Paranormal FBI: Cold Case Unit

By Lisa Simpson and Kevin Van Natta

Not knowing what happened to her ex-gang member boyfriend, Lisa collaborates with a Medium, 3 ghost hunters, an FBI agent, and the Detective that originally arrested him.

Thrown together as a unit to solve cold cases that the FBI or police force cannot solve, they use techniques of all sorts to get to the bottom of his case.
They find out that in the world of ghost hunting, and the realm of the Spirit World, anything is possible if given the right time, and patience.
Patience may run out too soon for Lisa, whose heart breaks every day that passes, and they can't reach Kevin.

No one knows what happened to him after he turned States Evidence against his gang buddies, and refused the offer of Witness Protection. Is he dead? Is he alive? Is he simply in hiding?
After months of failed attempts to find him, they come to realize...
Dead Men Do Tell Tales

• Language: English
• Publisher: LS Book Services
• Release date: Oct 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9798201810115

Lisa Simpson

Lisa Simpson is an active Author and Manuscript Editor. She is also the founder of the non-political social media platform AuthorWorld Connect. Originally from Shelbyville, Ky., she now lives and writes in Clearwater, Fl.  After first self-publishing in 2013, she had her first book signing in Shelbyville, KY; the setting of this book.  Hundreds of Crybaby Bridges reportedly exist.  As a teenager, she visited the one in her hometown. Although she swears she heard a baby cry, she never saw the powdered footprints that is a part of this legend.  Crybaby Bridge is her imagination of what might have happened many years ago. Author, Self-Publishing Help, Editor, and Founder of the Social Media Platform AuthorWorld Connect. visit websites at: www.LisaSimpsonBooks.com www.myawconnect.com

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS FROM LISA

My love for writing has been ongoing since I was a teenager.  When a very dear friend of mine from those teenage years decided to reach out to me, and ask to put his ideas into book form, I wasn’t sure that I could do it. I mean, after all, there is probably absolutely no one in the world that could put his mind boggling, psychotic, views and ideas into a prose worth understanding. Game on! I simply had to give it a try!

I have written two previous books about urban legends, and was becoming comfortable with those types of chronicles. When Kevin called me about this project, I was at first elated...secondly, scared...and finally, dumbfounded. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Then I had the task of convincing myself that this was about paranormal experiences; just a different type of experience than those of the legends I wrote about.

I dug in. I did research; lots of it. I sent him texts, getting more ideas, and then adding my own into the mix. I sat the project down for a few months. It took longer than expected, in fact, I had promised a year but it took over two.

It turned out quite a bit different than what he originally asked for but in the end, this is what we came up with. I hope it works for you, Kevin.

Kevin. You and Lisa rock!

For my children:

Amanda, Drew, Ricky, Jonathon, Kara, and Christopher

And my grandchildren:

Shane, Makayla, Sebastian, Cayde, Zoe, Noelle, Gracie, Kila, Raegan, Bella, Ariel, Addison, Carter, Leland, and Jaxson

Always...Always believe in yourself.

For when you do, your dreams will grow wings and allow you to fly.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS FROM KEVIN

I have one of those minds that only seems to work in Over Drive.  My thoughts, usually, aren’t those of normal people.  The way I describe myself is warped, and a little bit abnormal.  I generally have a lot of things swimming around in my head.  Ideas, thoughts, dreams...they are all in there, pushing each other around, trying to see which one can pop out first.

Although I drive a truck for a major carrier, I try my hardest every single day to live my dreams.  To turn my twisted thoughts and ideas into a book, or maybe even a movie would be one of those dreams come true.

I have small, mostly uncredited roles, in a few movies and it is the neatest feeling in the world.  But...to actually be involved in the makings of a book like this, is definitely a great feeling.  My hopes continue to rise higher, wanting this experience to go further than I can ever begin to imagine.

I want to give loving acknowledgements to my wife, Lisa, and to my kids, Bobby and Tabitha.  A huge heartfelt shout out goes out to my brother Thomas and my sister, Joyce. 

Also, thanks to Ancestry.com, I have found family that I never knew existed, and with all of these things, I feel that I am already the luckiest man in the world.

So, I open my heart to my new family Robert, Anthony, and Louis Spaniard and to Frank Longley, III.  Welcome to the life and mind of...Kevin Van Natta.

For my children:

Bobby and Tabitha

And my grandchildren:

Jah’Quan Zihir, ZI’Anna Lenay, Shariah LeShade, and Bella

Every great dream begins with a dreamer...

Be that dreamer, and never give up on what matters to you the most.

Author Disclaimer: Although my friend and I are collaborating on this book together, the character of Lisa in this story is based on his actual wife, whom is also named Lisa. It is not me.

Friday Night – Valentine’s Day

11:03 p.m.

He should have known his night would go to shit. Something wasn’t right; he knew it in his gut. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t figure out what was off, and a large chunk of that slimy thing he called a brain was telling him to stay home with her. He should have known because of what he had done. He should have known because he had been warned. He should have known because, well...just because.

The neon sign above the convenience store cast an eerie glow over the empty parking lot. Hammering thunder sounded off in the distance but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Within seconds, the rumbling came closer, making its way into the lot, coming to a stop in between the yellow parking lines.

Kevin got off his Softail Harley. It was the type of bike that matched his personality perfectly.  Lisa, for the sole reason that it reminded her of the worst part of him, hadn’t liked the fact that he wanted to keep that loud, obnoxious, two wheeled chunk of scrap.  But that chunk of scrap was the one, and the only, part of his life that he could not -would not- change. 

To make his new love more comfortable, and actually be okay with him keeping it, he gave the hunk of metal a custom paint job, complete with Lisa’s name airbrushed on the tank. Oh, the things that

people do for love. What had he been thinking? Ugh!

He had received an inheritance from his grandfather a few months before. Not knowing what to do with a rather large sum of money, he deposited it into one of the few banks in town. He had let the money sit there and grow at a fast rate of interest of once cent per month.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the money he had been willed. He hadn’t wanted to spend any part of it. He hadn’t wanted to share it. Fuck, if he thought about it, he hadn’t even wanted it at all. He would rather have had his Grand-dad back.

After a long hard look at himself, and a sideways glance in the direction where his life had taken a hard, left turn, he did some soul searching. His soul was something he hadn’t given much thought to in the past few years but after a lot of careful digging, and thinking, he realized his soul was about all he had left. It had taken him a while but eventually, he had realized that there was a tiny, minute part of it that was worth saving.

Before he had given himself a chance to change his mind, he walked into the bank and had made a rather sizeable withdrawal that took all of twenty minutes with the bank manager, and one pretty, petite bank teller that he gave not even one second thought to.

He had thought the whole transaction would have taken a bit longer. To his surprise, it had been fairly easy. With his stack of printed green paper in hand, he had gone down to the nearest cycle shop with the plan of buying a newer, much more mature bike. One that he knew he would end up hating, yet one that he knew she would approve of.  

He just couldn’t make himself go through with it. The motorcycle dealer showed him a vast array of bikes to choose from. There was a Honda Goldwing model, that reminded him too much of an older man’s bike; a Rebel 300, which wouldn’t give her a seat to ride with him, and a CB Unicorn – just hell, no! 

Faster than he had entered the store, he turned around, immediately walking out with his money still bulging from within the confines of his wallet.  He just couldn’t make himself downgrade from a Harley to any type of Honda. Period. 

In the end, he set an appointment with the nearest Harley Davidson

shop to get a full paint job with Lisa’s name air brushed on the tank; and prayed that it would be good enough for her. 

Three days later, he turned the key, and stamped the newly designed

Softail into gear and reared out of the lot.  He tried his best not to grimace at the new paint. Pansy Ass. I have now become nothin’ but a fuckin’ bald headed pansy ass.

No other words came to mind. His ego was taking a hit but if he was going to have to change the way he lived, the things he believed in, and the people in his life, then he was going to do it completely; not half assed.

He wasn’t looking forward to making the needed adjustments to every single facet in his life, rearranging each little component that made him who he was, closing off his past in such a complete and final way but he knew he had to become a different person.  

His bike was the first thing to be transformed. His pride and ego had come in at a close second and third; almost instantly. Not knowing exactly when it had happened, he had stepped onto a blinding path to become a brand-new individual. Someone he never thought he could be. The type of someone that she needed. It was all for her. Only for her. He had to be losing his ever-loving mind.  

During his time in the gang, his 1996 Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail had been the love of his life. It was his baby. It had never been as manly as some of the bikes that were built piece by piece and ridden by his band of brothers, but it was his one true love. Until her.

He and Lisa had literally met each other on the dance floor at the Pas-Time Pub down on Second and Main. She was a beautiful woman with long brown, flowing hair. He was bald, short, and very, very drunk. Something about the way he walked, or rather staggered, and the soulful look in his eyes, gave her the impression of an oversized baby panda.

His silver and black goatee drooping like a confused skunk from his chin added to his mystique. His sunglasses, used earlier in the day, were now placed on top of the skin of his head; backwards.

She had been at the bar ordering a bottle of Bud Light when she heard a commotion behind her, the front door slamming hard against the wall as it opened. It sounded as if she heard a pride of lions, roaring and laughing, at the same time. Lions didn’t laugh, did they?

She thought about that for all of three seconds. Turning to see what the noise was all about, she instantly froze.

Her heart sank, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her night was going to go to hell. Her nerves went on instant alert. She had heard of these guys even though she had never seen them in this

bar before.

Throwing a five on the countertop for her beer, she made a quick assessment; she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to stay and dance or set the full bottle down and leave.

As the group of overgrown, hairy boys hogged the pool table, a cute bald one headed for the men’s room. Huh, more like the little boys’ room, she groaned to herself, but damn, he sure is just this side of being a very, very sexy man. Quickly, she downed half of her beer.

Catching a quick smile from the side of her vision, she wondered if she had spoken her words a little too loud. Her stomach flipped after he winked. What the hell is the matter with me? She had never been attracted to a man like that. And besides, he was...short.

Choosing her own fate, she decided to stay as she sat firmly on the bar stool. Minutes later, coming through the doorway back into the bar, he made a point to walk past her. A better word for it was saunter. He slowly sauntered by, trying to be cool. It seemed to work, until his boot kicked a chair, and he dropped his beer.

Fuck! Alcohol abuse!

Recovering what he could of his ego, he mingled in with the gang of overgrown boys around the pool table. He didn’t want her to see how red his face had become. It had been a while since he had seen someone he had wanted to impress, or at least flirt with, and now he had gone and blown it all to hell and back.

She studied him a while, getting a feeling that he was a very lonely man who just wanted to fit in with something; somebody. It amusingly shocked her to see that it was the Black Diamonds that he had involved himself in.  

They didn’t look like they were the type of ‘people’ that he should be hanging with. He looked the part. He acted the part. But he wasn’t

the part. She knew it wasn’t any of her business, but he just didn’t belong with them. There was something about him that completely intrigued her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

The Black Diamonds gang was a small but enormously dangerous group of punk ass men of all ages. This little fella didn’t seem like he was a punk ass, although now that she thought about it, he did have a rather cute one.

These guys were well known to everyone within a five-hundred- mile radius for their ability to distribute any type of drug known to

man. They were a rough and tumble sort that would rather run you over if you smiled the wrong way, instead of asking why you smiled at them in the first place.

Their brotherhood was a close-knit family that when pissed off, could take on the best Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, and come out smelling like cotton candy at a carnival.

To most people, they all looked alike, seemed to all fit together; lowly thugs who weren’t worth a shit to anyone but each other. In Lisa’s mind he looked just like a short, luscious, bald headed teddy bear.

Instantly, her mind compared him to a Cracker Jack toy that had been mistakenly sealed inside a bag of Frito’s; he just didn’t seem to fit the part that he was trying to portray. No matter how hard he had tried.

Someone grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her trance. A slow swaying country tune billowed loudly in the background from the jukebox in the corner. On the dance floor, her body automatically began to move with the music; until she noticed who had actually dragged her out on the floor.

Roger, who had always mistakenly thought that he was Gods’ gift to women had been the brave one. His greasy Elvis cut -complete with sideburns and a crimped lip- and the stench of being bathed in Hai Karate cologne was enough to make even Lisa Marie Presley gag.

As he was wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, her nostrils fought to catch a breath of clean air. Between the over applied cologne, the stale aroma of cigarettes, and the scent of ingested alcohol she was forced to breathe in, she wanted to puke. She prayed he did

not.

As she tried her best to break away, he gripped her a little tighter. The bald headed biker stood, leaning on the jukebox, watching the terrible display of manners coming from the greasy haired, Elvis the  King, wanna-be.

At first, he smiled, intent on seeing how this woman handled herself. She didn’t look to be strong enough to break herself free from his grasp. He spun her around; mistake one.  

As she faced ‘baldy’ with the black leather vest, her mouth beckoned to him. He read her lips, and though he couldn’t hear sound coming from her, the words were as plain as day.

Help me.

Smiling, he laid his pool stick down. She let out a small sigh of relief as he walked toward her on the dance floor. Her stomach let the trapped butterflies free as he pecked on the shoulder of the man with the greasy hair, and no manners.

May I cut in?  

Well, she thought, at least he has manners. Roger shook off his hand and turned his back toward him; mistake two. Standing with hands on his hips, the gang member waited patiently until the man spun to face him.

Like I said, may I cut in?

Roger noticed the vest, along with three other bikers standing behind him, a second before he felt his jaw pop with a sharp jolt of pain.  

Uh, sure man, sure.  There went the manners chugging down the drain. The girl and her savior danced all night.

She had taken care of him when he had passed out on the sidewalk in the early hours of the morning, and long after the sun reared its head. They never left each other’s side. Love hit them harder than a truck full of cinder blocks. 

Tonight, he was busy in the studio that Lisa had converted from the extra bedroom upstairs in the home she rented. He had shared his love of music with her that first night out on the dance floor. Neither of them could handle the string twanging, tear falling, heart-breaking country music that bolted from the juke box. There was simply no other bar in town.

She had bought every piece of equipment he needed in order to record his music. She loved his voice. He loved the fact that he was free to sing whatever he wanted and was now learning how to produce his own ramblings.

Shit! Shit!

In the middle of recording Hard Luck Woman for his YouTube channel, Kevin heard Lisa fussing downstairs. Adrenalin, icy cold, splurged through his veins as his heart dropped to his feet. 

Hitting his knee on the door frame as he rounded the corner, he ran down the stairs at top speed. Missing all but three of the fourteen steps, he had to know what happened to her.

He feared the worst. He feared them.

She usually didn’t use curse words this time of day, especially not in that tone of voice. Typically mild mannered and easy spoken, those

words were held in high regard for the early mornings when she was trying to blow dry her tangled wavy hair, or when she burned her earlobe or neck with the curling iron. It scared him when he heard her yell those words this time of evening.

He found her standing in front of the stove, clad in his oversized tee shirt, one hand holding a pot of noodles; the other holding a wooden spoon; a packet of powdered cheese on the counter. He adored the sight of her in his shirt, with her shorts hidden way up underneath.

Examining the stunning vision in front of him quickly, yet closely, he felt immediate relief that she was in an upright position, with no blood anywhere in sight. Then he took a second look and had to adjust himself behind the counter. Damn that woman!

Even when he was terrified for her, he still wanted her with every inch of his body. It took a quick minute to find his voice, albeit a very shaky one.

What happened? Is things okay?

Yeah, damn it, I’m fine but I guess you used all the milk this morning in that gallon size bowl of cereal you ate. Now I don’t have any to finish dinner, she told him with a sheepish grin.

"Seriously? I just about lost my mind runnin’ down the steps, almost broke my kneecap on the frame a’ the door, all ‘cause I thought

you hurt yourself real bad! And all your cute little ass is worried about is milk?"

Well...yeah.

She did her best to hold her laughter in. Gut busting giggles felt as though they were about to erupt from her throat at the very sight of him, as she tried wholeheartedly to keep them intact.

Setting the pan down, she sauntered over to him with the spoon in her mouth, leaning slowly over the counter toward him. He almost popped out of his jeans at the sight and forgot why he had been scared to begin with. Until she reminded him.

"Uh, milk? I gotta get this dinner cooked so we can eat and enjoy the rest of the evening. It is Valentines’ Day, remember?"

That did it. Crisis over. Jeans shrank back in place. And he had forgotten the holiday.

What? Oh yeah, milk. I guess I did finish it off. And, I reckon I forgot to get more, huh?

He shook his head in wonder at the little bouncy body in front of him. Just use extra butter and a touch a’ water instead, and I’ll run out later and get some more cow juice for in the mornin’.

Just then, he realized she had said something about Valentine’s Day. Tomorrow night just would not work. He had to find somewhere open late tonight so he could buy her flowers, wine, and chocolates. All of her favorite things. And he had forgotten what day it was.  

Dumb-fuck Doofus!  He scolded himself.

So, he did. She had been teasing him all evening, but he knew that she would absolutely not interrupt her kitchen time. Not that she didn’t love him, because God, she did. It was just that she had never cooked much in her life. She never had to. Her parents frequented the best restaurants in town or had Francis, their cook, prepare their meals for them.

She took pride in teaching herself to prepare food for him and practiced every chance she got. Tonight, for their holiday meal, she was making Macaroni & Cheese, baked pork chops smothered in Italian dressing, and boiled corn on the cob. It was the best meal that she could muster for now.

She was still learning but one thing she had learned was that she

was no Betty Crocker by any stretch of the imagination however, her baking skills were looking a little more like a young Martha Stewart more and more each day. A very young Martha Stewart.

Watching him squirm behind the counter, she wanted to reach out and take care of him. He would have to wait until bedtime. She had a special night planned for him. She was going to draw him a bath, and afterwards, he would receive an oily massage. She didn’t think he had ever even had a Valentine before. She wanted to make it extra nice for him.

She saw that look in his eyes. She would have to fend him off, and she would never finish dinner if he didn’t get out for a minute to get that milk. He needed an excuse to hop on his bike anyway; and find a way to recharge his libido.

Still getting used to the paint job, the Harley seemed to drive a little different; a little more ‘timeworn’ like. He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with the way his two wheeled Hog had changed but he was willing to do just about anything, with the exception of buying a family car – she had one of those – to prove to Lisa that he was good on changing his ways.

He still felt like a fool on it; the color scheme didn’t fit his image. Aw hell, what image? His rough boy image was shot all to shit and back by now.

She still giggled behind his back every time he revved up the engine and took off. She teased him about making a wonderful grandpa one day.

Seeing the dim lights from the convenience store, he pulled into the parking lot. There were no customers to be seen except for the wino that was hunkered down for the night on the curb by the bathroom door on the side of the building; an old school bottle of Grape MD 20/20 tightly in his grasp.

Oh hell, he thought, that guy was gonna have a major headache in the morning with that cheap ass shit. He knew from experience.

Walking through the glass doors, a bell jingled above him. Staring him right in the face was a display of cheap red roses, and small boxes of Whitman’s chocolate candy samplers. He walked past them toward the cooler section. As he approached the counter, he grabbed a

bundle of the flowers, and a box of the candy, with the milk jug clutched under his arm.

Giving the cashier a poor, rueful look, he began paying for his purchase. It thundered loud and hard outside. It had been a calm night so far, so he couldn’t figure out where the roar was coming from. There was no call for rain from the weatherman. At least, not that he knew of.

Glancing quickly to the security monitor, he felt blood rushing to his head, pounding every inch of its way, as he watched two bikes roll in. He broke out in a sticky sweat. The clothes on the riders didn’t look familiar but he knew those bikes. A second look to scan their faces, and he knew he was done for.

He looked for a back door to use as an escape, but it was too late. He heard the thundering clatter come to an abrupt halt. With another glance to the screen, he watched as the two men rolled his bike out of sight. Swallowing hard, he sent a prayer into the universe, and one to the cashier.

You might wanna think about calling the Po-Po right quick. I’m not a prayin’ man but I’m really hopin’ this don’t get too damned ugly.

"Uh...no, I might not. Man, I ain’t want no problems. And I sure got no beef with you, or even those fellas out there; if that’s what ya

wanna call those scraggly ass lookin’ dogs. And I ain’t getting’ in the middle of nothin’. I don’t need people of that kind comin’ in here after me."

Yeah. Well, thanks for nothin’, man.

Yep, sure thing. Oh, and...here’s your change. Bastard.

Wiping his brow, he took his milk, roses and candy, and walked through the door. God help me. Ah, hell. What am I sayin’? I always fuckin’ said there ain’t no God, and seein’ them two fucks out there sure proves it to me now.

There were no security cameras to monitor the alley where he was dragged, beaten, and disposed of, after drowning in a massive pile of O Positive blood. He knew in those last few moments that he had beem right. There was definitely no God with him that night to save him from taking his last fucking breath.

"I’m sorry, babe."

*

Thump...thud...thump... 

For the third time tonight, Lisa curled up in a ball on the couch. She was still hearing odd noises, and things she had never heard before. She wished with all her heart that Kevin was here to calm her down. Damn anxiety!

It had started a little over two weeks ago, not long after Kevin had disappeared. He never came home to celebrate his