Hole in the Head Freak: Short Story

When Miriam wakes up after a wild night out, the last thing she expects to find is a dead body with a hole in its head next to her.

As a recent ex-convict, the last thing she needs is to be framed for murder.

But with the cops on her tail and the bodies piling up in the city, Miriam finds herself on the run for her freedom – and the medication she needs to stay alive.

Hole in the Head Freak is a gripping sci-fi crime story that will keep you on the edge of your seat. If you enjoyed the mystery and suspense of novels like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, then you'll love this thrilling adventure. Buy it now!

Excerpt:

A hole about the size of an old coin in his temple. Black and deep and bloody. So much blood. It was all over my body. My naked body? In this cheap New York City hotel room. How did I get here? Who was this naked man in the bed with the hole in his head?

Did I kill him?

Someone pounded on the door, making it rattle.

“Mr. Crisonino?” a male voice asked, a bit meek. “Are you all right in there?”

My brain spinning, I stood on unfaithful legs and inspected my body. No wounds but lots of blood. Mr. Crisonino’s blood. Who the hell was he? I had never seen him before. Why was I naked with his dead body in this damn hotel room?

“Mr. Crisonino, we received calls that there was screaming in the room,” the voice said. “I’m here with the police.”

My clothes were draped on the chair, part of the table set by the window. I struggled into my panties, jeans, shirt, and leather jacket. No time for my bra. I left it there.

“Mr. Crisonino,” a new voice strengthened with authority. “This Officer Banks. If you don’t come to the door in three seconds to let us in, I will be forced to break in.”

“But I have a key,” the weak voice said.

My bag, where was my bag? It was small with a long strap and I always carried it with me. Damn it! It had my Synthroid pills.

“One,” the voice shouted.

The body. The cops would think I killed him. Did I? Shit, I couldn’t go back to jail. They’d never let me out again even if this would be my first murder charge. But I didn’t murder him.

“Two!”

Yeah, like they would believe me with all his blood on my body. The cop outside might even kill me to save the city cash and make himself a hero. After all, Mr. Crisonino wasn’t the only body found with the hole in his temple lately. The news media ran a story almost every week about one in the city with the same wound.

“Three! We’re coming in, Mr. Crisonino!”

They rammed against the door.

“No, don’t” the manager shouted. “I have a key!”

I opened the window next to the table and chairs and pushed my head out. A fire escape led to an alley four floors below. I climbed out and looked in both directions. Up or down?

“Don’t fucking move!”

Two young bald cops in the room, by the bed. Both aimed guns at me. The hotel manager, a weaselly gent, stood behind them and wrung his hands.

They fired.

I jumped through the hole in the grill floor to the next level. Glass showered. Landing on my ass, hitting the diagonal iron ladder hard, I forced myself up and stumbled to the next level. Bullets fired past me or into the iron above.

“Stop!” one of the cops screamed.

Yeah, sure. Make it easier for them to blow my sexy black ass away.

By the time I reached the first level, one of the cops was on the second. The other cop had to be backtracking to the street through the hotel. Skipping the ladder, I jumped down to the concrete surface, igniting a painful tremor through my legs. Again, I had two directions. The street or deeper into the alley. Both were risky.

I took my chances with the alley since the second cop could be heading this way. Hell, an army of them could be out there.

I ran as the first cop hit the ground and aimed his gun at my back. He screamed for me to stop and fired. I turned the corner of the hotel as the bullet struck brick. Garbage cans and stuffed black garbage bags attracted the flies and filled my lungs with stench. The steel doors to the buildings on either side were knobless and sealed. Another intersecting alley came up. I took a chance and went left, hoping it would lead to a crowded street.

It did. Regular people in suits and dresses and East Village characters walked passed the entrance. All going to their boring jobs or stopping for their morning coffees. Cars honked in aggravation, stuck in traffic, stuck in life.

As I broke out onto the street, a bullet hit the wall by my shoulder. Was this cop crazy? He could hit someone. Ducking, I glanced back at him. His clammy white face now pink with anger and exertion. He pumped his arms and legs, sweating through his uniform. I dashed onto the sidewalk and blended with the people, hoping to at least avoid a bullet.

I ran through red lights, dodged cars, shoved people out of the way, and almost tripped a few times. Fast and hard. Fire in my lungs and the muscles in my legs. I didn’t hear any bullets. No one screamed in panic, only shouted annoyance when I collided with them. But I knew the cops were still after my ass. I knew they were close. I didn’t dare stop running.