Mortem

By J.J. González

-I dont know, James, chaos is
-What?
-It feels like home. Somewhere deep in my mind, in my heart, I see this Death, chaos, rage, and I say: This is home.

Up until the moment he died, Edgar Blair was living a carefree life. Looking for a second chance, he sells his soul and ends up working for Death itself. While he figures out how to regain his soul, he carries out the tasks Death assigns him, fights his inner demons, and falls in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palibrio
• Release date: Feb 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781463345136

J.J. González

I've still got my life ahead of me, so there's not much to put on my bio, but I've already published my first novel, Mortem.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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-On your knees, mortal.—I coughed blood on the dark, endless floor. I screamed; the pain was too much.

-What happened?

-I will show you.

He pointed left. There was a grave with my name on it. I wanted to know what was going on. He pointed again, and a small circle appeared on the ground. In it I could see myself walking with my friend, when out of nowhere, a guy with a gun came and shot me in the chest.

-Wait, is that me? Can you undo this?

-What’s done is done, kid—He had a deep, calm voice.—It’s time for you to join your ancestors in the realm of the afterlife.

-No! It can’t be true! Please, give me another chance!

Death stared back at me. He was a slightly tall, thin but strong man in a pinstriped suit. He was Caucasian, and had a British accent. He wore a Rolex watch, and carried a small, portable scythe made of gold. He had a cold, hard look in his eyes. He stared at me for a while.

—Very well—he sighed-, you can be of value to me. I need a helper, and you have the skillset that’s necessary. You shall do the duties I could not carry out; end with those who still linger in the mortal world.

-What do you mean?

-There are ghosts, spirits. They are to be sent to the afterlife realm by your hand.

-Why don’t you do it? You’re Death! Don’t you have enough control over that kind of thing?

-I don’t have the time. You shall be the Manu Mortem. I will let you go back to the mortal realm so you may eliminate these ghosts. There’s one condition though, and it will be the hardest choice you will ever make—His eyes became pitch black, and his voice deepened even more.—You have to give me your soul.

-Wait a minute… you’re trying to rip me off, aren’t you? I’m going to end up in Hell or something.

-Au contraire, you will be honored. Imagine yourself an Aztec, for whom the greatest honor is becoming a soldier or priest. You are like a combination of both.

-Priest?

-Well, yes, you’re in touch with me. Priests are always trying to get in touch with God—He pointed at himself with his thumb as he said that last word.—You just have to give me your soul.

-It’s yours! But, I thought ghost stories weren’t true.

-Not everything you hear about ghosts is simply legend, Edgar Blair.

As he said this, I woke up. I gasped hard for air; I was in a hospital room. At my side was a small sugar skull and cempazúchitl flowers. The calendar marked November 2. Day of the dead.

My mother rushed into the room and hugged me.

-Edgar! Are you all right?—She was gasping for air.

-Don’t worry, Mom, I’m all right. Is Dad here?—The door opened.

-Son.

-Dad.

-How did you manage to survive a bullet to the chest?

-I’m not easy to take down, Dad.

-Mr. Blair—the doctor interrupted,—you were shot in the chest. The bullet barely missed your heart. You are very, very lucky to be alive.

-Yeah, lucky—I asked myself if I was dreaming. While I wondered, my doctor addressed Octavian and Felicia Blair, my parents, so they could sign the insurance papers.

-Can I get a minute to myself?—I wanted to be left alone. It couldn’t have been real. I must have dreamt it. All I could think about was going back to my mansion in L.A., and be free to go back to my MMA matches. Mixed Martial Arts, are in fact, an art, where battles are won with a combination of technique and brute strength, where the floor gets covered in blood, unlike the WWE matches, which are just acrobatic acts.

While I walked out of the room, I addressed my parents.

-Mom, Dad, I think we need to spend more time together—My father took a deep breath.

-How about this, Edgar. Give us a few months, we’re going to retire anyways. We’re barely forty years old, but we’re very tired, you know. Businesses are hard to run.

-I know, Dad. But I seriously thought I wasn’t going to see you guys again.

-Well, at least you’re back, kid—A guard from the hospital came.—Edgar, time to go.

I blacked out for a moment. I don’t really know why, but even though I’d just woken up, I felt really tired. Huh, I’m hungry. I heard a door closing, and I was in my chauffer’s car, out of the blue. The sound startled me, and I woke up.

-You know, Edgar, your parents aren’t going to let you wander alone so much now?—My chauffer, Igor, had a grin on his face, which just looked strange because of his big, crossed eyes. I just stared outside the window. It was raining hard.—Edgar, I truly am relieved that you are still alive, but you can’t go out during later hours anymore. You know that Los Angeles at midnight can be a dangerous, dangerous place.

-I guess you’re right, Igor.—The humidity from outside was too much; it was hard for me to speak. The engine revved up.—I know I’ve been reckless lately.

-I would have thought you’d have enough with the fights, son. MMA is already a thrill, why do you take it out on the street?

-You know how I get pissed off, Igor.

-Yeah, but you were on your way to be an entrepreneur, like your parents. What happened there?

-I just don’t belong in an office. I can’t take it. I wanted to earn my money, you know.—Igor stayed silent for a moment, then shrugged.

-Just… be careful.

The car was entering the mansion’s gates. The driveway is about half a mile long. I made my home a rock star haven. I love playing guitar. In the entrance stand three golden statues; Ozzy Osbourne, Slash, and Dimebag Darrell. The whole building is white from the outside. The backyard has volleyball, basketball, and tennis courts. There’s also a running track, and a gym. I also have my little beach spot, and a small dock, with a few boats, yachts, and water bikes. How’s that for a humble abode?

My butler was standing in the entrance.

-Welcome back, Edgar Blair!

The crew was there, too. They clapped, almost crying. I’d missed my home’s smell: Nature. There were a few inner gardens which gave my house its smell.

-Robert, did you water my plants?

-Yes, Mr. Blair.

-Clean the koi pond?

-Of course.

-Took care of the swamp’s temperature?

-Yes.

-Feed the gorilla?

-I even played with him for a while.

-Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my room. I’ve got some stuff to think about. If you can send me a meat lover’s pizza later, it would be awesome.

-Yes, Blair. You’re the man!

-You don’t have to speak slang, Robert. You’re British. Be British.

-Sir?—He raised a gray eyebrow. With his balding white head, mustache, and suit, he kind of looked like the monopoly guy.

-All right, you’re old, it’s fun. Carry on.

I closed the door and fell on my drum-shaped bed. In my eighteen years of life, I’d never been so worried about anything. It was as if I could see Death everywhere now.

I stared at the walls. They were full of life-sized vinyl posters of the sexiest girls in rock and metal. There was Amy Lee, Joan Jett, Hailey Williams, Avril Lavigne (when she was still a punk), and others. The ceiling was covered with Beatles and Pink Floyd posters, and the floor out of guitar picks. I ate the pizza, jumped on my bed and fell asleep.

I could see a dark figure moving in a rainforest. It was a gorilla. It was walking forward, so I followed it. I was told it was my spirit animal once, and that’s why I decided to buy one. After a few minutes of hiking through the jungle, I entered a dark place. There were a couple of red eyes glaring at me.

The rain was pounding on us, even though we were inside some sort of cave. It was getting hard to breathe. My face was being held between a couple of cold hands. Lightning flashed. My face was staring back at me, except it wasn’t me. Red eyes…

-Wake up!-Mr. Blair! Wake up, cherie!—I groaned, and a huge beam of light shone upon my face. My chest was sweating.

-Damn it, Marie! Ever heard of waking someone up with a kiss? Also, you know you can just call me Edgar.

Marie is a sweet person, actually kind of beautiful. Literally a fit, curvy French maid.

-What would you like for breakfast?

-I’ll have eggs and machacado, please.

-That’s the dry meat from Monterrey, right?

-Yeah. I’m gonna take a shower.

After I finished, I went into the closet. It’s huge: you can almost get lost in it. I grabbed some dark blue jeans, a black shirt with red skulls and mist, and black boots. Today was the day.

-Edgar! Man, you had me worried!

It was James Cavalera.—I was relieved to see him. He’s like a brother to me.

-Sorry, I guess?—I chuckled.—Where’s Max?

-Hey, bub!

-Any good fights lately?

-Nah, man, I’ve been worried for you.

-Maximus Alexander, worried?

-Only for you, bro.

-What’s up? I heard you took down the shooter?

-Yup. I knocked him out before he could do more harm. He’s eating through a straw, now.

-Good, he got what he deserved.

-Yeah. Hey, we have to get going, the matches start in an hour.

-Oh yeah! Let’s go.

We climbed in my Mustang. This onewas unique; it had 650 horsepower, black with red stripes, and chrome tires. It also had one of the best speaker systems in the world, Sasha W/P’s that were edited to be placed in the car. We hurried to Glendale Arena, where there were going to be a few legendary fights.

-All right guys, so we’re going to see Georges St. Pierre vs. Frankie Edgar, then Mauricio Shogun Rua vs. Forrest Griffin. After these, the Pitbull Andrei Arlovski, vs. Frank Mir. The Fight of The Night, better known as the fight of the century, is Brock Lesnar, vs. Fedor Emelianenko.

Max was the most hyped of us all.

-Do we bet anything, man?

-No, Maximus. They barely let us drink beers, and that’s because they can’t stop us. I wouldn’t push it with betting. In three years, we’ll be free to do it.

We got to our seats. There, next to us was Hong-Man Choi, a huge fighter, over seven feet tall. He made all of us look like kids next to a basketball player. We didn’t really mind, but damn it, he was intimidating as hell. I simply looked at James and raised my eyebrows with a slight frown.

The cheering was loud, the place smelled of beer and piss and sweat, and everybody was hyped. This is what I love about MMA. The raw feeling of it.

The first fight started (!). St. Pierre won in a heartbeat. He landed the best Superman Punch I had seen in my entire life. Shogun Rua beat Griffin with a choke hold. Arlovski’s fight was longer, it took a lot of effort from both of them, but Andrei finally won landing a well-placed kick to Frank Mir’s Jaw.

-Hell yeah! Max, James, here it comes!—Although James wasn’t as pumped up as we were, he was pretty excited too.

-Last emperor, man!

Max looked like he drank a liter of Red Bull. He was booing when he saw Brock, and cheered for Fedor. He screamed stuff like Break his jaw, emperor! Paint the floor with his blood! Crush him! I was surprised; Lesnar was huge in person.

Emelianenko, the Last Emperor, entered next, emotionless. The bell rang, and we went deaf. Everybody cheered for Lesnar. Ha, Brock didn’t even know what hit him. He ran for Fedor, and tried to ground and pound. Emelianenko moved out of the way, and flipped his rival over.

Fedor then did what any good Russian would do: the Flying Scissor takedown. He punched Brock in the face, and circled him fast enough to grab his shoulder, jump, place a leg over and in front of Brock, and the other in the back, and hold. Lesnar couldn’t get out of the hold, so Emelianenko won the fight. That shut the Brock fans up.

When we arrived to my house, I saw mist emerge from the ground. I was getting used to it, but James and Max were still afraid.

-I’m Death’s messenger.

-Wait, so this was real?

-Yes. I will prepare you.

-Prepare me for what?—My friends could see him too, they were confused. The short, fat, balding man, also in a suit, seemed very busy. He was carrying a suitcase and had a strong Bronx accent.

-Let’s go in.

We went inside the house, and I explained everything to James and Max. They couldn’t believe it.

-All right Blair, listen up, kid. You’ll take your friends with you on your quest to eliminate ghosts. There are also shadows, but those are harder to find. If you find one, you’ll have to defend yourself, so I’ll provide you with special weapons so you can kick their asses if needed.

"If anyone decides to join your quest, then call me, and you’ll get a kit for them—He opened a briefcase.—These are all ectoplasmic. For you, Edgar, spiked knuckles, a sabre-styled sword, and a triple-barreled shotgun. The shotgun only works against ghosts, and can run out of ammunition. Your friends will each get a sword and a revolver. If you run out of ammo, call me, and I will deliver it as soon as I can. Just in case, you can use normal ammunitions, but they’re not as effective as these babies.

He gave us the briefcase, and before disappearing, sighed, and said:

-You shall now wear death’s marks, which shall give you some enhancements. Use them well.

My shirt disappeared into mist and I screamed; the pain was agonizing. My arms were being tattooed with chains made of skulls. A giant one appeared on my back. My legs and arms became stronger. There was also a heart marked on my chest, with a chain to the back of my head, representing the link of the mind and soul. I heard Death say:

-There’s a way to lift the curse, but I won’t tell you how.

My friends also got some marks. Their muscles also grew, slightly.

-This will identify them as your helpers. Now, be careful, because spirits can hurt you and others. The shadows are very strong, so beware. Use your weapons well.

I analyzed the weapons and told him:

-But wait. These guns are old. Can’t you give us real firearms?

He snapped his fingers, and they became modern. The guy disappeared and left a bit of gray mist behind; which sounded like a fart. Max chuckled.

-Whoa man, that was awesome!—Cavalera sounded particularly excited—What now?

-We train. You will practice sword fighting, self-defense, weapons training. Max and I have defense covered, so we’re going to learn to use the weapons.

Indeed, Max and I were great in hand-to-hand combat. I could kill with my fists. Alexander was great with locks and holds. Since he’s bigger, it’s also easy for him to lift you or pin you down.

A couple of months had passed already.

-Guys, I’ve thought of a few places to start with our ghost hunting, and I decided Monterrey would be a good choice. There’s a place called La casa de los tubos, where a little girl supposedly died while they were building it.

-So, why Monterrey?—Max was puzzled. He rarely finds anything Mexican that interesting.

-Well, that’s a good question. I just wanted to visit here first, you know, come back to my roots for a little while, before we go away, because it’s going to be a long trip.

-So, it’s not dangerous, then?—James seemed worried.

-No, man. It’s just a little girl. Let’s get going!

We went into on my private jet. Max was always skeptical of personal belongings (He used to be a Buddhist, until Death appeared, which sort of disproves other religions).

-Edgar, why the hell do you have a bar, televisions, computers, videogames, a cook, and a goddamned Jacuzzi in your plane?

-Because it’s awesome, man.

When we arrived at Monterrey, I called for a cab to take us to the house.

-All right. So, we have our weapons, and I managed to get us real guns, just in case. Do not panic if you see anything.

Monterrey’s become a dangerous place, though, that’s why if you need to defend yourselves from live people, don’t hesitate.

When we stepped out of the car, the hot breeze blew into our faces, burning them slightly. Monterrey’s a hot place, which can get to forty degrees Celsius (Which is about one hundred Fahrenheit). The humidity also made sweating a lot more horrible than it should be.

A cop was patrolling outside of the house.

-¿Qué hacen aquí?

-Vinimos a ver la casa.

I can speak Spanish because my mother’s Mexican. She was born to American parents, but they were working here, so she grew up in Monterrey. The cop was asking about our business, but still looked skeptical.

-La muerte me mando a una misión.

-No te creo.

Max approached me.

-What’d he say?

-He doesn’t believe us. I told him Death sent us on a mission.—You have to admit that it doesn’t make sense to somebody that’s out of context.

He was getting freaked out and was reaching for his handgun, probably thinking we belonged to a gang and certainly not believing our story. I heard a voice say Touch his forehead, which I did. He then told us to carry on.

-Edgar?

-What’s up, James?

-It’s dark in here. I feel we’re not alone, but I don’t think it’s a spirit.

-I feel it too. I smell something like smoke.

-Did somebody build a fire?

-Maybe.

A man appeared out of the blue, carrying a large knife. He ran to me, with a bewildered look in his eyes, shouting Muere! Before he reached me, I took out the sword and lunged it through his chest. I took it out, and cleaned it with a cloth while he fell on his knees. How did you know you had to kill him?

-Max, take him to the cop.

-Yeah. Hey, don’t you hear a girl crying?

-Now that you mention it, I do.

We looked around, and I heard a voice in my head. Play heavy metal. I took out my iPad, and played some slayer. James shook.

-Didn’t you feel a chill, man?

-Yeah. Weird. I can’t hear the music anymore. Takes care of the heat problem, though, I can’t take it anymore—I flapped my shirt a bit to let the cool air in.—Max, can you hear anything?

-My ears feel muffled, man. Hey, over there!

He pointed to a small girl, who was sitting down. Her legs were bent in a strange fashion. I went to her, and spoke to her in Spanish:

-Hey, what are you still doing here? You know, you’re not supposed to be here.

-Quiero mi silla de ruedas—She looked up.

-Holy shit! What happened to your eyes?

Although she had a beautiful face, her eye sockets were empty. The story says that she was paraplegic. She wanted her wheelchair, and pointed toward the piece of land in front of the building. Max took a deep breath.

-I’ll go get it.

I helped him drop down. He rolled on the ground and grabbed the wheelchair. When all seemed well, he screamed.

-Edgar! What the hell is this?

I looked down and saw that some bones fashioned themselves into bodies.

-Just kill them!

He took out his sword, and decapitated the first one. It simply fought on. He kicked another one, which fell into pieces. He threw the wheelchair to me, and I gave it to the little girl. Ayudame. I sat her on the wheelchair. She felt cold, and slimy, and was even dripping a bit of bright, white ectoplasm, but she didn’t slide down. Meanwhile Max didn’t stop fighting.

The Grim Reaper appeared, and opened a portal with his scythe. He then kicked the chair with her into the portal. After he did this, the workers’ bones fell into pieces. Max ran to us.

-What the hell was that for?

-They guarded her.

-Help me up!

He ran, and jumped to the wall. He stepped up, but was going to fall again. I ran and took his hand, just on time. James came and we pulled him up.

-Well guys, you were great tonight. There’s a bunch of cool restaurants here, I think we should go to Las Alitas, it’s this place they told me about in the airport.—We grabbed a cab and were taken to the place. It was great. I took some bottles of buffalo sauce for the road.

At the Camino Real hotel, we brainstormed.

-All right. Max, James, we need to think. Where can we find more ghosts?

-I’ll decide that for you.—I turned around to see the blonde man in the suit sitting on the bar.

-And how will we know where you want us to go?

-Your pilot will be informed.

We went to sleep. The next day, when we went into the jet, the pilot said:

-All right guys, our next location is: La casa de los Perros, Jalisco.

-You know, that place has an interesting story. The owners were on a trip to Europe, and their boat was going to crash in the Atlantic. They decided to make a pact, in which the survivor would pray the rosary nine times every year. They all survived, but no one prayed—Max and James listened, interested.

-A few months later, Jesus died, and Ana, his widow, remarried. An evil spirit was apparently appearing there. The house was then going to be given to him who could pray the rosary nine times in it. Many people tried, and couldn’t finish the challenge. Some were afraid, others couldn’t, because some force killed them just before they finished.

The jet landed.

-Be ready for anything, because we might not be facing a mere girl now.

We immediately made our way to the building.

—Right now the place is a newspaper museum, in a way making it have no real owner. Whoever owned the house was bothered by a poltergeist.

We went inside, and everybody just stared at us; three guys with swords and guns.

-Tough crowd, huh?

-Well, Max, it’s not every day you see guys with guns now, is it?

-Shut up, James.

-Guys, quit it.—We took some speakers out, and played a bit of Sepultura. Then, in the middle of the room, two shadows appeared.

-What the hell are those?

-I don’t know, Max, but I don’t think they’re going to answer.

They were faceless, and they weren’t mist; they seemed solid, unlike white ghosts. Some black smoke did emerge from them, but more like if they had been burned recently, like humanoid pieces of coal. The smell of sulfur filled the air.

-All right guys, cock your guns!

The bigger one of the shadows jumped on a glass counter, while the other one ran to the wall. Max tried shooting him down, with the bullets actually breaking through glass and other objects, but not harming living people at all. They just vanished when they touched anything alive.

-You’re supposed to hit the shadow, Max!

Damn it, James, I know! I shot the one on the counter, which exploded into a cloud of smoke, and emerged from another side. That one ran toward me; it was too fast. Before I could react, he hit me in the chest, and pushed me all the way to the wall, and struck me against it.

-Shit!—The other one assaulted James. He was sent flying with a punch, and was knocked unconscious. Apparently, I was as strong as the apparitions. I kicked the shadow in the chest, then took the sword out and cut off his head.

He was now damned. He vanished into the air in a black mist. Max fought the other specter, but was also taken down. I reacted, and ran. I heard Max scream, with a deeper voice than usual, and realized the world slowed down.

I punched the shadow in its face. While it was twisted, I pulled its legs. I impaled it in the chest with the sword. It also turned to mist, eternally damned. A red portal opened on the ceiling. I could see Hell itself in it. The mist entered, and the portal closed. I walked to my small entourage.

We went to a bar, where I told them about the portal.

-Whoa, man, wait. You saw hell?—Max felt chills with the mere thought.

-Yeah, it was weird. Everybody was burnt, like Freddy Krueger. There were other things that were a bit more on the macabre side.

We went to a Sheraton hotel, after doing a little sightseeing around town. My iPad now said Cerro de San Miguel, Penjamo. Death was giving us a small Mexican tour. We got to the airplane.

-All right guys, this is