Judgement Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Get More Books

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Ready For More?

  Join the Legacy World

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  JUDGEMENT

  Book 4 of

  The Legacy Series

  RYAN ATTARD

  Judgement

  Ryan Attard

  Copyright © 2016 by Ryan Attard. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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  Ryanattard.com

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  Chapter 1

  “Hi, my name is Erik.”

  “Hi, Erik.”

  “Um, I guess, like everyone else, I’m here for a reason.”

  This was the first time I had spoken in this group, the first time in a whole month of quiet attendance, twice a week.

  Guess I could only put it off for so long.

  “I’ve seen some things, done some stuff,” I said. “None of it any good. Or at least I can’t see the point of it now. Nothing has changed in the big picture.”

  It was four months after the events on that island, being trapped in a pocket universe for weeks, having to fight my way through horrors that would most likely never leave my nightmares. It was a long story, one that I wasn’t willing to share with the group, given that most of these folks were hardcore war veterans, some of whom were eyeballing me like they knew I was spewing bullshit.

  Should I tell them? About magic, about the nightmares, about the Sins and the monsters? About how I was possibly the only hope they had?

  Yeah, that would go over well, I thought.

  “I was deep in enemy territory,” I went on. “Couldn’t tell you for how long. Weeks, maybe months. But I do remember the moments — those moments where you think you’re gonna starve unless you find your own food, or when you come face to face with a dozen enemies and think you’re done for. And if by some miracle you come out alive, you can’t sleep because you know deep down that nowhere is safe.”

  Every single person in this room suffered from PTSD, with some fresh out of a combat zone. But they all had one thing in common: their team. I had no one with me when I was stuck there. People say they often feel lonely even inside a crowd, but you never know what lonely is until you find yourself fighting for your life and knowing that there is no one watching your back.

  That is lonely.

  It didn’t take long for the others to notice. Abi, my live-in secretary and student, was the first to suggest I get some help. In my line of work, if you make a mistake you end up in a body bag. Heck, even Amaymon, my demonic talking cat, agreed with her.

  Like most guys I resisted — for about a week. Then I remembered my father. That crazy son of a bitch was so grief-stricken by the death of his wife and the curse that runs through our family, that he was willing to kill me and my twin sister in order to gain limitless magic.

  Crazy runs in my family I guess, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it win.

  So there I was, masking my misfortunes as best I could, with the hopes that by sharing I wouldn’t end up harming those I loved the most.

  I saw the attendees’ blank looks and realized I had stopped halfway through my story.

  “I wasn’t exactly military, and I really doubt I can say anything about where I was or what I did-”

  “It’s all right, Erik,” interjected the moderator. He was fifty-something with thinning hair and a handlebar mustache that had a lot of gray in it. He was the most comfortable out of all of us, usually with his hands on his protruding belly and a gentle, yet firm, expression. “You don’t have to share details.”

  As I said, these guys were military, which meant that ninety percent of the information they wanted to share was classified.

  No one gave addresses here.

  I nodded. “That’s good, because I got no idea where to start,” I said. “But I do know that this is only gonna get worse if I don’t do something about it. So maybe by being here and talking, I can get a little better.”

  “How does your family feel about this?” the moderator asked.

  “I don’t have a wife and kids, if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied. “This line of work isn’t exactly compatible with that type of relationship.”

  A murmur of approval went around the room and some of the other vets nodded. I would have guessed that at least half of them were divorced, and the rest were well on their way.

  “But I do have friends,” I continued. “I suppose I consider them my real family. Heck, they were the ones who suggested I come here.”

  The moderator nodded and I was relieved of duty. I sat back down in silence. There was no clapping here. Everyone knew that it took courage to get up and speak. Everyone knew that even walking through the front door was an act of bravery in and of itself.

  There was no clapping because everyone knew they were sitting next to someone as courageous as they were.

  Once the meeting ended, we all headed towards the back for coffee. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and the cookies were really nice. The point of this was to mingle amongst ourselves and be friendlier towards each other. I’d only spoken to a couple of other people here — most tended to avoid me. I was young, the youngest in this group actually, and there was something about me that gave away the fact I wasn’t actually in the army.

  And it wasn’t as if I could go to a meeting in my hometown — everyone there knew me by my reputation, and let’s just say I didn’t exactly come out as citizen of the year.

  Today, however, was the day she approached me.

  Female soldiers aren’t that uncommon and had I known some of them looked like her, I would have bolted towards the nearest recruitment office years ago.

  Her name was Sarah, one of only three women here, and also the only black female in our group. She had that wild look in her eyes that simultaneously made me aroused and fearful, as if you never knew what was going to happen when she decided to turn her attention towards you. Her hair was tied behind her head in a ponytail of black silk, and she must have noticed me eyeing her because not only did she smile back but also casually walked up to me.

  “Hey,” she said with an accent that I couldn’t quite place, but which sounded sexy enough to short-circuit my brain for a second.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m Sarah,” she said.

  “Erik.”

  “You’re one of those loner types, huh?” she asked, picking up a cookie from the tray.

  “Sorry,” I said, looking at my styrofoam coffee cup. “Force of h
abit.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She leaned in and gave me a mischievous smile. “I actually hate this forced mingling crap.”

  I smiled, relieved not to be the only one who was out of my depth in social situations.

  “Well, the cookies are good and the coffee’s decent,” I said. “Simple pleasures, right?”

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  “Where are you from?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sorry if that’s too personal, but I can’t quite place your accent.”

  “It’s Haitian,” she replied with a smile. “And it’s no problem. My accent tends to be a conversation starter.”

  “It’s quite nice.”

  Her smile broadened. “Thank you. You should have heard it when I was a kid. Terrible. How about you? Are you from California?”

  “Eureka,” I answered.

  She whistled. “Long drive.”

  “I don’t mind it. Gives me time to think.”

  “I like a man who thinks,” she said. “Are you the thinking type?”

  That actually got a cynical snort out of me.

  “No,” I replied. “It’s more of a developing habit.”

  “Ah,” she said. “So what do you do, Erik? Still in the army?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, I bailed out pretty early. Now I’m freelance.”

  “Freelance?” she asked with a frown.

  “Detective,” I quickly added. “Solving crimes, helping out the cops. You know, the whole Sherlock Holmes gig.”

  “So you’re a PI?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I have my speciality but yeah, I suppose I’m a private dick.”

  She giggled at the double entendre and shook her head.

  “What do you specialize in?”

  “The bizarre,” I said as dramatically as I could. She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Actually, it’s cases that no one else would take because they’re just too weird.”

  “Wow, so you must be really good.”

  I shrugged. “Not to toot my own horn, but yeah. I’m pretty awesome.”

  She let out a deep chuckle and I felt my heart fluttering.

  “Okay, so far I know you’re smart, have a cool job and are funny,” she said. “I like you, Erik.”

  “Well, you’re good-looking, clearly intelligent, and you laugh at my jokes. That makes you aces in my book,” I shot back.

  “Cool. So do you wanna go out sometime?”

  “What?”

  She sighed. “I haven’t had a date in forever, and you’ve just checked all the boxes. So, do you want to have dinner with me, or not?”

  “Uh,” I began, as I forced my brain to form clear sentences. “Yeah, definitely.”

  She beamed at me.

  “Wait,” I added after a while. “Isn’t there like a rule here that we can’t date each other?”

  “Do I look like the kind of girl who gives a damn about the rules?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

  I said nothing, and she grabbed one of the napkins and wrote down a number.

  “Saturday, eight o’clock,” she said, handing me the napkin. “Call me.”

  I took the napkin and watched her smile and walk away, not really sure of what just happened.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was outside and my car was pulling up. Abi was in the driver’s seat, smiling as usual. I opened the passenger door and saw a black cat on the seat.

  “Occupied,” he said.

  Usually, I would throw him in the back seat, but on this particular evening I simply picked him up, sat down and placed him on my lap.

  “What?” I said as both of them stared at me.

  “Did they mess with your brain in there?” asked the cat.

  “No.”

  “Did you find happiness?” he insisted. “Are you now a happy person? God, please tell me you haven’t become one of those annoying dickheads who preach about how amazing yoga and vegan food are.”

  I threw the cat in the back seat.

  “Hurray, he’s still alive,” I heard him yelp.

  “How did it go?” Abi asked.

  “Great,” I replied sincerely. “I talked, no one cried or tried to kill me, so that’s good. And I think I got a date,” I added, showing her the napkin with Sarah’s number.

  “A date?” she echoed. “In there? Really?”

  “Only you can score in a place where everyone’s a little touched in the head, Erik,” Amaymon remarked.

  I ignored him.

  “So that’s why you’re happy, then,” Abi said.

  “Well, yeah. You guys have been telling me to get a social life for years.” I waved the napkin. “Now I have.”

  “Hope you guys have fun,” Abi answered.

  “If it’s the black girl with the nice ass, I think they will,” Amaymon said, as he pressed his face against the car window and observed the rest of the group heading home.

  Sarah caught my eye and I gave her a small wave.

  “Anyway,” I said, turning back to Abi. “Did we get any calls?”

  “Yep. We got work to do,” she replied as she started up the car and we drove off.

  Chapter 2

  They say the world is over-populated, seeing as there are billions of us hanging around — although I’m pretty sure whoever conducted that survey did not have the ability to see ghosts. There are more of them hanging around than one might think.

  Maybe Heaven’s waiting room has limited seating.

  Either way, I don’t mind ghosts. Usually they’re easy cases — most just want to see their relatives one last time, or make sure grandpa’s gold war-era watch doesn’t end up in the hands of Cousin Coke Fiend who will pawn it for a line of snuff.

  Usually, I can get one of those cases done before the good stuff comes on TV.

  Reginald was not one such a case.

  A fat, greedy pervert in his previous life, his death had only served as a convenient way to haunt the basement of the high school he’d worked at as a janitor, where he then spent his newfound influx of free time in the girls’ locker room.

  Ironically, that was how he had died. Turns out peeping at jailbait can lead to heart failure.

  I dropped the stack of Playboys at the ghost’s feet.

  “Here’s your last request,” I said. “Now piss off already.”

  Reginald hovered towards the magazines and pages flipped over as if a gust of wind had blown over them.

  He looked up. “These are old,” he said. “I want the new ones. Ones I never seen before.”

  I closed my eyes and mentally counted to ten.

  “You didn’t specify, Reginald,” I said with every ounce of calm I could muster. “Besides, Playboys are Playboys — ass and titties galore. And I’m done being your errand boy. Take the filth and fuck off.”

  The pages ruffled violently as Reginald tossed one magazine aside. “No! I want the new ones!”

  I sighed again. “I’m done asking, Reginald. Go away.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll set my cat on you.”

  Reginald was not impressed. “Hah! I ain’t afraid of no cat, you idiot.”

  “Your funeral,” I said. “Amaymon, come out here for a sec.”

  The ground rumbled and a hole tore open in the gravel next to me.

  Amaymon — in his human form — emerged, dressed in his usual black attire, hands inside the pockets of his black cargo pants. A pendant with a ruby dangled around his neck, providing the only color to his outfit.

  When he smiled, he exposed a row of shark-like teeth.

  Reginald dropped the magazine he was holding. Jackass or not, he was a ghost now, which meant he could sense powerful magic. And few were more powerful than Amaymon, one of the world’s oldest demons.

  “Who’s that?” Reginald asked.

  I smirked. “That’s my cat.”

  Amaymon turned his malicious, yellow feline eyes towards the ghost. “Meow, motherfucker.”

  I didn’t know ghosts could shiver but Reginald
proved me wrong.

  Huh, guess you learn something new every day.

  “So what’s it gonna be?” I said.

  Reginald backed away. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave.” The Playboys floated in midair. “But I’m taking these with me.”

  A few seconds later the air popped as Reginald the Pervy Ghost, as well as a stack of Playboys, imploded into a clump of ectoplasm and disappeared from sight — hopefully for good this time.

  Amaymon turned to look at me.

  “You gave him my Playboys?” he asked exasperatedly.

  I shrugged. “You have a whole shelf. Plus, you never read them anymore. Not after you figured out our Wifi password anyway.”

  “‘Erik is awesome’ is not a password,” he replied. “It’s a cry for help.”

  My phone went off.

  “Get bent,” I said, fishing it out. “Yeah?”

  “Erik, it’s Roland.”

  Detective Roland March was a rising star at the local PD. Over the past few years, he and I had worked together on various cases, usually involving some supernatural nasty.

  “I need you to come down to a crime scene.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear, checked the time, and pressed it back to my face.

  “I just got done with a case,” I said. “How urgent is this?”

  When Roland spoke again, he did so in his we’re-up-shit’s-creek voice. “This one’s bad, Erik. Real bad.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “Yeah, but this one involves you directly,” he insisted. “Look, I’m sending you a picture and an address. Get here as soon as you can. And bring a witness.”

  “What?”

  But the line went dead.

  My phone rang as a text message appeared and I tapped it open. I read a street address and scrolled down to see the picture. A crime scene photo filled the screen and what I saw there made me snap at Amaymon to hurry up as we bolted towards the car.

  I’ve been in this business my entire life. I’m not old, not even middle-aged, but I’ve certainly lived more than your regular Joe. That’s not necessarily a good thing — not when most of that life was populated by horrors and nightmares.