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

“How do I do that? And what if he’s already possessed?”

“No chance. No spirit wants to live the life of a hobo. Especially as this one’s brain is fried!”

“What about you?” John said, concerned.

“Don’t worry about me, John, I’m not like you. But if it helps to make me seem more human, you can call me Nikki.” Her eyes rolled back in their sockets to reveal deep, black voids as she smiled, and then, in an instant, she disappeared.

John had no time to stand and wonder who or what had just happened. He ran along the alley, finally coming across the homeless man passed out in a pile of cardboard boxes.

Moral objections aside, he had no idea how to possess his first host. Without knowing if it would work, he stepped backward into the protruding feet of the man. Ignoring the sudden shivers running through his would-be host, John then sat back, lowering himself through the boxes and onto the body beneath, trying to line up his longer body with that of the rough sleeper as best he could. The shivering of his host had now transformed into uncontrollable trembling, and John feared the man might be having some kind of seizure. This wasn’t going well; there were forces at work here that were beyond his understanding. If he didn’t do this correctly, not only would he reveal his hiding place, but he feared he could end up killing his host. Realizing this, he was about to change his plan and take his chances with the pursuing spirit when he noticed that in addition to the mismatch in size, he wasn’t fully aligned with the hobo’s body. Correcting this triggered a reaction: his host suddenly arched his back for a split second, and John felt the sensation of being drawn in, shrinking to fit and becoming sealed within a new body. For a second, he panicked that he wouldn’t be able to break through the seal and leave. Pushing against it with his entire arm, he felt relief as the limb emerged with only the slightest resistance and immediately returned to its normal length. He moved his arm back inside, and the sensation of the seal returned, his arm perfectly in line with his host’s.

John had no time to reflect on the mind-blowing thing he had just done. He hadn’t passed straight through the guy; he had somehow locked into his body. And now he had some sensory awareness from a mortal body again. Not full awareness, given the catatonic state of his host, who was incapacitated from alcohol, perhaps meth. It was what made him the perfect hiding place despite the overwhelming smell of sour sweat and stale urine.

A few moments passed, and John’s earlier fears were realized. A spirit, probably the spirit, was passing nearby. As he observed it through the closed eyelids of his host the intensity of its glow faded and then unexpectedly increased again. It had come back to take a second look. The light became brighter still. It must be looking at his host’s face, studying it, probably trying to look for any tell of possession, John thought.

The intense glow persisted. Seconds turned into minutes, and John considered his glow might be visible through the hobo’s eyelids and the spirit could just be waiting for him to appear. The thought filled him with greater panic. Sooner or later, he would have to make a run for it, but it would mean certain death, real death, oblivion through being torn to pieces. Maybe that’s what she, Nikki, whatever she was, wanted to happen and he had stupidly fallen for her trap.

Just when he couldn’t stand the wait any longer and was ready to run, the glow abruptly died away. Darkness returned. John waited another ten minutes before he exited his host, to calm his nerves and to be certain the spirit had gone.

Ten

Farther downtown at that same moment, Daniel Lazlo was working late at the 73rd precinct, catching up on background work to several drug-related killings. He was sure they were connected with El Gordito’s men, but the lack of hard evidence was making it difficult to prove and his captain, Tony Ruzek, required nothing less than an airtight case when going after someone as powerful and connected as El Gordito.

He stared at the far wall of the empty detectives’ pen and at the stuffed boar’s head that was mounted among other trophies: machetes, axes, and unusual weapons seized during raids on gang lairs or stash houses. The hog had been christened El Gordito and wore a trilby hat, as favored in the summer months by its elusive namesake.

Lazlo decided to go to the kitchen for what he guessed was his sixth cup of coffee. That night, the precinct had had the usual kinds of cases to deal with—stabbings, murders, and drug overdoses—but things had quietened down now. On his way back to his desk, he heard a woman’s voice cursing in the entrance lobby. Out of blind curiosity, and as an excuse not to get back to the files straightaway, he listened, then took a stroll to the front desk.

She sounded genuinely distraught, as the sister of a missing person would be. Perhaps more so, and it turned out that was because the desk sergeant couldn’t get her first name right. It was spelled ‘Siobhan’ but pronounced ‘Shi-vawn,’ she was telling him. He had twice gotten it wrong when taking down her details and it had added unnecessary friction between them, as evidenced by the red flush in her Irish-fair complexion.

“Now, if we can get back to the matter of my brother being missing . . . I’m telling you, he was beaten by those thugs—doormen, I suppose you’d call them—working at the club and wasn’t seen after! What does that tell you!”

“I’m going to ask you, again, to calm down, ma’am. We will investigate the beating, but we