quiet, as if something—some kind of weird event—was coming. As the sun slowly rose, its rays covered the East Coast, warming up the ground and waking the land. Some of these warm, embracing rays entered Lace’s bedroom with little knowledge of its crime, unaware that their gentle presence upon his face was a sign of a new dawn and another day full of painful experiences.

The five-foot-ten-inch-tall, 155-pound man woke up slowly. His eyes, once opened, were blinded by the sunlight that broke into his lair, and he sluggishly began to focus. He did not toss nor turn. At only twenty-three years old, Lace just lay there, wondering about life—another day, another miserable day.

Without turning his body or much thought, he rolled his head to the left to see the same everyday scene—the windows revealing the outside world—a painful thought. Then he rolled his head to the right, knowing that Pepper would be there. Pepper was a large white-and-gray male Siberian husky. Lace had had Pepper since the big dog was a puppy, and the bond that had grown between them over the years made Lace feel as if the two depended on each other.

When Lace was a youth, his parents had never given him any trouble about Pepper sleeping with Lace; as Lace was an only child, his parents had understood the connection between the boy and the dog.

Lace gazed at Pepper’s snout for a while, and suddenly, the dog’s eyes opened wide. Just before Lace could take his next breath, Pepper released his long, wet, slimy tongue across his beloved owner’s face. To Lace, these unceasing, warm licks were the sign that it was time to wake up. Stretching and yawning, he dragged himself to the bathroom to begin his day. The bathroom mirror was unforgiving, revealing every detail of his image—jet-black, short hair; slanted eyes, as if a Japanese artist had painted them; high cheekbones that indicated that he was definitely mixed with Cherokee; and a light complexion with a touch of pecan tan. He returned to the bedroom after brushing and washing up briefly, to see Pepper still there, in the same position and spot as earlier.

As he started to dress, the three walls turned their backs. The fourth one watched with its two checkered-shaped glass eyes, examining the contours of his body in the light streaming from the outside. The furniture in Lace’s room—a six-drawer dresser and an armoire—was made of solid, petrified wood. Each drawer held a touch lamp, each lamp faulty in design which reflected his tortured, empty heart. Marbles lay strewn across the dresser, balls of cold glass like playing cards without faces or dice without dots. His bed was akin to an extra-large coffin, praying for him never to rise cursing the sun. And the mirror, especially the mirror, was an instrument of torture, revealing his sorrow rather than his image; it showed not Lace’s complexion but his inner pain.

Looking at himself in the mirror always made Lace realize how desolate life was without a special person to share it with. Lace lived to love, though he could never find someone worthy of his feelings. He believed that, in his past life, he and Cupid had been like Cain and Abel, brothers, one jealous of the other. Yet, both were destined to supply love with magical arrows throughout the world. Somewhere down the line, Cupid must have made Lace mortal, and now he was quenching his jealous thirst.

In reality, Lace never had a problem finding love; his predicament was that of most people in the world—he was afraid of love. A hidden agenda lurked inside him, though, a result of the past he could not let go of. Although he never stopped trying to forget the lady he loved, she did not seem ready to leave his mind.

Walking toward the bed, Lace saw a poem she had written for him, and his eyes brimmed with tears. The day she read it to him was still vivid in his memory.

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It was January 14, around 3:00 p.m. The snow was falling hard, and the wind was blowing in all directions; he was at home alone and, as usual, playing video games when the phone rang. It was her, Leticia; she told him that she had to come see him right away. When Lace hung up, all he could think of was that she might be pregnant. The thought of becoming a father made him scared but also very excited. When she arrived, however, what she told him put him in a more frantic state than he’d ever imagined.

Lace could still see her sitting on his bed, with her schoolgirl smile, teeth sparkling white, and hazel eyes watching his every reaction. She said that she had realized after the first time they made love that she was falling in love with him. Although she’d tried to fight it, her feelings for him had grown and she’d decided to write him a poem, expressing how she felt. The poem read as follows:

You and I,

Together, that thought is in my mind;

Love is at the top of the mountain, and already I begin to climb.

Being with you is my rope, and with that I refuse to stop;

It may take months or even years, but eventually I’ll reach the top.

Strange things have happened to me,

Like my hands, they are warm all day; ever since you held them,

The heat won’t go away.

No longer do I have control of what I hear or see,

Even as I write this, you stand there before me.

Please, whenever you need me, just one text, and I’ll be there;

If tears fall down your face for any reason, let me know, because I care.

Someone past the clouds, who’s flying, soaring through the sky

Gave me an arrow in my dreams last night,

And it read, You and I.

After reading the poem, she held his hand and whispered, I love you.

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Every morning, he went through this—this torture people call love, this love people crave. Well, he was finally tired of it, just tired. Looking at the poem, he wanted to rip it up, but he was too foolish and too weak of heart, so it remained intact—a reminder of how things used to be and a prayer for how they could be again.

Pepper started to walk around in circles, sniffing and pouting. The dog barked loudly.

As Lace walked down the stairs toward the kitchen, he heard a voice call to him, Lay-cee.

He paused for a moment to listen but heard nothing. Instead, he opened the refrigerator to find it clogged with food—from breakfast treats to midnight snacks. He grabbed the orange juice, an apple, and a banana for breakfast. He could hear his canine companion hurtling his way down the stairs, and before he could close the refrigerator, Pepper was sitting beside him, knowing it was time to eat. Lace got Pepper’s bowl out and scooped out the dog food, which Pepper quickly demolished as soon as it was placed in front of him.

Breakfast was always the most important meal of the day for Lace. On weekdays, he never had enough time to make a well-balanced meal, so he always made sure to start the day with a juice and some fruit and then pick up something at work. Having silenced the growl in his stomach and quenched his thirst, he remembered that he had to wash his clothes. Most of them were dirty, and since everyone in the house had to wash his or her own clothes, he had to find a time when the washer and dryer were free.

You see, Lace had his own home. He’d started renting out the basement after his parents had passed away, leaving him all their possessions. Lace’s parents had to be the most understanding, the most considerate, and the most loving couple in the universe. Thus, what happened to them had to be the most tragic way people could die.

The family had been driving home one night, coming from a choir meeting, and had decided to stop at the store. A group of five college coeds who were also enjoying the night and had been out drinking heavily just so happened to pull into the same store. Lace’s father, an attractive man, entered the store alongside two of the young women. The girls flirted, innocently at first. But their flirtation turned quickly to aggressive passes.

Ignoring the girls’ sexual advances, Lace’s father politely informed the young women that his wife was in the car and that he was very happily married.

One of the girls took this rejection as a serious insult and decided to do something about it. She decided she would seek revenge on this man who had ignored them and convinced her friends to go along. Once Lace’s father entered the car and drove away, the drunken women followed, driving recklessly. They swerved and darted across the road, veering close to the car and screaming and cursing like sailors. They had only intended to scare the hell out of the passengers, but the wheel slipped and the two vehicles collided. Lace’s dad lost control of the dark-blue, all-terrain vehicle he was driving, and the car tumbled over a steep hill, crashing into the gully at the bottom. Lace’s parents died on impact.

The girls had also survived, with nothing but bad hangovers. And the fact that the young women had apologized to the seventeen-year-old boy during the trial had done little to console him in his grief.

Lace’s parents had left him not only the house but real estate all over Virginia, Georgia, and Arizona. Lace had rented out his basement to help out a friend, or maybe it was to help silence his loneliness. Lace’s close friend, Ron, and Ron’s girlfriend, Gina, lived in the basement.

Still, Lace’s cousin, Kevin, was the only one Lace really trusted, besides Pepper, and Kevin was the one with the extra key to the upper part of the home, allowing him to come and go as he pleased.

Lace enjoyed his second glass of juice. He wanted to go in the basement and place his clothes on the washing machine, knowing that Gina would wash them for him, but he was hesitant about going downstairs. He didn’t want to wake Gina or Ron up. Still, he needed some clean clothes to wear and was keen to at least see if there were any clothes already in the machine.

Creeping downstairs empty-handed past the couple’s room, he could hear their bed rocking, banging against the wall. He could imagine Gina’s nails scraping down Ron’s back, ripping through his flesh and causing him to pounce harder. Their heavy breathing and moaning gave him a head rush of frantic images. He closed his eyes, and his mind went back to the time when he and Leticia had been boning like that.

Quick flashes of Leticia went through his mind like a cool breeze—places, positions, the noise, and the unbearable lust they’d had for each other. He thought of the games they’d played, the sex toys they’d had, and especially the S and M they’d both desired from one another.

As the sexual illusion floated away replaced by reality, his eyes inched open and Gina and Ron’s bedroom door slowly came into view. With a huge bulge pushing from his pants, he realized where he was and rushed back upstairs to the kitchen.

As he darted to the table, Pepper sprouted up to see what the hell was going on and then just stared at his owner. Lace glanced at the stove, thinking of Leticia. Then he heard footsteps coming upstairs.

Yo, Lace, that you?

Lace didn’t answer Ron.

Pepper shifted his muzzle toward the basement.

Yo, Lace, Ron greeted again.

From the basement, he could hear Gina calling, Who was it hon? Was it Lace?

I don’t know who the fuck it—

Yeah, it was me, Lace said, cutting him off.

Yeah, it was him, Ron yelled to Gina, walking into the kitchen with just a pair of shorts on.

Ron stood about five foot ten and weighed 170 pounds. He was dark-skinned, sported braided hair, and had very dark features. A huge scar raced across his face, as a reminder of the time when he’d fallen off an aircraft while cleaning the windscreen back in his military days before he got kicked out.

After hoeing around and having meaningless sex, he’d finally decided to settle down, and Gina was there. Gina was pecan-brown, about five eight, and weighed around 160 pounds. She had a Georgia accent and a Coke-bottle body to match it. She was twenty-two years old and very, very independent. Her face was an emblem of perfection—no blemishes, no scars or scrapes. And she had great mannerisms to match; just by talking to her you could tell that two very loving, strong parents had brought her up. She didn’t have one evil bone in her body; instead, she had a great sense a humor, spoke her mind in a very smooth way, and was carrying a little papoose in her.

Gina and Ron had met at a department store; they had been dating for a few years when they decided to live together. Lace had convinced them to live in his basement. He’d told them he wanted them there so he could have extra money to pay bills, but he really wanted to keep that heavy ball and chain called loneliness from becoming a permanent fixture around his ankle.

Lace’s basement was astonishing, providing ample space for Ron and Gina to live comfortably. It was the size of two bedrooms, easily accommodating a queen-size bed, a thirty-six-inch color television, and three hardwood oak desks, and it had plenty of closet space. The room was coated from floor to floor with plush, blue carpet and had a full bathroom down the hall.

What’s up, nigger? Ron said, sitting across the table from Lace.

Nothing, Lace answered, relaxing, getting ready to go to work.

What was all that noise? he asked, staring at Lace and waiting for a reaction. You fall down the stairs or something?

Or something, Lace replied in a soft tone, licking his lips in the daze, still haunted by memories of Leticia.

Morning, Lace, Gina yelled from downstairs. Ron, come back down; you are not finished!

Got to go, got a job to finish. Ron grinned and headed toward the basement.

Damn, Ron, Lace said. His friend’s back had a number of welts and scratches on it, as if he’d slept with a cat. Look at all those scratches on your back. What’s up with that?

I like scratches, Ron replied, shrugging it off and hurrying back downstairs.

Lace recalled times for him like that, the good old days when Leticia’s ass was grand. Deep in thought and with a huge grin on his face, he just let out a cool sigh.

Lace looked at the clock above the refrigerator and saw that it was almost 8:30, the time Keith usually picked him up. Keith and Lace worked at the Glass Draft, a company that made beautiful glass designs. Lace had gotten a job there first and had brought Keith in about two years ago. Keith was twenty-one, about five foot eight, 155 pounds, and dark-skinned. Originally from Trinidad, he had lived all around the United States. Keith was the type of guy who had a different girlfriend every week, claiming to love each and every one of them.

Lace always waited for his friend, only presently he felt anxious to see him, so he could get away from home.

As Lace waited for Keith, the phone rang.

Hello, Lace answered, noticing Pepper sniffing at the back door and scratching on it.

Hold on a second, Lace said, dropping the phone on the couch even before he could find out who was calling. He got up and opened the back door. Here you go, Pepper!

Pepper immediately charged out.

Lace walked back to the phone. Hello, he greeted the caller a second time.

Hello, Lace, is it you? the voice said.

Yeah, this is Lace, he said. Who’s calling?

This is Jerry, the voice on the other side replied.

Jerry from North Carolina? Lace asked.

Yeah, what’s up, man? he said. When are you coming to North Carolina again?

I don’t know. Why? What’s up? Lace replied, worrying that Jerry was in some sort of trouble, which would not surprise him, given that Jerry was the type of person trouble just followed. Back in the days in school when Lace had lived down there, the number of times he’d saved Jerry from fights and gotten him out of trouble with the faculty was unbelievable.

Jerry was now around twenty-two. He was five foot nine and weighed 165 pounds. He was brown-skinned; had dark, brown eyes; and kept a short haircut.

Nothing, Jerry replied. I just wanted you to see my wife and kid.

You are married? Lace exclaimed in surprise. He couldn’t believe that some girl had finally captured Jerry and decided to settle down with him; knowing his old classmate’s reputation, Lace could not believe it. She was probably not local, but Lace chose not to ask that question.

Wife and a kid, huh? When did this happen? he asked instead.

When you went back to New York, Jerry replied. She hasn’t had the baby yet, but she’s six months pregnant.

Who is she? Lace asked.

Her name is Darlene, and she is fine as the sunshine, Jerry said proudly. Pussy was so good, I had to marry her.

Lace only knew some minor details about Darlene, gathered through rare occasions when Jerry used to talk about her. He remembered that she had nice hair, a fat ass supposedly, and was gorgeous, but then again, Jerry never had good taste when it came to women.

When did you marry her? Lace asked in a harsh voice, hurt at the fact that he hadn’t been invited to the wedding. In that quick instinct before Jerry could even speak, Lace had already accused him of betrayal, dishonesty, and not being a friend.

I didn’t, Jerry replied. We’re getting married in two weeks.

Oh, that’s good, Lace said, glad that his friend had not forgotten to invite him.

So you’re coming down, right? Jerry asked.

Yeah, of course, I’ll be there, Lace said.

Cool, and bring your girl. Oh, I forgot, she dumped your sorry ass! Jerry said, laughing.

As Jerry spoke those words, Lace’s face dropped to the floor and his mind flashed back to when Leticia has directed those exact same words at him.

It was his last night with Leticia.

Leticia had invited a friend over to the house. Not in a mood for company, Lace had gone upstairs. When he’d come down a few seconds later, he’d seen Leticia grabbing the man’s hand and placing it on her breast. This is my motherfucking body, she’d chanted when he’d expressed his outrage.

Lace had been furious; he had done the only thing any strong man would do—he’d kicked both of them the fuck out.

Leticia had stood at the door, holding on to her new friend and singing Sorry Ass Nigger as the door slammed behind them.

Lace was brought back from his torturous reminiscing by Jerry’s voice. Na, I’m just playing; you’re over her, right?

Lace just couldn’t answer.

Damn, nigger! Jerry yelled. It’s been eight weeks; the shit is over. Get over it!

It was so easy, Lace thought, for Jerry to say get over it; he didn’t realize that, to Lace, Leticia was everything. She was his mother, lover, best friend, sister, everything.

Yo, I’ll see you when you get down here all right. Jerry was totally disgusted with Lace; he had really wanted to talk about old times, but now he just wanted to hang up.

All right, Lace said.

Chill, man, Jerry said as he hung up the phone.

Lace knew that Jerry was right; it was time for him to get over Leticia. But he just couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Knowing that Keith would be here to pick him up soon, he decided to sit outside and wait. He walked toward the front door and then decided to get another glass of orange juice for the trip. As he walked back into the kitchen, he noticed something that he hated. The kitchen garbage was overflowing; Lace remembered how overflowing garbage had driven his mother crazy. Grabbing the bag, he quickly knotted the top up and went out through the side door to leave it in the backyard. Before walking to the front of the house, he locked the side door