A Black Deeper Than Death (Miki Radicci Book 1) - Ebook

When you hide from the pain the best way to stop it is to face those who inflict it.

In a vibrant city built on secrets, Miki Radicci is an emancipated teen and the flavor of the art world, struggling to find her place and cope with her psychic ability - one that forces her to experience everyone's pain.

When she accidentally experiences the grisly murder of a young college woman, Miki quickly grabs the attention of the police and the killer, threatening her already fragile family.

Now, Miki must face the one person who inflicted her greatest pain in order to seek justice for the victim.

If you've loved suspenseful thrillers such as "Gone Girl" or "The Girl on the Train", you will be captivated by this fast-paced, psychic mystery series. Buy now before the price changes!

NOT QUITE SO NUMB

The bouncer shoves me out of the Frog Bar. I stumble down the concrete steps, pass the people waiting in line, and fall to the sidewalk. Although I land on my hands, I still hit my head. But with the three vodkas and cranberry juice from the bar mixed with my black market Lexapro and Xanax chaser, I don’t feel a thing.

“Don’t let me catch you in here again,” the fat bald-headed bouncer in a bad wool pullover says. “Crazy bitch.” He walks back inside, rubbing his aching nuts that I kicked.

I remain on the ground and inhale a few icy breaths. I slide my arms under my numb head and listen to the people talking. At first I’m pissed that I’m not going to be able to see the rest of Blonde Redhead’s set inside, but I’m also glad to be away from that guido Jersey Shore wannabe who thought I was going to blow him in the corner of the room. I mean really, what is a wife-beater wearing, tan-skinned, Jersey-accented asshole doing in a place like the Frog Bar?

“Baby, you okay?” some guy asks.

I roll over on my back and glare at the bohemian with a brown leather jacket, jeans, and…earmuffs? His twiggy girlfriend poses next to him and checks me out like I’m some kind of mutant that crawled out of the Hudson. I might as well be compared to her fur jacket and skin-tight black dress. I bet she’s not even wearing underwear.

“Don’t I look okay?” I ask. “What’s wrong, never seen anyone lay on the freakin’ sidewalk? Fucking New York City, asshole. People all over laying on the sidewalk.”

The guy holds his hands up and smiles. “Okay. Okay.”

The fur coat bimbo laces her arms around his waist like he’s some kind of prize. Yeah, a prize that wears sandals in the winter? “C’mon. She’s probably some teenage, runaway hooker or something.” She pulls him away.

“Doesn’t mean she don’t need some help,” he says.

I sit up and mutter, “Runaway hooker my ass.” Do I look like a hooker in black pants, purple sweater, and my $900 leather jacket, bitch? If they knew who I really am they would probably be sucking my ass. Just as well, I’m so not in the mood for an ass-sucking.

Two agonizing minutes later, I stand and join the rest of the downtown nightlife. Some people glare my way, most just ignore. When you get down to it, having someone thrown to the sidewalk is not that unusual.

I check the time on my cell phone: 10:13 PM.  Do I hit up another bar? Or should I go home?

“Fuck,” I whisper. I pull my wallet out of my back pocket to make sure that the bartender gave back my fake I.D. It’s there. Going to another bar sounds like the next best move.

I zipper up my jacket and stick my hands in my pockets as I walk Hudson Street. I curse myself for leaving my hat at home. The breeze funneling between the buildings wind-burns my ears and makes my nose drip.

I continue down the streets and wonder if I should call Corey to see if he wants to hang out. Then, through my alcohol and chemical haze, I remember he has a date tonight with some rent boy he met in the Lower East Side. I so hate drinking alone, but I also hate crowds.

Feeling dizzy, I stop for a moment on the dark street. Where the hell am I? The huge buildings look like warehouses, but since the windows aren’t boarded up to hide what’s inside, they could be converted condos. I don’t make out any storefronts or entrances to the buildings, just loading ramps, steel shutter gates, and skinny metal stairs. I must be way off course since cobblestone has replaced the asphalt. The average person should freak out a little, but I have my butterfly knife with me if some freak gives me trouble. I spot cars driving down the cross street ahead and decide to continue on. Where there’s traffic there’re bars, right?

I walk to the edge of the sidewalk to avoid the dark alley on my right. Last thing I need…

…the hand releases my hair…the knife slashes my face…and again…I scream and cover my stinging face only to have the knife serrate the back of my hands….stumble to my feet and lean against the brick wall of the alley…. “Stop please stop,” I cry….the dark figure in a short dark coat and derby hat stands over me….knife in their hand….large dripping blade… “Little whore thinks she can do better,” the figure rasps…. “Help me,” I scream….look down the alley and see no one coming…cold steel punctures my stomach…blood fills my mouth…liquid warmth down my neck…the blade penetrates…and again…the pain fades…and again…hot breath gasps in my face…and again…until all turns a deep black….

 
END OF A SHIFT

“Miss, can you hear me?”

I open my eyes to see a cop and a woman standing over me. The name pinned to his shirt reads Ricco. The cop is young and kind of cute. He has one of those square-jaw faces that look like it will only stay cute with a crew cut. I wonder if that’s why he chose to be a cop. The woman is older with way too much makeup. She must have slathered on the pink eye shadow all the way up to her forehead with a paintbrush. Catching an odor of onions and shit off the breeze, I’d say she’s homeless. But her short black wool overcoat appears new, so you never know.

“I can hear you,” I say. “What happened?”

“I was crossing the street when I heard you screaming for help.” Crazy make-up lady leans over me and hugs her huge handbag as if the contents are going to rain out. “When I found you, you were laying right here on the street. I pulled you over to the side so that no one would run you over.” She smiles wide, revealing white bonded teeth.

I fake a smile back for her. “Thanks.”

“Were you attacked, miss?” Ricco the cop asks. “Are you hurt?”  

I suddenly remember what happened. I pat my face and stomach and find no wounds. “Holy Jesus,” I sigh. I have never felt anything like that before in my sixteen years of life. I can still feel the cold knife slicing through my gut like a paper cut that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Right here I saw her.” Crazy make-up lady sniffles. “I didn’t touch her. No, I didn’t. See?”

“Are you hurt?” the cop sighs. The frustration of being with two crazy women finally gets to him, I suppose. “Do you need me to call you an ambulance?”

I sit up and face the dark alley. “No. I’m not hurt. But someone else is.” I point to the darkness. “Someone was killed back there. A woman.”

The crazy make-up lady’s eyes widen while the cop’s scrunch up with doubt.

I glare at him. “What?”

“Have you had anything to drink tonight?”

“I’m not playing with you and I am not drunk,” I say.

Ricco the cop shakes his head in disbelief. He can probably smell my breath.

“Listen, okay,” I say. “Please. I know what I saw.”

Ricco helps me to my feet and I walk to the alley. He motions for the woman to hang back while he follows me inside. “Are you saying you saw a woman murdered?”

The streetlights barely penetrate the darkness in the alley.

“You got a light or something?”

He removes the huge flashlight off his belt and shines it down the alley. I lead him in deeper and scan the area. Garbage bags and cans line the graffiti enhanced brick walls and send a horrid stench up my nose. A few metal doors lead into the buildings.

“Listen, my shift is almost over,” the cop says. “I’ll be glad to help you if you need it, but I am not in the mood to be jerked around here. Were you or were you not attacked tonight?”

I turn to the jarhead cop. “I’m not jerking you around. For fuck sake I saw a woman murdered in this fucking alley.”

He stops and shines the light to my side. His face creases. “Step back.”

I give him room and he walks past. I can see what he’s shining the light on: a foot in a green high heel shoe. I move up behind him and cover my mouth. Although she’s laying face-down in a puddle of blood, I know it’s the same woman from my vision.

“I said, step back,” the cop’s nervous voice says.

I obey him, never taking my eyes off the dead woman. Memories of the pain she felt when she died race through me, making me hug my shivering body.