The Dead and Demised

By Roiselyn Clements

After seven long years, Desmond thinks he's found the evidence he needs to corner his brother's killer. Of course, things can only go so well when you corner a murderer on your own. One lethal drink later and Desmond finds himself in the afterlife with his brother, Ted, who is more than willing to lecture him for his dumb choices. Now with both of them as ghosts, Desmond is still determined to get revenge on their killer. The problem is, being dead means minimal interaction with the physical world. Learning how to move again is frustrating enough and picking things up is even worse. The only option is to recruit some help, from not only their sister but an unexpected source as well. As things string along, and the brothers scrape every corner they can for evidence, Desmond slowly starts to realize the amount of risks that come with vengeance, and the amount of damage. Is putting their killer in prison really worth the possibility of ruining someone else's life?

 

A story about death and revenge, and how it not only effects the people directly involved, but others in their lives as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roiselyn Clements
• Release date: Sep 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735582115

Book preview

Chapter 1—

Ifinally knew.

I finally knew who killed my brother.

I ran through the information as I swirled the ice cube in my whisky. Never liked whisky. Burned too much. But at least it settled the nerves. The club wasn’t overly crowded at this hour—far too early in the evening at seven o’ clock. This left plenty of space at the bar and even more on the dance floor. My eyes trailed along the far-too-clean black countertop. The light on the edge of the bar faded from neon blue to purple.

Seven years. It had taken seven long years to get to this point. Not that a fifteen-year-old high school student had access to any sort of actual evidence, and law school would have taken too much time. I had to settle with getting a retail job right after graduation.

Working for my prime suspect.

Almost seemed funny now, going to lengths like this to solve the murder of a person that I’d had such a strained relationship with.

I took a long sip of whisky before muttering to myself, Stop thinking about that, Desmond. Guilt has no place in here tonight—except on her shoulders.

Price Molina, daughter of the richest man in town and now the manager of her family’s clothing store in the mall. No doubt on how she got that position the cheating bitch. It certainly wasn’t her originality.

She and my brother, Ted—or Teddy, as some called him—had been at odds as long as I could remember. Not even two weeks into my first year of high school and I heard about their rivalry from every angle. Apparently, it all started when they were freshmen and he said her skirt devastated her entire outfit.

I questioned what kind of idiot would risk saying that to the richest and most popular person in school, but I knew my brother was that kind of idiot. Fashion had been his thing for years. It never used to bother me until the kids in middle school teased me about it.

Did your brother pick that outfit for you?

Hey Desmond, heard your brother was wearing a dress the other day. You wanna wear one too?

That’s what caused the monumental rift between us. When I reached high school, I avoided him like the plague. Easy enough, since he was a senior at the time, but it was harder at home.

Desmond, your hair’s a mess.

Hey Des, does this smokey-eyed look work?

Can’t I at least patch those three holes in your shirt?

I downed another sip of whisky. God damn, at this rate I’d be through the glass before Price even got here.

Ted and Price’s contests and arguments only got worse and worse during their junior year. There’d be drawing contests, fashion contests, or petty stuff like essay grades. The only time I got nervous was when I caught Price’s bodyguard giving Ted strange looks.

Yeah, bitch could afford a bodyguard. The guy wasn’t much older than her either. Wondered a lot about where he came from but was always too scared to ask.

All these contests came down to the wire with an actual runway competition. My brother had always been more for designing outfits in his sketchbook, but when it came down to it, he broke out the sewing supplies. Our younger sister, Vivian, was eager to help him. Both he and Price designed and made three outfits. Their classmates voted on which ones were the best.

I never admitted it, but even I thought his design sketches were impressive.

In the end, he won.

Two days later he was found dead.

His body was in a ditch in the empty lot behind the mall. The whole town had been falling apart for years. Places kept going out of business and being torn down with nothing to replace them. The constant drought didn’t help. Most people moved out. Small businesses just couldn’t keep up.

There hadn’t been any witnesses to his death—that we knew of—and hardly any evidence. His blood was found on a large rock, which likely caused his head injury, but based on its position everyone assumed he hit it when he fell. I had to guess they found no fingerprints.

Price was a suspect, of course, but with all her money she could afford a lawyer to keep her ass from getting convicted. There wasn’t anything solid enough to use against her. She was simply let go, not even a damn trial.

My parents were devastated. My sister went quiet. And me, the guy who decided to spend that entire year spitting insults at his brother every second he got...

It’s the biggest punch to the gut I’ve ever experienced, and that’s saying a lot considering the number of bar fights I’ve been getting into. A stupid way to blow off steam when I’m too drunk to make better decisions.

My empty whisky glass clattered when it hit the counter, the ice rolling around inside. Damn, finished it too quick. I surveyed the room to make sure Price or her bodyguard hadn’t snuck in and weren’t watching me from a distance. No one new had shown up. One older man sat at the other end of the bar, nursing a pint. A group of people were on the upper floor, leaning against the railing and talking to each other.

I pulled the ice out of the glass and chewed on it. The crunch was satisfying, but it did nothing to cool the anger forming in the back of my throat.

Not that it was anything new; this anger had been boiling under my skin for seven years. How could they just decide to call the entire thing an accident? My brother had no reason to just be casually hanging out in that abandoned lot. Someone had called him out there. I had a strong suspicion of who; I just didn’t have any damn evidence.

My anger was present in every decision I made. I barely finished it through high school, too damn distracted just by walking through the halls. Even after Price graduated, I swore could hear her and my brother arguing outside the door. I skipped out on college, too unfocused to even pick a major. Just get a job for now. Go to college later when I figure this mess out.

Get a job at the clothing store.

I’m still not sure why Price hired me. Maybe she forgot who I was or thought my pretty face would be a good seller to the ladies. I was fairly certain the only reason it was pretty was because I had to use foundation regularly to cover up the bruises from those bar fights.

I used to make fun of my brother for using makeup, yet here I was.

And damn was it hard sometimes. As if the customers weren’t bad enough. I was always forcing on a smile for the idiots asking to return an item they never kept the receipt for. Then I had to deal with Price most days, bossing me around, insisting something needed cleaning, this shirt wasn’t folded right. Oh my God bitch, shut up. Then there was her bodyguard, who must have also been the assistant manager with the amount of work he did around there. The bastard was intimidating as hell, always staring at me out of the corner of his eye. His eyes were dark, darker than his skin but not darker than his black hair. His jaw was sharp, square, and I swore I never seen him make an expression apart from apathetic gargoyle.

Worst of all, Ted’s memorial—a square foot of stone often decorated with silk flowers—sat out in the empty lot. I got to stare at it every time I left work. Never figured out why my parents allowed that, but there it was. I almost expected it to deteriorate after a few months, but my sister visited it almost every day. Any plastic flowers that faded she replaced. I’ve spoken to her about it before, but it always ends with me yelling and her covering her ears and stomping off.

Still, I stuck with my plan. I followed Price around. I refused to do anything else because what other lead did I have?

Then seven years later, I finally got my chance. Her bodyguard—damn what was his name again?—sent me to get something from her office. It seemed like a silly errand, but I went inside and shamelessly took the opportunity to snoop.

Didn’t take long to find something. Right there, on the corner of her desk covered by a stack of papers, was my brother’s sketchbook.

The one he took with him everywhere. The binding was simple and black and covered in stickers from a couple of video games he used to play. The corners were frayed, and a number of the pages had been torn out and shoved back in. I could see the brown shade on the corner from where he used to thumb through the pages, a strange nervous habit. I never used to think about all of those details, but seeing it then made all the memories come flooding back.

After he died, I couldn’t find it.

Should have known where it went.

And this was proof, right? At the very least it was a lead. How else could Price have gotten her freshly manicured fingers on it?

It was enough for me to try and make her confess. I was good at pissing people off these days. Maybe she’d slip up and flip her lid. A sketchbook wasn’t proof, but it could be enough to corner her. The police had never found it, after all. Or, at least I assumed they hadn’t. She must have been keeping it hidden for a while. It was a bit strange that it had just been laying out in the open like that, but I’d take luck when it came my way.

I took a deep breath and waved my glass at the passing bartender. Hey, could I get another one?

He nodded, taking my glass. My focus drifted back to the entrance as I idly tugged at the piercings on my ears.

There’s no way she wouldn’t show up, not with that cryptic message I’d left. Maybe pretending to know everything would make her talk about it. I pulled out my phone, checking on my recording app. Should have bought something more discreet.

The bartender put a fresh glass down in front of me. I flashed him my usual customer service smile, but he didn’t seem to buy it.

I shrugged it off and took another long sip. My heart rate was up and I needed it to slow down. Getting nervous now wouldn’t do me any good.

The door opened, the sound audible over the quiet music. The club never played it loud at this hour. I turned my head to see her standing there, hands on her hips as her bodyguard held open the door.

Bitch looked like she always did, overdressed for every occasion. I was pretty sure she wore at least two pounds of jewelry, maybe more if that golden chain on her neck was real. Her wavy blond hair hung in front of her shoulders. Her black peacoat was open, showing off her green blouse. It draped past her waist, leading to a pair of plain black leggings. Her boots, however, were anything but. I couldn’t say I knew much about shoes but working in her clothing store I could at least tell the difference between a thirty-dollar pair and a three hundred-dollar pair. The thin-heeled boots went up to her knees. Three buckles ran down the sides and one more wrapped around her ankle.

Her face might have looked nice if it wasn’t warped into a scowl. Her blue eyes were already focused on me as her thick lips pressed into a frown. Yet again, she’d gone with that pink that was way too bright for her. The beauty mark below her nose moved as she glared at me.

I just stared back in response, sipping my whisky.

She lowered her hands before she stomped across the room. The clicking of her heels gained the attention of the man at the other end of the bar. He looked like he was about to whistle in her direction, but then her bodyguard cut in between them, gaze fixed on me. Even though he wasn’t glaring, his expression was as cold as ever. No way I could get a read on him.

You know, she said when she stepped up behind me. I only came out here because I had time to kill. I’m not sure what the hell that message was about.

I shrugged and gestured to the chair. I think you do. 

This is a really backwards way of asking me on a date.

I’m glad I wasn’t drinking when she said that, or I certainly would have spat it across the room with