Dead on Time: Death Dealers

By Mason Sabre and Rachel Morton

Eighteen months—Eighteen girls. Only this time, Amy Sorokov has a chance of finding the latest victim.

The papers have called him the Calendar killer. Amy has deemed him her most wanted. So what does she do when she's hit a brick wall, and the clock begins ticking over a young girl's head? She calls in the only man she knows will hunt the killer down.

Ethan Stone--supernatural bounty hunter, soul seeker and mercenary to the underworld. He's got one heck of an ability, and if his sights are set on you, you better make sure you can run ... fast.

He might just take your soul.

Ethan Stone's story is a short introduction into the world of the Death Dealers, an Urban Fantasy Story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mason Sabre
• Release date: Feb 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393078746

Book preview

Chapter One

Amy stared at me as I stared down at the body. I hoped she wasn't looking for a reaction, as she sure as hell wasn't going to get one. I was past the shocked gasps and wide-eyed moments now when I came face to face with death. I wasn't heartless. There was a dead eighteen-year-old girl under the blanket, and it was sad, but I'd seen enough dead bodies in my life, what was another?

The first body I ever saw was an old man. He'd been sitting outside the local supermarket, paper on his lap, hand on his cane like he'd died taking a pause from reading. He must have been over ninety, in his late eighties at best. He'd had a good life, though. Didn't have any regrets. Had married, raised three daughters and seen them all spread their wings, grow up and have their own babies. The only thing he'd wished he'd done was spent more time dancing. Gwen always loved dancing. At least he said so after he'd died.

But this body, all I could say was thank God it wasn't a child, or worse … a dog. Definitely not a dog.

Not with their big soppy eyes, floppy ears and the looks of confusion on their miserable faces. How do you tell a dog it has died and expect it to pass onto the other side when it is sitting there, staring up at you as if you're about to fish treats out of your pocket? How do you get it to understand if it doesn't cross over soon, it's going to turn into something fresh out of hell?

Give me a dead person any day.

The sheet in front of me was pulled over the girl's face, hiding her deadness from the world. Who knows why we cover them? Especially in places like this, the morgue. I mean, they're dead. They don't care. It isn't like they're getting cold. And this girl was tagged and bagged and ready to go.

When I'm dead, I hope no one bothers with all this. No cutting me open, no splaying me out on a table and poking at my insides. Toss me into the woods, walk away and leave me to rot.

What's her name? I asked as I tore off the wrapper from the protein bar I'd been dying to eat since I got Amy's call. I took a bite. Soft, chewy, a little too sweet for my liking.

Ashley ... Amy paused, and I could guess from the look she gave me, she was about to say something about my dietary choices.

What? I asked and stuffed another bite into my mouth. The advert said these things tasted like the real fruit. To me, they tasted like cardboard shit.

Are you going to stand there and eat while we do this?

I paused, mouth open, hand halfway to my mouth to deliver another offering. I motioned at the dead girl. She's doesn't care.

Amy Sokolov, human, detective with the local office, attractive, married and lumbered with one offspring, stood at the other side of the body, hand on her hip. It doesn't bother you?

Hunger bothers me.

And it couldn't wait?

For what? You want to drag me out here when I am sitting down to dinner, you have to deal with me bringing dinner with me.

That is not dinner. She pointed at what was left of the bar.

No. You're right. I reached behind me, pulled out a second bar and tossed it onto the covered torso of the girl's corpse. Now it's dinner.

She narrowed her eyes at me. I have no idea how you're not … She paused, probably looking for the word she wanted to say, so I said it for her.

Dead? We both glanced down when I said the word. There was a certain reminder when the word dead was said, even more so when the two people talking about it were standing with the body of a girl between them, covered in a sheet or not.

I'm eating. I don't think it's a problem for her. She doesn't want any, and given the circumstances, I don't think she cares. I could have asked her if she cared. She was standing right behind Amy, but it might have freaked Amy out. There was one thing Amy knowing what I could do, what I am, but another thing entirely to throw it at her.

I popped the last of the bar into my mouth, repocketed the other one and pulled back the sheet. Amy took a breath; I did not. She's young.

Eighteen.

Eighteen? Is it related?

No. We don't think so. Hampson says it's a coincidence.

Hampson was Amy's partner. Nice guy. A little wet behind the ears, but he did okay. He looked out for Amy. I couldn't ask for more.

Eighteen years old. We both stayed silent for a moment, letting the misery of her age hang in the air. I'm not sure what it is when a young person is killed, but it creates this kind of pull inside, an unwarranted sorrow at the pit of my stomach. In reality, this girl could have grown up and become the next Mira Hindley, luring kids to the Moors to be murdered, and whoever did this, saved the lives of her future victims, or she could have grown up and been the one to cure cancer. I guess we always favour on the positive side of these things and believe her life would have meant something.

It looks like she went fifty rounds with a heavyweight champion and asked for seconds, I said. The girl was nothing short of pulverised. There were no other words I could use to describe it. Her face was smashed in, her skull sunk at one side. Maybe she had been pale in her living world, but now she was a mixture of black, blue and purple.

There's no part of her he hasn't marked, Amy said. Fucking arsehole even smashed her teeth in.

Seriously? I popped a finger into her mouth, pulled her lower jaw down. He pulled some out too?

Yep. Some finger and toenails too. Amy tilted Ashley's head to the side to show me the torn ear. She'd been wearing earrings we guess. He's yanked them right out. I know it's been a few weeks and she's been on ice but do you … Amy screwed up her face, bit her lip. A strange sight from Amy. She usually came right out with it. Will she talk to you?

It was only a quick glance, something automatic I didn't mean to do. But I flicked my gaze behind Amy, and she saw it.

She's here, isn't she? You can see her now? Amy looked behind her as if she expected to see Ashley standing with her.

She's here, I said. I don't know how much I'll get for you. She's fading.

Can you at least try? It's the only chance we have. We don't have anything else.

How long have we got?

Amy looked down at her watch. Maybe thirty minutes? I told Harper I needed to go over the body again and wanted to do it in private.

She believed you?

Doubt it, but she left anyway. So, can you?

When I said Ashley was standing behind Amy, I meant it. Amy couldn't see her, nor could anyone else. She was right there. I couldn't touch her. Not like this. If I tried, my hand would sail through hers, and we'd be nothing more than wisps passing through each other. But