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

must have falsified the death certificate. There is no way the car crash was the cause of death. The body already had an autopsy performed on it before it was placed in the car. There are two sets of stitches on the body,” Lazlo said sternly. “And the crematorium is owned by El Gordito,” he added. “Chief, there is something deeper going on here.”

The chief paused for a second as if caught off guard, but then seemed to dismiss everything Lazlo had said. “If you even go anywhere near another business owned by El Gordito, you’ll be placed on immediate suspension. It’s your suspension or another lawsuit against us, and the department can’t afford it. Nobody is stopping any funeral!”

The line went dead. Lazlo could see mounting concern on Stevens’ face. “You’ll be fine, Tom,” Lazlo said, and paused before adding, “I, on the other hand, will probably get suspended very soon.”

“Christ, Lazlo!” Tom exclaimed.

It was now 9:30 a.m. Lazlo put the automatic gearbox into drive. They drove out slowly along the gravel road, the guard diminishing in the rearview window.

A few seconds later a black Mercedes appeared, driving toward the crematorium. As it passed, Lazlo caught a brief glimpse of one of the passengers. It was Siobhan Kendrick, dressed in black. There was momentary eye contact before she looked away, fearful.

Twelve

Later that same morning, John made his way back to DNA, hopeful that his newfound ability to possess mortals would help him hide from belligerent spirits. He was expecting his method of entry into the club to be the same as before, but things had changed. A guard’s booth and a barrier had been put up at the entrance to the parking garage. He waited a while, observing these new security measures until a delivery truck pulled up to the barrier, blocking his view of the booth.

Deciding he could make use of the truck in order to get in, he ran toward it and reached through one of the plastic side curtains surrounding the cargo area to grab an anchor point to pull himself up against. The palm of his hand found and interacted with a curtain support column, giving him purchase. His other hand made contact with and pressed down on the truck bed to help him haul himself up and allow his head to pass through the curtain. He brought his knees up to make contact with the truck floor, then his feet, and stood up. His glow illuminated a narrow space surrounded by metal beer kegs stacked from floor to ceiling.

The truck started moving down the ramp and into the basement level. John figured it would soon pull up to the loading dock and reverse into it, as the bay wasn’t wide enough to allow for the unloading of a truck, side-on. Between him and the driver, who would soon be his second host, stood the wall of beer kegs.

Passing through the barrels would be tricky without being able to see the truck floor to engage and disengage with. And the time that he had to do it was going to be shorter than he had expected. No sooner had he started his journey through the barrels than he felt the truck turn and commence reversing. He stepped forward and felt the soles of his feet touch cold, wet metal. He pushed through until they made contact with the wooden truck bed.

The vehicle was now slowing, and he couldn’t risk the driver, his only camouflage, getting out of the cab before he had possessed him. He plunged his head into the barrels and made his way forward to the cab. Metal gave way to the brownish-orange color of light beer, then metal again, then an air gap where his head emerged and then back through metal, beer and the outer barrel wall.

He hustled his way through, even though it was a bit hit and miss with his feet, sometimes slipping then regaining his footing. The last five rows of barrels were different. He slipped through metal, beer, then, unexpectedly, a plastic membrane and finally—pills. Hundreds of white pills with red spiders embossed on one side. Drugs were being smuggled into the club.

Upon emerging from the last barrel, John immediately passed through the cab wall and into his new host, just as the driver was about to get out. It caused the driver to sit bolt upright the instant that John’s energy surged through him. This time, John felt the ‘seal’ and immediately felt fully absorbed. His host continued to disembark, now in a slight daze.

This second host, unlike the hobo he had possessed, was fully in charge of all his faculties––John felt twined with every breath and every reflex. He was seeing, hearing, and smelling from a mortal body again—a middle-aged and overweight body belonging to a bearded man in black jeans, black Motörhead t-shirt, and black boots. But more than that, John realized he could feel what his host felt and hear his thoughts. They were like a faint background hum he could tune in and out of with remarkable clarity. The driver walked around to the back of the truck where one of the club’s security guards, thankfully unpossessed, was waiting, looking down from the raised deck.

The driver nodded a greeting to the guard. John could sense the unease of his host as images of the same guard shouting at, and then pummeling another driver for asking too many questions about El Gordito’s business, appeared in the driver’s mind like snapshots in a slideshow.

The driver, now trying to fight back feelings of fear, gave the guard a set of transport bills headed with the name Andrew’s Liquor Merchants. John noted the pickup address was Supreme Logistics Fulfillment Center at Bellevue Logistics Park in Newstone, New Jersey. Another company with the word ‘Supreme’ in the name. The guard took the bills and placed them on his clipboard, took out a pen, and scribbled a signature on each. “270 kegs?”

“Yes,” John’s host confirmed.

John