Watching the Dead Read online

  Watching the Dead

  A Jo Wolfe Psychic Detective crime thriller

  Book 3

  © Wendy Cartmell 2020

  Wendy Cartmell has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This is a work of fiction. References to real places, real people, events, establishments, organisations, or locations, are intended only to provide a sense of authentication, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  This kindle edition published 2020 by Costa Press

  By Wendy Cartmell

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  Wendy Cartmell

  Table of Contents

  By Wendy Cartmell

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Waking the Dead

  By Wendy Cartmell

  Prologue

  The Book of Enoch Chapter 9

  ‘And they have gone to the daughters of men on the earth and have had sex with the women, and have defiled themselves and revealed to them all kinds of sins.'

  Chapter 1

  9 months ago…

  Sat high above Chichester, clinging to the Cathedral wall, the Watcher was as good as his name. He was watching the comings and goings of the people in the city. One of those faces rarely seen, but always watching. For no one ever looked up. They should. For there was a tumult of gargoyle monsters, watching. All seeing, inspecting, searching. It was said that gargoyles were evil beings banished from the house of God. And so they were set in stone, looking outward, away from the place they really wanted to be in, but were never allowed to enter.

  The Watcher looked for all the world like a gargoyle. He was the colour of old stone worn away by time and weather. He was still; transfixed on the people far below. The only part of him that moved was his eyes. They were coal black, cold and brooding. His hands and feet had striking matching talons, large hooked nails that were both ugly and frightening. His facial expression vexed, as he cast around for suitable victims.

  Finally he found one, late in the day when the sun was setting, and the darkness of the night was drawing in. A beautiful young girl dressed to titillate man’s desires. Her long black boots covered her knees. She had black fishnet tights on, which were torn in places. Her skirt was so short you could see her buttocks. She struck him as vulnerable as she tottered along on her high heels. Alone and already inebriated. Perfect.

  His laser-like eyes homed in on her and watched as she sauntered along the street, into Chichester’s city centre, where the bars and clubs were filling up. Loud music filtered down to the cathedral, a thumping bass that drew the clients in. He would keep his eye on her and when she was vulnerable, he would strike. Or rather his acolyte would strike, and then the Watcher would take over the man’s body and use it as his own.

  It was getting more and more difficult to find suitable victims, though. Suitable victims who would do as he wanted. Become impregnated and then keep the baby. Too much of the world was changing, attitudes were hardening, women were not who they used to be. In the past, an unmarried pregnant woman would have been sent into hiding in another part of the country, or to visit distant relatives even, where they would carry the baby to full term. Then, after the birth, at best they kept the child, or worst, placed it up for adoption. Either option was good with the Watcher, he would keep an eye on his offspring until they were of an age to join him in his quest; building an army of Watchers, half human and half God, who would rule the world with an iron fist, for millennia.

  But now? Now, women were far more in control of their own lives and their own bodies. Much more attuned to them than they were before. Harder in attitude and less likely to care what anyone thought of them. Less the distressed maiden and more ‘It’s my body and I’ll do what I want with it’, feminist. Which usually resulted in them aborting the unwanted foetus. This was deeply frustrating to the Watcher. It made him angry, unstable, liable to lash out when thwarted.

  Still, it was his lot to carry on. To find women, to get them pregnant, then hope. For surely the law of averages meant that a few would keep the babies. He guessed he would have to keep trying, if he was to have any chance of building an army of offspring.

  As the cloak of the night settled on him, the Watcher closed his eyes and concentrated, cast around until he found the mind of the man he was seeking. His message was simple. It was time to party.

  Chapter 2

  9 months ago…

  Abbey groaned. Bloody hell, not again. She had the hangover from hell. Her head was pounding, she felt sick and she had absolutely no recollection of what had happened the night before. How had she got home? Had anyone come back with her? By that she meant a man. There were odd flashes of memory. Of dancing. Of catching the eye of a rather fit bloke. But after that… nothing. No matter how hard she tried to remember. Not that that was unusual. If anyone liked to party, it was Abbey. She opened her eyes. Jesus that sun was strong. Struggling up, she swung her legs off the bed and immediately wished she hadn’t. As she sat there swaying, a worm of an idea burrowed its way into her brain. She had to change her ways. There had to be a better way of living than this.

  If she was honest with herself, Abbey the party animal, was finding her life rather dull and tarnished, not the super shiny exciting one that it used to be. She’d got into the habit of partying all weekend, only to find that the hangovers now lasted days instead of hours. By mid-week she’d just about recovered, only to gear up for Friday night once again. She realised she hadn’t worked in months. She was trying, and failing, to live on benefits and relying more and more on the charity of her friends for drugs and tobacco. Oh and she was shoplifting to feed herself. Mustn’t forget that nugget.

  She staggered to the loo, avoiding the mirror. She knew what she’d find there and couldn’t face it; bloodshot eyes, dull skin, spots, the remnants o
f her make up plastered over her face, mascara ground into her eye lids and patchy lipstick still staining her lips. Not to mention her hair. Her blond tresses were matted and greasy. And she was so thin she was starting to look emaciated. No regular food, too much alcohol. Drugs to keep her up and then to put her to sleep, wasn’t a recipe for a healthy life.

  Close to throwing up, she banged her way off door frames and furniture, back to bed, closed her eyes and waited for blessed oblivion to claim her.

  If Abbey had looked in the mirror, she would have found someone else, or something else, staring back at her. Watching over her shoulder. Staying close. Keeping its eye on her. And although she didn’t know it just yet, she wouldn’t be on her own again. For she was under the spell of the Watcher.

  It was a whole two days later when Abbey felt able to get up and stay up. She’d tried before but given up after going to the loo. It appeared that she was experiencing the worst hangover she’d ever had.

  Her dreams were plagued with strange and horrible sights. It was as though she’d taken LSD and was in the clutches of dreamscapes and nightmares. Everything was distorted, everything good morphed into horrible and all her friends dead or dying.

  Dancing in clubs, opposite mates who turned into zombies, or skeletons, or ghosts before her very eyes. Flesh melting away, clothes tattered and torn, open mouths containing things other than teeth, things that moved and wobbled and slithered. Smells that made her nausea worse. She gagged and tried to swallow down the bile but couldn’t. As she threw up, she woke, shivering and sweating.

  24 hours later, the splitting headache had gone, helped by the copious amounts of water she’d drunk and the pain killers she’d managed to keep down. She sat on the side of her bed, trembling and weak and managed to take her make up off at last. Then she headed for the shower, enjoying the warm spray sloughing off the dried perspiration. She washed and conditioned her hair, then turned the water to cold to wake her up. The shock did the trick and she emerged shaking and shivering but feeling more alive than she had in days, if not weeks. Actually it was months if she was honest with herself. Looking in the mirror she found her eyes and skin clear, her hair squeaky clean and her hunger sharp.

  As she looked away, she thought she caught sight of something in the mirror, standing behind her. Something black and pulsing and menacing, seen from the corner of her eye. She whirled around but found it was only her dressing gown hanging from the hook on the back of the door. She laughed, but there was no mirth in it. It was from fear, a release of tension.

  Quickly leaving the bathroom and returning to her room, she was struck by how musty it smelled. Once dressed in the only miss- matched clean clothes she could find, Abbey flung open the curtains and released the latch on the window. As she pushed it open, she could smell the flowers outside and hoped their scent would pervade her room, banishing the sickly unwashed smell. She then made her way to the kitchen in the shared house she lived in. What to eat? Dry toast as she had no butter? But then she spied a lone avocado lurking in the back of the vegetable drawer in the fridge. That would do, after all avocados were super foods, weren’t they? Toasting a couple of slices of bread, then spreading them liberally with mashed avocado, she returned to her room to eat, while watching the news. Hunger sated, she turned to her laptop. It was time she made a plan. A plan for the rest of her life. For if there was one thing the last few days had taught her, she never wanted to go back to being Abbey the party animal ever again.

  Chapter 3

  Present day…

  In his dreams they appeared, the dead from the bomb at the Italian restaurant. Byrd shrunk away from them. He’d never seen anything like it. They were there, yet not there, flickering like an old black and white movie from a bygone era, preserved forever on celluloid film stock. He wanted to shout out to Jo, to warn her that she was surrounded by… By what? He had no bloody idea, but fear closed his throat in his dream, as it had in real life. He said nothing. He could do nothing. He was mute and frozen like a statue in a stately home garden. They were facing the man who Byrd guessed must be Odin, the terrorist they were seeking, who was masquerading as the leader of a new political party. Citing violence and murder to wipe away those who displeased him.

  He thought perhaps they’d disappear, these apparitions. He hoped they would. But it only got worse, became more frightening, for then they spoke, one by one.

  Mateo, the maître d’: ‘You took my life, left my wife a widow and my children fatherless. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  Tony, the chef: ‘How dare you take my precious restaurant. I was happy there. I poured all my heart into those dishes. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  Paul the commis chef: ‘I had my whole life before me. Years and years of happiness. My parents will never recover from their loss. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  Nick, the pot wash: ‘I had nothing. Then Tony believed in me and gave me a job. After years of being homeless on the streets, he held out the hand of friendship. Then you killed us and took away my future. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  Byrd was shivering and shaking now. He was in the grip of his terror, losing his mind, but unable to break away from his nightmare.

  Truelove the dodgy MP spat at Odin: ‘I thought I was bad, but you are pure evil. I did what I did for money, but I never killed anyone. I’ll never forgive you for all the lives you’ve taken.’

  Truelove’s wife: ‘What did I ever do to you? I didn’t know about my husband’s dodgy dealings. But he didn’t need to die for them and neither did I, nor my unborn child. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  Then the remaining dead spoke all at once; John Jenkins, Harold Smith, Stephen McGrath, Lord Holland, Judge Chambers, Mr and Mrs Prendergast.

  Finally, Alex Crooks’ spirit left his body and joined them. ‘I loved you and you took my love and threw it away like it was a piece of rubbish. I meant nothing to you. I’ll never forgive you for that.’

  They were all facing the terrorist, Odin. As they each confronted him with his evil and refused to pardon him for his sins against them, they raised their hands. Byrd could see and feel the power flowing from them. A low hum began. Electrical energy surged through the warehouse. And it was all focused upon Odin. Their combined power took him to his knees. Odin raised his head and screamed out his anger and hatred of them. But it wasn’t enough.

  With a clap of thunder, he splintered, the broken, jagged pieces of him suspended in the air for a moment. In one, Byrd saw his face, surprise and agony written across it, in another his slashed and burned torso, then one with arms and legs broken and bleeding. For one blinding moment they fused back together before finally turning into a single bolt of lightning that struck the ground and then burned out, never to be seen again. The God of War had fought his final battle and been found wanting.

  One by one the dead faded away. The last one to go was Judith. Jo alone was left. She staggered, looking drained, but relieved it was all over.

  Then Byrd found his voice.

  ‘Jo?’

  She turned.

  ‘Jo, what the fuck just happened? What haven’t you been telling me?’

  Byrd clawed his way out of the nightmare and sat up in bed, gasping for air, his hair and body slick with sweat. The horror of what he’d seen and the outrage he felt towards Jo for keeping things from him, made him shake. Tremors rippled through his body. He’d taken the last couple of days off work, claiming incapacitation from a flu like bug. But that was a lie. Mind you, not as big a lie as the ones Jo had been telling him.

  What the hell was going on in her life? He needed to ask her. But fear was paralysing him, and it was about time he put an end to it. He was a bloody detective for God’s sake. He’d witnessed the depravity of men. Men like Odin. But he wasn’t sure Odin had been a man, at all. What he actually was, Byrd had no idea. The fleeting thought of what he could be was too horrible to contemplate. And what was the deal with Judith? She’d died from the bom
b in the restaurant. Hadn’t she?

  It was no good. He’d have to face his fears, for really it was fear of the unknown that was paralysing him. Maybe with a rational explanation he’d be able to come to terms with what he saw. Or at least what he thought he saw. But, of course, that meant he’d have to talk to Jo.

  He grabbed his mobile phone from next to his bedside light and sent a text before he could change his mind: We need to meet.

  Within minutes he had his reply: Yes, we do. Just tell me where and when. Jo x

  Chapter 4

  8 months ago…

  Abbey had had an epiphany of sorts… she decided she must change her lifestyle, become clean and sober and find a way of supporting herself. She wanted a good future and long life and knew she had to change to achieve that. And she still remembered the nightmares she’d lived through in her dreams. She didn’t think she’d ever forget them. If that’s what drugs were doing to her, then she’d had enough of them.

  She went for long walks, taking her neighbour’s dog with her. The dog’s natural enthusiasm for walks and life in general was infectious and Abbey began to get the germ of an idea of what she could do in terms of a job. It was so obvious, she wondered why she hadn’t done it years ago. She would design and make clothes. Make use of that Art Degree she’d got several years ago and had pretty much ignored ever since. She’d sell her clothes on Etsy and eBay and maybe at the odd vintage market and promote them on Instagram and Facebook. After all, the one thing she knew about was social media, along with the rest of her generation, as they all spent much of their time online.