Amanda M. Lee [Lee - Freaky Reapers (A Mystic Caravan Mystery Book 8)

Prologue

12 years ago

I t was the end of the world. Or, at least, the end of an era.

Thats what I told myself as I stared at the body hanging from one of the antiquated Cass Corridor overpasses. It swayed back and forth in the biting wind. Its open eyes stared back at me. They saw nothing.

I recognized him, of course. Noble. That probably wasnt his real name, but it was his street name. He was homeless, like the rest of us, flitting from one part of town to the other. At night, we always ended up here unless there was an ongoing raid or turf war between the rival gangs. It was better to sleep with a group.

Noble was older than us and a little crazy, if you want to know the truth but he was a good guy. He was shell-shocked. Thats what one of the others said. I think it was Hazy, but he was known for having his head in the clouds so I didnt take what he said to heart. I went to the library once after a shower and a change of clothes. Unlike the others, I always wanted to look my best. I researched certain mental ailments. One of the women behind the help desk happily pitched in.

I didnt need to read her mind to know what she was thinking. She was afraid for me. She didnt know me, didnt know my name was Poet Parker and that I was completely on my own. She didnt know my parents were dead and that Id fled a foster home that had turned sideways. She did know I was on the street. She recognized that.

She wanted to help. She wasnt some do-gooder who got off on helping those less fortunate and then blabbing to everyone who would listen. She sensed something in me. She didnt know that she was sensing it. She believed she simply had strong intuition. It was more than that. She was special. I recognized it in her because I was special, too.

Of course, I was still on the street. A fat lot of good my specialness had done for me so far. I planned to turn my ability I didnt know what else to call it into a money-making endeavor. I was still trying to figure out how.

Anyway, the woman at the library wanted to help. She offered to buy me lunch and even call someone from the childrens services department to get me into a halfway house. I thanked her politely, said I was fine, and didnt take her up on her offer of lunch. The information she provided, however, was illuminating.

PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. After reading only one page on the entry I was certain thats what Noble had. Hed served overseas. He talked about it constantly. Hed left the military before the Gulf War, but thought he should go back for one more tour to serve his country. That turned out to be his mistake.

He was indeed shell-shocked. There was a diagnostic name for what he suffered. He needed help medication even but we couldnt provide it, and he wouldnt listen to our recommendations.

So he self-medicated. We always knew where to find him. In the hottest days of summer, he liked to sleep on the beach at Belle Isle. When it wasnt quite as warm, like now, he preferred bunking down in the Corridor. It wasnt as chilly here because the wind was often blunted by the buildings.

It didnt matter now. He was clearly dead. The question was: How did he end up hanging from the overpass?

What is this? I demanded, striding forward.

The others were already gathered around the scene, some in awe and others in sadness. I understood their reactions. Seeing Noble hanging from the bridge was surreal and then some.

What happened? I stopped next to Hazy, who seemed lost in his own little world as he stared at the body. His eyes were red-rimmed and I knew he was high. Hed earned his nickname, after all. He was a little older than me I put his age around twenty and hed been on the streets for at least two years. Thats all I knew about him other than the fact that he was relatively amiable but pretty much kept to himself.

Noble is dead, Hazy replied, shaking his head. I think he killed himself.

I thought of the troubled war veteran and the nights he spent screaming as nightmares chased him. Id often wondered if he would eventually take his own life. Of course, he also swore he was going to get better and convince his family to take him back. He had hope and most people with hope dont commit suicide.

Are you sure? I pressed. He was fine when I saw him earlier. Er I guess it was last night. He was fine.

Hes not fine now, is he? Hazy took a long toke on his homemade pipe. That is just messed up.

That pretty much summed up the situation. We need to get him down from there. I started in the direction of the overpass embankment, a wild notion of climbing the hill and somehow finding the strength to cut Noble down flying through my head. A hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed my arm before I could make much headway. What the ?

I lashed out with my fist out of instinct. Its always wise to punch first and ask questions later. Luckily for me, the man trying to get my attention through the sea of onlookers was used to me throwing punches, and he easily sidestepped my fist.

Shadow, I muttered, letting out a shaky breath when I saw him. What are you doing lurking like that?

Instead of being offended, Shadow looked amused. Lurking? I see youre still going down to the library once a week and learning everything you can.

The statement wasnt derisive, but it rankled all the same. That library thing was a secret. Only a few people knew. So what if I am?

He held his hands up in a placating manner. I didnt say there was anything wrong with it. I think its good.

Shadow was a biker who spent most of his time hanging at a bar around the corner. He occasionally came to the area to check on us. He only bothered because we patched him up after a particularly brutal fight outside the bar last year. Someone dumped him in our alley and we decided to see if we could save him. When he came to, he was confused. He was also sore.

He stayed with us for more than a week. Thats how long he was in pain. Once he was on his feet again, he made sure to bring us decent food as often as he could manage and he checked on us at least once a day when he was in town. His attitude was vigilant he constantly warned us if hed heard rumors about bad dudes hitting the area and I often thought of him as our knight in shining armor. It didnt hurt that he looked like a model more than a biker. I mean he was ridiculously hot. I pegged his age in the twenties, but it was hard to tell.

I have to get him down. I was adamant as I caught Shadows heavy gaze. He cant stay like that. Its not right.

Its not, Shadow agreed. But you cant cut him down. The cops will handle it.

I hated the notion of the police being the ones to help Noble. He belongs to us.

Shadow sighed. Kid, youre not going to make it out here if youre not careful. You cant spend all your time worrying about others. You have to think about yourself first. You cant help him.