The Black Parade Read online

The Black Parade

  Copyright 2013

  All rights reserved

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

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  Book One: The Black Parade

  Book Two: She Who Fights Monsters

  The Deadly Seven: Stories from The Black Parade series

  Book Three: The Holy Dark

  For my loved ones, those related by blood and spirit

  BOOK ONE: THE BLACK PARADE

  I have no home on earth and none below, not with the living, not with the breathless dead. –Antigone, Sophocles

  CHAPTER ONE

  The alarm clock went off like a duck being strangled with a telephone cord. I always tried and failed to remember to buy a new one. Groaning, I lurched onto my side and slapped at the device until it went silent. Sunlight streamed in, golden and annoying, through a gap in the dingy grey curtains of the window across from the bed. I threw the comforter over my head and lay there with my face pressed into the mattress, breathing in the faint smell of fabric softener and fried chicken. I really did need to wash these sheets.

  After about a minute, I reluctantly climbed out from underneath the blanket and stumbled towards the closet to find my white button up shirt and short black skirt. My shift at the restaurant would start in half an hour. Colton would kick my ass if I was late again.

  After wriggling into my work clothes, I wandered into the kitchen and began the nearly involuntary process of making coffee. Once it was brewing, I retreated to the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, I read the list of the names and addresses I’d taped to the vanity mirror: Linda, Ming-Na, and Ron. I only worked a five-hour shift today so I should have been able to take care of all three of them. After I finished brushing my teeth, I swept my hair up into something that vaguely resembled a bun and took a deep breath before staring into my reflection for a brief analysis.

  To be frank, I looked like shit. The skin beneath my eyes was dark with circles since I hadn’t gotten a decent amount of sleep in about two years, my complexion that had once been a rich brown was now a sickly brown-paper-bag color, and my weight had dropped significantly from lack of decent meals. Lord knows how I managed to keep my job looking like this. Cue the makeup—some foundation to cover up the spots and black eyeliner to further divert attention from my unhealthy pallor. A dash of lip gloss and voila, I was once again presentable for public consumption.

  My gaze fell across the list again. I sighed. “Ninety-six down, four to go.”

  I snatched the Post-It off the mirror and grabbed my flats on the way to the kitchen where my coffee was ready. When I got to the kitchen, I shrieked in surprise.

  My favorite forest-green coffee mug was already out and filled with coffee.

  I glanced to my right and my left, letting my eyes sweep across the small room carefully. Nothing. Not a soul.

  It took a moment for me to calm down enough to tiptoe around the apartment and check the closet, the bathroom, and even underneath my bed, for any signs of an intruder. Nothing had been moved and there were no signs of entry. I took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen, sniffing the coffee for any signs of irregularity but I could smell nothing except for the enticing aroma.

  I put enough sugar and cream in to turn the dark brown a rich caramel color and sipped away my exhaustion. Maybe I’d poured the coffee without thinking and forgot. It was early and my brain hadn’t kick-started yet. I grabbed a Nutra-Grain bar from the cabinet, my keys, and headed out the door, giving one last salute to the worn, leather-bound book sitting on top of my refrigerator. After all, I needed all the luck I could get today.

  The first things I noticed about Linda were that she was small, blonde, and probably about seven years old. Her cheeks were still round and pink with baby fat that she hadn’t grown out of yet and her dress was bright orange with yellow flowers dotted down the length of it. The look would have been complete with a pair of white or black Mary Janes but since she didn’t have any feet, it was impossible. Linda was, after all, a ghost.

  “What’s your name?”

  I paused, having been lost in my thoughts after analyzing her appearance. “Jordan.”

  She smiled, seeming interested. “Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

  I resisted the urge to wince. She was just a kid, and a dead one at that, so she didn’t know any better. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember before you ended up here?” I asked the little spirit in my sweetest voice. Linda glanced up from the dandelion she had been attempting to pick up, surprised that her small hand phased right through it.

  “Um, I don’t know. Mom, she told me to sit next to my brother on the log by the lake. My brother kept poking me so I got up. The water was really pretty that day,” she added with another bright smile.

  I nodded, scribbling her comments down on my ragged notepad. “What did you do after that?”

  “I saw a frog and I wanted to catch it to bring it back to Mommy. My mean old brother told me to come back. I bet he thought I couldn’t catch it. So I tried my best to catch ‘im, but he was really fast. Then I woke up over there.” She pointed to the tall oak tree a few feet from where we stood by the lake, where police tape had been stretched across the bank.

  “Is there anything you want to tell your mother or your brother?”

  The little girl nodded. I suppressed a sigh. This meant I’d have to get the address of the family, and the police were pretty stingy with those sorts of details. Maybe I could find another way to get her to see them. The funeral, perhaps. Much easier to access and far less suspicious to look for.

  “Can you remember your last name?”

  Linda’s face scrunched in thought. “Nu-uh.”

  Great. No last name. This case was going to take even longer than I thought and I was already short on time. Three days left to deadline.

  I took a deep breath, dispelling the disturbing thought. “Okay, I’ll tell you what—why don’t you go play on the playground until I come back and then we can go see Mommy. Does that sound good?”

  She beamed. “Mom’ll be so proud that I caught that frog. Bye, Jordan!”

  The ghost scampered off for the abandoned playground, which was off-limits until the investigation was over. I stuffed my notepad in my grey duster and shoved my hands in my pockets, walking in the opposite direction. The park was only a block or two away from the nearest newsstand, where I might be able to find the child’s last name. What a loss, though. The kid was so cute she could put little orphan Annie to shame.

  I paid a few dollars to a man at a newsstand and collected a handful of papers, searching through the obituaries one by one for her name. It wasn’t until the very last one that I found a matching picture: Linda Margaret Hamilton, age 7, died August 5th, 2010. Loving daughter, wonderful sister, and family jewel that will never be forgotten. Funeral services held Sunday, August 8th at Wm. J. Rockefeller Funeral Home, Inc., 165 Columbia Turnpike, Rensselaer, N.Y at 6:00
PM.

  Good news for me. I could get her there and be home before any of my shows came on. The wind picked up around me so I buttoned up my duster, heading back in the direction of the park where I had left her. Surely no one in Albany, New York would think it odd to see a black girl in shades talking to a jungle gym. Normal people couldn’t see ghosts. They were lucky that way. Ghosts are terrible nuisances once you notice them because they are always on the look out for someone to help them. As far as I knew, there weren’t others like me. To put it mildly, my situation was decidedly unique.

  “Linda?”

  When I turned, I discovered the new ghost had achieved a limited amount of solidity. She was hanging from the monkey bars. When I called her, she hopped off of them without hesitation. My hands shot out to catch her out of reflex, but she slipped right through them, sending a cold shock up my spine. I hated the tingly feeling of dead souls against my skin.

  “Yep?”

  “I’m going to come back on Sunday afternoon and take you to Mommy. Is that okay?”

  She nodded. “Are ya gonna come visit before then?”

  I winced. “Well, I am a little busy, but I’ll come see you if I can. Be good, alright?”

  “Okay!” She giggled and started back on her climbing, blissfully unaware of anything else. At least the dead had that going for them. She was just a ghost child so she retained her early behavior. Other ghosts I’d met weren’t nearly this cheerful.

  I waved and headed back in the direction of the city to catch the bus. I noticed a brown-haired guy smiling at me as I walked past the bench he sat on. He was my age at least with strikingly attractive features, so much so that I found it odd he was paying any attention to me. Did he know me or was he just friendly? Either way, I flashed him a brief smile and kept going. Shame, though. A couple years ago, I might have stopped for a chat, maybe asked him to grab a cup of coffee with me. If only I had a life that didn’t involve taking care of dead people.