Read The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) for Free Online Page A

him?”
      
“It’s really not the machine, everything is checking out.”
      
“I didn’t break it then?”
      
“No.”
      
“Bugger.”
      
“That’s not nice,” and Joe put his hand protectively on the machine.
      
“Turn it off. Turn it off and let’s go home.”
     
      
Dee had driven stoically all the way home, dropped Joe off with his machine at
his home, gone home, got into the shower, and then only then allowed herself to
start weeping. All those years, all those visits to psychiatrist after
psychiatrist, as if someone was keeping tabs on her, to try and sort her fucked
up head out as she’d grown into, well, whatever set of labels they applied now
to what she’d become, and all those pills and threats to shock her brain. All
of that, and she’d finally got what she’d always dreamt of: a way to speak to
her father. A way to cut through her faulty head and get back to source, get
back to Dad telling her what was happening. All that, in her hands, and then
something she had never once dreamt of: her father was damaged. Not just dead,
not just a ghost but actually damaged. Unable to talk, say anything coherent,
just flashes of words and then confusion.
      
It was worse than finding out that there weren’t souls, and not just for the
coming and going of hope. It was worse because it meant her father was a broken
thing, and that whatever had killed him, something she already knew was
horrible enough to lock itself away in her mind, had damaged his soul as well.
What the fuck sort of thing did that? Was there some spirit crunching demon
thing out there hunting for fathers? But that wouldn’t kill a body. And still
no answer to the question, the most painful question of them all: what killed
her father and let her live? Why was she alive and he was dead? Why not the other
way round? You’re brought up to believe people are after kids, not that adults
are really at more risk.
     
Dee leaned her forehead against the tiles, which felt cold on her skin. The
water poured down on her head, always hot, and streamed down her body. What
now? What do you do when you’ve run out of options long ago, found a surprise
new one, and had that taken away too. No point speaking to the dead, she might
as well chuck her books. No point in anything. Just get up, do your shitty job,
and have a hole in the back of your mind.
      
Right, that sorts it, she was going to get very drunk on cheap lager and
expensive spirits, pass out, and pray for the world to end in an apocalypse.
Then, only then, would she find the peace which was all she’d ever wanted.
     
       
Joe had got to bed late, passed out immediately, and assumed his alarm would
wake him the next day, at which point he’d have to drag his tired body into
work and get through the day like a zombie. He didn’t think Scott would accept
‘I had to drive in the unknown for testing with a woman I’ve only really spent
an afternoon with’ would be a great way of delaying his arrival. Unfortunately,
or fortunately as it turned out, Joe found himself waking naturally, feeling
quite recharged, and it took a look at his alarm clock to see how long he had
left.
      
It said ten o'clock, which was a good few hours after he was supposed to be at
work. Cursing, he realised he’d been too tired to turn the alarm on, and so
wasn’t now a zombie but wasn’t exactly on time. Sighing heavily he climbed out
of bed, washed and dressed at speed, and came into his kitchen. No time to have
breakfast, and he’d have to miss the lady at the cafe as he dashed into the
lab. Bugger.
      
What was unusual was he found a message from Monroe as he checked his phone,
just the one, asking ‘Joe, did you come into work today?’ The recipient shot
back a quick ‘sorry, I’m late, there soon’ and hopped in the car, only briefly
pondering why Monroe would ask this, today, when he never had before. A text from
Scott asking where the machine was, that was the expected, but