Dead and Hating It Read online

  Dead and Hating It

  By Edward Kendrick

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Edward Kendrick

  ISBN 9781634867979

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Dead and Hating It

  By Edward Kendrick

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 1

  Kurt sat cross-legged on his bed, thinking about the man he once believed had loved him. The man who was responsible for him being dead and a ghost.

  Kurt knew how he’d died—by drowning. Not exactly the way he’d have chosen, given his druthers. If he had to be murdered, he thought he’d rather have been shot, or poisoned. Something quick and relatively painless. Drowning took time and he’d felt every second of his life being drained away. In fact, he’d fought it, thrashing, trying to find something, anything, to grab onto, to pull himself free from George’s hold so he could get to the surface. It hadn’t happened and soon the need to breathe became unbearable. He’d inhaled, but only water filled his lungs and he quickly lost consciousness—and died. Instantly, or so it seemed, he was on the riverbank, looking at his body where it lay on the rocks at the bottom of the river.

  Why am I here if I’m dead? He had the feeling he knew. He’d read stories about ghosts and how they couldn’t move on if there was still unfinished business. Like proving George murdered me. How the hell can I do that?

  His body hadn’t been found until a few days later. At least that’s how long he thought it had been from its condition, when it had finally floated to the surface of the river.

  That wasn’t something I needed to see, when those guys pulled my body ashore. It looked like fish had fed on me, and I was bloated and…He shuddered, trying to push the memory away.

  He was there when it happened. The two guys who had found him didn’t know he was standing right beside them. One of them immediately called 911. The second guy looked as if he was going to puke, which he did moments later. Kurt jumped back but still got spattered—or would have if the vomit hadn’t gone right through his feet.

  “You bastard,” he’d spat out, and he didn’t mean the sick guy, who wouldn’t have heard him anyway. He was remembering the day he’d died—and what had happened that led up to his murder.

  * * * *

  He had been down by the river one afternoon a year previously; taking pictures for a photo essay he was doing for the local paper about the colors of autumn. Not the most exciting story, but one the paper did every year to usher in the fall season.

  He’d just taken two shots of a particularly brilliant red-leafed tree, its branches reflected on the surface of the slow-moving water, when he was aware of someone standing behind him.

  “Sightseeing?” the man had asked when Kurt turned to look at him. “It’s a beautiful day for it.”

  “Nope. Working,” Kurt had replied, eyeing the man. He was tall, or at least taller than Kurt’s five ten, with close-cropped blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and built like a weight-lifter. He also looked maybe ten years older than Kurt’s twenty-five.

  “You’re a pro?”

  Kurt had chuckled at his phrasing. “I’m a staff photographer for the local newspaper.” He told him what his assignment was.

  “Mind if I watch? I promise I won’t make any suggestions about what you should be taking pictures of,” the man replied with an ingratiating smile. “Oh, I’m George.” He’d held out his hand.

  “Kurt,” Kurt had said as they shook hands. “It’s a free country so I can’t stop you if you want to stick around.”

  “Meaning you’d rather I didn’t.”

  Kurt had shrugged before going back to what he’d been doing. He was used to people wanting to watch, although he’d never figured out why they found what he did so fascinating. To him, it was just a job. An interesting one at times, but that was it. As he moved farther down the riverbank, shooting more pictures, George followed along, occasionally commenting on something he saw, but that was it.

  Eventually, it began to get dark. Too dark to take the sort of shots he wanted. Kurt had put his cameras back in their cases and started up the slope to the road, expecting George to take off for wherever he’d left his car.

  Instead, George had said, much to Kurt’s surprise, “I was planning on eating supper at Maize’s. Would you care to join me?”

  Maize’s was a small family-style restaurant not far from where they were standing. One Kurt had eaten at several times as the food was good.

  After a moment’s hesitation, and because he was hungry, Kurt had replied, “Sure, why not.”

  That had been the beginning of their relationship. When Kurt had asked, a week later while they were on their first date, why George had asked him out, George had replied, “I was fascinated with you, the moment I saw you.” He’d smiled wryly. “Yeah, I didn’t know if you were gay or not, but I was willing to find out and hoped you were. Silly of me? Probably. But I got lucky. You are.”

  Kurt thought he was the one who had gotten lucky. George was all he’d ever wanted in a man—kind, caring, a good listener who seemed interested in everything Kurt had to say. It had taken another week before they’d fallen into bed. Then they were inseparable when they weren’t working, or during those times when George was off on a business trip as part of his job for the sales firm he worked for.

  Then came the fateful day when George had suggested they celebrate their one-year anniversary by having a fancy picnic supper by the river, “At the spot where we met.”

  Kurt thought he was being very romantic and told him so. They decided to have champagne and caviar to begin with, then chicken and provolone sandwiches topped with pesto sauce, and strawberries dipped in chocolate for dessert.

  They arrived at the riverbank as the sun was going down. George lit the candles they’d brought with them, after spreading out a blanket, then they sprawled lazily on it while they drank champagne and ate—feeding each other the strawberries to end their meal.

  “This has been perfect,” Kurt said. Feeling giddy from the amount of champagne he’d had, he kissed George, suggesting, since no one was around, they should make love—which they did.

  When they finished, George said with a grin, “We need to wash off,” gesturing to the river. Kurt had no problem with that, even though it was very dark. He and George had gone swimming several times the p
revious summer, although at a beach farther up the river set aside for swimming and boating.

  “Last one in…” Kurt said, jumping to his feet. He hit the water running, then dove in when it was deep enough, swam to the center, and dog-paddled while he waited for George to join him. After a moment, he called out, “Where are you? Did you chicken out?”

  “Not at all,” George replied, startling Kurt when he suddenly popped up beside him. He wrapped his arms around Kurt, kissing him. Kurt fell into it, wondering if they could make love again, in the river. Then George said, “I’m sorry I have to do this, but it’s time for me to move on and try again.” He gripped Kurt’s shoulders, forcing him under the water. For a second, Kurt thought he was fooling around, until he realized exactly what George intended. He struggled to break free, but George was bigger and much stronger. He held Kurt under until he died, pushed his body down to the river bottom then shot to the surface, swimming in slow circles.

  Kurt knew this because at that point he was watching from the riverbank. How he’d gotten there, he had no clue. For a second he thought the whole episode had been an hallucination brought on by too much to drink, until he looked down and saw the sand beneath his feet—literally saw it beneath them. He could see through his feet—and his hand when he held it in front of his face. That’s when he finally realized he was dead.

  George kept swimming until, Kurt thought, he was certain the body wasn’t going to surface. Then he returned to the riverbank, getting out a few feet from where Kurt was standing. The look of exaltation on his face made Kurt’s blood run cold. Or it would, if I still had blood. He figured that wasn’t likely. Any more than that I have a real body at all, now.

  It only took George a few minutes to dry off, get dressed, and then pick up the remains of their picnic and Kurt’s clothes. He turned to look at the river when he finished, murmuring, “You were a nice guy, Kurt, but like all the other men I’ve dealt with, in the end you got to be very boring to be around, and as clingy as you were, breaking up with you would have been a royal pain.”

  “I wasn’t clingy,” Kurt protested vehemently, even though he knew George couldn’t hear him. I wasn’t. I loved you. That wasn’t clingy, it was wanting to be with you, because you were so special.

  He followed George until he got to the car, then watched him drive away without a backward glance.

  Now what do I do? Kurt wondered. Will I be stuck here, waiting around until someone finds my body? He shivered at the idea as he walked back to the edge of the river. To his dismay, he could still see his body lying on the rocks at the bottom and quickly turned away. How long until it…it comes up and someone finds it? Tomorrow, a month from now, never?

  Going to a nearby tree, he sat, leaned back against it, and almost went through it before he realized what was happening. Straightening, he laid down on the grass, relieved when he didn’t sink into the earth. If I had, it would have been like being buried. Not a happy thought. He wondered if he could sleep. Not that he was tired, but the idea of spending the next however long wide awake, waiting for his body to be found, did not do a thing for him.

  He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, he heard voices.

  “Shit,” a man said. “Tell me that’s not what it looks like, is it?”

  “I think so,” a second man said.

  Kurt opened his eyes then got to his feet. He saw two men standing at the edge of the river and knew they had found his body. He didn’t know if he’d slept, or whatever, for a day or a week. He only knew he was awake, now, and waited for what would happen next.

  One man called 911, while the other one puked, and several minutes later sirens screamed in the distance, getting louder as they drew closer. Then they stopped, and soon several men, EMTs and two cops, came into view. From there, things progressed as Kurt figured they usually did in a case like this. The EMTs checked Kurt’s body, telling the cops, “He’s dead.”

  “No kidding,” one of the cops said. “Even I could tell that.”

  Kurt refused to watch as the EMTs dealt with his remains. He heard the cops interviewing the men who had found them.

  “Was he murdered?” one of the men asked, sounding almost gleeful at the idea.

  “We won’t know until the coroner examines him,” the officer replied. “My guess is, he decided to go skinny-dipping and drowned, since he’s not wearing anything. Or, he committed suicide.”

  “No fucking way would I kill myself,” Kurt said angrily, even though he knew they couldn’t hear him.

  “Will you be able to find out who he is?” the other man asked.

  “That depends if we can find his clothes, or if someone reports him missing.”

  Kurt shook his head. For damned sure you’re not going to find my clothes and I’m betting George won’t file a missing persons’ report, unless it’s to cover his ass. Someone at the paper might wonder where I am, but who knows if they’ll do anything more than think I’ve gone AWOL for a better job.

  Kurt hurried to the ambulance, getting in just before the EMTs closed the door. He didn’t want to spend any more time at the place where he’d been murdered.

  Chapter 2

  “What’s wrong?” Sage asked when he came into the living room after doing the dishes Sunday evening and found Mike shaking his head.

  “That.” Mike pointed to the TV which was tuned to the six-o-clock news.

  “Oh, hell.” Sage dropped down beside him on the sofa to watch the end of the story. “They have to be kidding,” he said when it over. “Kurt would never kill himself, and if he did, for sure he wouldn’t have done it that way.”

  Not that Sage knew it for certain. He’d only met Kurt twice, and that had been a couple of years ago, soon after he and Mike had made the decision to live together. Kurt had been the photographer for a story the newspaper was doing about how the detectives in Mike’s precinct had banded together to buy Christmas trees and gifts for three needy families.

  “He seemed so enthusiastic about what he was doing,” Sage continued. “I think he loved being able to take the best possible photos he could, and they were good.”

  “I agree. Of course you never know what’s going on behind the façade, but I ran into him recently and he was still just as happy-go-lucky. In fact, he told me he’d met what he called the man of his dreams and he was hoping they’d move in together sometime in the future.”

  “I suppose, if they broke up after you talked with him…”

  “He still wouldn’t have killed himself, I don’t think,” Mike replied, frowning.

  “Maybe it was accidental. The reporter said the police think he drowned late at night, although how they figured that out…” Sage shrugged.

  Mike chuckled. “We do have an expert coroner and forensics team.”

  “You should ask them if they’re certain it was suicide and not an accidental drowning. Or maybe the boyfriend killed him. Do you know who he was?”

  “It’s not my case, obviously, so no, I don’t. Kurt said the guy’s name was George, which is no help. There must be hundreds of them in the city.”

  “Hundreds of what?” Brody asked as he and Jon appeared in the living room.

  “Guys named George,” Sage replied.

  Mike grinned. “I take it the ghostie boys are here.”

  “In the flesh,” Brody replied. “Or more, in the ectoplasm.”

  “They are,” Sage told Mike, not bothering to relay what Brody said.

  “Why are you looking for someone named George?” Jon asked, and Sage repeated to Mike.

  “A man we know, or sort of knew, drowned a few days ago and his body finally surfaced last night. The news is calling it a suicide,” Mike replied. “Last time I talked with him, he told me he had met a guy named George and they were in a relationship. He seemed very happy about it.”

  “We saw the story online,” Brody said. “Sad, if it’s true. They showed some of the photos he took for the newspaper. He was pretty good.” He looked at Sage, since
he was the only one who could hear them. “Is Mike going to check it out to make sure that’s what happened?”

  Sage repeated what Brody had said, including his question.

  “Probably not,” Mike replied. “As I told Sage, our coroner is excellent. If he thinks it was suicide, or maybe an accidental drowning, then it undoubtedly was.”

  “Yeah, like Tonio ‘accidentally’ fell off the bridge at the theater,” Brody replied dryly. “Until he told you differently.”

  After Sage told Mike what Brody had said, Mike nodded. “How is our third favorite ghost these days? Sage says he hasn’t been around recently to get in touch with David.”

  “That’s because David and Vern are more than friends and have been for a while now,” Jon said. “Tonio’s still trying to take it in stride but it’s hard on him.”

  “Damn. He knew that was going to happen,” Sage replied, then told Mike what Jon had told him. “Not that it makes it any easier on him.”

  “Is he going to stick around?” Mike asked.

  “I think so,” Brody said. “He did promise David he would, no matter what.” He glanced at Sage. “Maybe you should have a talk with David?”

  Sage snorted. “And tell him what? That Tonio’s jealous?” Then he explained to Mike why he’d said that.

  “No, of course not. Just try to find out if David still wants him in his life, too.” Brody chuckled. “A sort of ménage à trios, without the sex.”

  “Damn, Brody.” Sage laughed, and relayed Brody’s words to Mike. “Okay, maybe I’ll give David a call. Knowing him, I’m sure he’ll want Tonio to stay. He did, hell I know he still does love him in his own way. It’s as hard on him as it is for Tonio to show it, though, since they need me to play the middle man so they can communicate. And now with Vern definitely in the picture, too…” Sage sighed. “The things I do for friends.”

  “And very well, from what Tonio’s said. Okay, back to your other friend. The one who didn’t kill himself,” Brody said.”

  After Sage told Mike what Brody had said, Mike replied, “Who maybe didn’t, and that’s based on what little I knew of him. If I could find out who this George is and talk with him it would help. Although I’d think whoever’s handling the case would have done so already.”