Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

John decided to follow the employee to his destination, which he figured, looking at the contents of the dollied boxes, would be a storeroom in easy reach of a bar, perhaps one connected to the VIP Lounge.

Glad of the absence of other spirits who might challenge him for being there, or worse, attack him, John continued to shadow the employee along a utilitarian corridor and through a set of double swing doors that led into a large kitchen.

Humid aromas of garlic and spices hit him, followed by the flash and alcoholic tang of a brandy-fueled flambé. Chefs hustled between stainless steel tables, sinks, and cooking ranges, only slowing for the precise pouring of sauces and the careful arrangement of ingredients on a plate. They shouted to each other through columns of steam and over the incessant noise of extractor fans, searing meat, and spitting fat.

The food looked fantastic and at that moment John realized he could no longer feel hunger. But now was not the time to lament the loss of mortal pleasures and he followed the employee into a storeroom, which turned out to be a storage area for wines and spirits. The employee started unpacking the trolley and so John took the route that a waiter had just taken to a door with a plaque. Fortunately, it had the words ‘VIP Lounge’ on it.

On the other side of the door, he found himself behind a glossy white bar, at least twenty feet in length, with a mirrored wall of bottled spirits and liquors on glass shelves behind it. In front of the bar, the atmosphere was buzzing and a crowd was mingling in a sizable area filled with glass tables and chairs and enclosed on two sides by floor-to-ceiling glazing, boasting a spectacular view of sparkling, nighttime Manhattan.

Waitresses dressed in tight leather shorts, heels, and fitted shirts bussed tables with forced smiles as they attended to the denizens of the lounge, who were all brash, male, and expensively dressed. These clients were accompanied by girls, obviously escorts in the briefest of clubwear, who sat in their laps or danced on tabletops dusted with spent lines of cocaine. Mojo by Peeping Tom was playing over the sounds of showboating men and fake female laughter––its hypnotic, haunting melody perfectly suited to the generally sleazy, drug-induced vibe.

John could see that the floor beneath them was of dark glass and that they were above the main part of the club. Stray beams from spinning dance-floor lighting below their feet shot upward, randomly hit tables, bodies, and faces or shattered into rainbow-colored shards of light by the many crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling,

With his back to the bar, John started his scan of the room, feeling increasing relief that he could see no other spirits or anyone showing signs of possession. His eyes were drawn to a raised area of tables and chairs, where three men were standing with their backs to him. He kept staring until one of the waitresses walked up to the bar and blocked his view. The distraction was momentary but, as it would turn out, just long enough for John not to notice the event that was unfolding in the blind spot she had created.

With his view again clear, John noticed that the wall of three men, all in dark suits, had parted to reveal a frenchified cocktail table, behind which a portly man sat in a gold-colored armchair, adorned like a throne. He was too far away for John to see his face clearly, but it was obvious he was a round-shouldered, pot-bellied Hispanic man of about forty, in a sharp suit and flamboyant-colored shirt. His body language screamed that he was in charge.

And then it hit John like a ten-ton truck. The fiery orange light radiating from the man’s eyes signaled that he was possessed. Worse, his manic stare indicated that he had just noticed John.

Thinking back to the photograph he had seen earlier online, John was certain that this was El Gordito. But possessed by whose spirit? He stood transfixed, thinking of Jennifer’s frightening description of Santiago’s spirit when it had emerged from Hardwell. He tried to prepare himself for its re-appearance.

But no spirit came out of the drug baron; instead, one of the men who had been standing with his back to John now turned to look at him, eyes glowing orange. Then he suddenly fell to one side as a spirit that had been inside him lunged toward John, discarding its host’s body as if it were shrugging off a coat.

Every synapse in John’s brain screamed for him to move, and his reflexes reacted just as fast as they would have done in his mortal life. He turned and ran, passing through wall after wall, heading for the goods elevator. The purple-waistcoat-wearing employee that John had come into the club with was in front of him, casually pushing the now-empty trolley back toward the elevator doors. With the guards gone, possibly on a break, the guy appeared far more relaxed and seemed to be taking his time. John looked behind him, along the corridor, while the employee placed his card next to the reader and pressed the call button.

A second later the spirit appeared, sprinting toward them.

One of the security guards John had seen earlier entered the corridor from a door to the left of the elevator, carrying a box and roaring, “Hold the elevator!”

The employee froze and started turning toward the guard as John invisibly passed him and went through the opening elevator doors. Inside the cab, John desperately tried to press the button for the garage level but was failing––his finger passing through it. He focused harder, imagining his fingertip interacting with the metal surface of the button. Finally, it connected and he pumped it as if it would make the doors close faster, switching his gaze back and forth from the button to the narrowing view onto the corridor and the rapidly approaching spirit.

The employee stuck