Five Minutes After Midnight Read online

  FIVE MINUTES AFTER MIDNIGHT is a work of fiction. Copyright 2017 A. J. Gallant

  All Rights Reserved

  This is book two. Book one I Was Murdered Last Night, is available.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Purchase only authorized editions. This work is entirely fictional. Characters, names, incidents, and places are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Olivia Brown Mysteries A. J Gallant Book 2 This book comes with a BONUS and a PREVIEW

  prologue

  chapter one

  CHAPTER TWO

  chapter three

  Chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  chapter thirty-two

  chapter thirty-three

  chapter thirty-four

  chapter thirty-five

  chapter thirty-six

  chapter thirty-seven

  chapter thirty-eight

  chapter thirty-nine

  chapter forty

  chapter forty-one

  chapter forty-two

  chapter forty-three

  chapter forty-four

  chapter forty-five

  chapter forty-six

  chapter forty-seven

  chapter forty-eight

  chapter forty-nine

  chapter fifty

  chapter fifty-one

  chapter fifty-two

  chapter Fifty-three

  chapter fifty-four

  chapter fifty-five

  chapter fifty-six

  chapter fifty-seven

  chapter fifty-eight

  chapter fifty-nine

  chapter sixty

  CHAPTER sixty-one

  (an Anita Browm Mystery book 2)

  FIVE MINUTES AFTER MIDNIGHT

  by

  A. J. Gallant

  True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.

  Francois de La Rochefoucauld

  Our feet are planted in the real world, but we dance with angels and ghosts.

  John Cameron Mitchell

  I love crime, I love mysteries, and I love ghosts.

  Stephen King

  prologue

  FOG DESCENDED ON THE WEST VILLAGE in New York, lightly at first, but soon people could barely see through it. Cars appeared to be ghostly apparitions, almost as if the area had gone back in time. Many people had been caught by surprise at how quickly it had engulfed the streets. It would have made a good set for a horror movie with an unseen monster lurking.

  Someone blew his horn and the raised middle finger went unseen. Midnight often had odd people walking around, and this night was no different. Two teens were laughing uncontrollably at something. A stray mutt was confused by it all, making it harder to sniff out some food, it listened to footfalls in the distance and cocked its head.

  A drug deal went undone, the buyer wasn’t able to find the seller.

  Fred adjusted the silver medallion around his neck. There was the smell of strong coffee in the air. The Java must be nearby though he couldn’t tell where it was coming from, and it made him wish he had a cup, nothing quite like a good shot of caffeine. He had a thing for the scent of java, great to walk into the house when the coffee maker was already brewing, welcome home. Fred also liked green tea with Ritz crackers as a snack and would have some when he got home. If he got home.

  Fred had a bit of a limp, thinking that his toe might be infected, but he was sure it wasn’t serious. Just one of life’s little bumps in the road. Life was a mix of pain and pleasure, the yin and yang of things with one complementing the other. God knew that he had gone through more than his share of suffering. He had enjoyed the pain of rubbing alcohol on his big toe.

  When he was a boy, it was iodine.

  Two cats began fighting and were making a hell of a racket, and it got relatively quiet. A dog started barking in the distance, perhaps a warning to the felines. Always a male somewhere fighting over a female, just the way of things Fred thought.

  “This fog is getting ridiculous.”

  A truck screeched to a halt as a jaywalker ran across the street, and a string of curses was released from the driver as he dropped his hot cup of tea on his right knee. If he had hit the idiot, he would have kept going. No point in destroying his life for someone that was too stupid to cross at a crosswalk.

  Fred was allowing the sound of his expensive shoes to get progressively louder, and he tried a little dance as no one could see him, making his toe ache even more, but he wasn’t much of a dancer. He returned to his confident saunter. Both hands were inside Fred’s suit pants as he strolled, feeling his car keys. He had steel wire inside his coat that he would use for a garrote. His arms were strong from using forty-pound dumbbells every morning, so he had the strength to accomplish his task.

  Fred Marlow walked left on Bleecker Street, heading past the hand and foot spa, past the meat market and stopped near the jewelry bar. He had been an unsightly child, and now he was an ugly man. Nose and ears much too big, one eye slightly higher than the other; his face just wasn’t in balance. The result of two homely parents having a kid. What the hell were they thinking? Teased mercilessly as a child and always underfoot of his brute of a father, he was not the innocent that he used to be. Fred was now a bonafide serial killer.

  The Pub on the corner of Jones Street and 182 West 4th Street was almost invisible in the mist, except for its silhouette. It looked as though the occasional ghost was either entering or exiting the establishment. Fred halted near a green mailbox that was covered with graffiti, gazing across the street at the Pub. He looked at his two hundred dollar Seiko watch. “I imagine she’ll be here soon.”

  Aw yeah.

  “Pretty little thing, but I saw the way she looked at me in disgust. She’s gonna pay for that.”

  Aw yeah. How are you gonna recognize the bitch in this fog?

  He was definitely aggravated by the weather. “Well, it wasn’t foggy when I left smart-ass.”

  I was just saying. It was a little hazy.

  “No, it wasn’t.” Fred took his pipe out of his pocket and tapped it several times on his hand, stuffed it with Waterloo tobacco and lit up, puffing several times. The smoke vanished into the air. There was an almost natural vanilla flavor to the smoke, and the two young men entering the bar across the street smelled it.

  That stuff stinks.

  “It has a sweet aroma; you’re the one that stinks. Would it kill you to take a fucking shower once in awhile?”

  There was silence for a time with just the sounds of the area mingling. A loud boisterous laugh from inside the bar.

  Wasting your time tonight. There could be a grisly bear over there juggling beer bottles, and you couldn’t see it in this shit. Why don’t you just
go inside and when it’s time you can follow her out.

  Fred shook his head at the suggestion. “Are you trying to get me caught? There are cameras all over the place now. They’d put a camera in my ass if they could.”

  Aw yeah. May as well call it a night. You can always go home and twiddle your thumbs.

  Fred sighed and puffed on his pipe ignoring the voice in his head, continuing to stare in the direction of the pub. In a fashion, it was a perfect night to murder someone. But he didn’t just want to kill anyone; he wanted to kill Emma. He heard her voice. She giggled, likely laughing at him he was sure. Probably describing his ugliness in graphic detail. But damn she was with another woman. Most nights she was alone.

  “Son-of-a-bitch. She’s with someone.”

  Aw yeah. Are you sure it’s her?

  “It’s her.”

  Maybe it’s a policewoman?

  “You’re a funny guy. May as well head home. I’ll pick her trail in the morning.”

  Aw yeah? Maybe you will and maybe you won’t.

  “Just shut the fuck up.”

  chapter one

  HOT WIND BLEW ACROSS THE RED SAND, shifting the dunes slightly under the cloudless sky. The heat was a friend to no one. There was a camel on the horizon that always appeared to be the same distance from the detective as it had been hours earlier. It definitely annoyed her.

  Olivia was lost and had been following drops of blood for quite some time, or what she had originally thought were drops of blood. Each one that she bent down to examine turned out to be glass beads in the shape of blood drops. It was the strangest thing because until she touched the first one she couldn’t tell the difference. She had several in her pocket but had stopped picking up the beads because there was too many of them and she didn’t see any point to it.

  Olivia decided to take one last bead only to discover that it was a genuine drop of blood. Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. If she was hallucinating it most likely meant that she was not look for this world.

  Olivia went up a large dune to get a better view, having to struggle to climb it in an attempt to get her bearings, felt like she was climbing Mount Everest, but nothing had looked familiar even from the added height. All she saw was miles and miles of wavy sand. She stopped to drink her last mouthful of water, staring into the darkness of her canteen as if that were going to make a difference.

  “God it’s so damn hot.” Olivia listened to the sound of the shifting sand. It was difficult to breathe. She tried to lick her cracked lips to give them moisture but it didn’t work, so scorching that it felt like there wasn’t enough air.

  Olivia saw a bird of prey circling, no, it was actually a vulture likely waiting for her to drop dead. The thought of it pecking her eyes out was pushed off, only the here and now mattered. Waves of heat were shimmering on the horizon as she stared at the speck of a camel, waving to him or her didn’t help. Whether she was being ignored or not she couldn’t say.

  There was a slight but pleasant smell of Creosote bushes on the wind, but she wasn’t able to see any. One weighty foot in front of the other felt like someone was attaching another pound with each step, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to go much further. Everyone had a limit and she was just about there. She couldn’t even remember how she had come to be here.

  Olivia was seeing things for sure now, at least she thought so, a single man or woman far behind her wearing a black robe with a hood over his or her head; she had tried to approach several times but was now convinced that it was merely another mirage. Detective Brown wondered how long it would take for a dead body to turn into a skeleton in this god forsaken heat. She guessed four to six months, much less if some animal sped up the process by devouring most of it.

  After another quarter of a mile, Olivia looked down and saw a beautiful cross in the sand covered with rubies and red diamonds. It might be worth a fortune but she hefted it and it was too heavy and she really didn’t have the strength to pick it up much less carry it. Treasure wasn’t worth a damn thing out here, at least not in her current situation. Why couldn’t she have discovered a jug of water?

  Olivia felt like giving up but she knew that meant death. She had stopped perspiring which wasn’t good at all, and it was unlikely that she had much time remaining. She felt for her gun but she didn’t have it, perhaps she had tossed it hours ago but if she did she wasn’t able to remember. How long have I been out here? Feels like forever. This is what hell must be like. As she went around a dune she discovered a small canvas tent, but unfortunately it was empty. She couldn’t just lie down and die. Or could she? Wasn’t she going to perish anyway? Flames were painted on the canvas, faded but they were indeed flames. Someone had had a sick sense of humor. Behind the tent she found a human skeleton in the sand, bleached. The pronounced jaw bone, the tall brow, and thick bones told her that it was male. Some poor fellow’s journey ended here.

  Olivia cursed at the camel in the distance who now appeared to have a second rider, mirage or not she did a fine job of cursing them. Now there was a priest behind her apparently talking to the one in the black hood. Weren’t mirages supposed to fade away? Or at least change into different mirages? Oh, I don’t know anything anymore I can barely think. I need water.

  Looking down there were small footprints in the sand, belonging to a child perhaps, and for whatever reason, Olivia considered that they might belong to a girl. Why couldn’t these illusions just leave her the hell alone? She fell and it wasn’t at all easy to get up again because she was exhausted, didn’t want to walk any further, and it took her more than five minutes to get back on her feet, and only because she saw a white door in front of her did she manage it.

  “What the hell is this?”

  The door had a dagger fastened to it and a shiny silver knob. It was surrounded by a single row of bricks and mortar but nothing else. A door in the middle of nowhere. No walls or anything else just a door. A drop of blood appeared near the top creating a trail as it slid, the liquid making its way past the knob, all the way down to where the sand had drifted against it. Wow, this is some hallucination. The handle and the door feel solid. And I can’t get the blade. The fucking thing is stuck. Olivia looked behind the door but there was only sand. She turned the knob but it was locked, making her laugh. If she would have had the strength Olivia would have kicked it open.

  Olivia opened her eyes as she awoke from the nightmare.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FIFTY-NINE-YEAR-OLD AUNT STELLA was sitting comfortably on the L-a-z Boy recliner watching an old Cary Grant movie, His Girl Friday, a screwball comedy that she had already watched twice this month. It took her back a few years, and she liked that. With her feet tucked into her old pink slippers, she was noisily eating a bowl of Orville Redenbacher’s popcorn covered in butter, she chewed a lot like a giraffe with a mouthful of leaves. But since there was no one to see her what did it matter.

  “They don’t make them like this anymore. You crack me up, Walter. And that Hildy is a looker. Things were a lot simpler back then, kids had morals, people went to church, neighbors helped one another. Now the little devils are bringing themselves up. Since they can’t be spanked is when all the trouble started.” Talking to herself was a bit of a habit. Stella’s face looked relatively young for her age though the crow’s feet by her eyes were plain to see, her unkempt hair was mostly gray.

  Being a medium had its perks and its drawbacks, it wasn’t at all pleasant being awakened by spirits at all hours of the night. And now something was going on with the spirit world and not for the better.

  Inside the apartment, there were fifty-seven crosses of various sizes, most of them hanging from the ceiling, three fixed to the roof and all of them blessed. There was one on each lamp and a new one laying on the coffee table, it would need to be blessed before Stella hung it. Most of the bad spirits didn’t like crosses though a few were as stubborn as the devil. People that had been nasty in life were now evil in death.

  The do
orknob to the old apartment rattled, and Stella was immediately annoyed. She glanced in its direction shaking her head. “You sons-of-bitches! Every damn time I’m watching a good movie someone from the other side has to pop in and ruin in for me. Who is it and what the hell do you want? Make yourself known!” She felt the energy and was sure that it was a spirit.

  The lights flickered, and again the doorknob shook. “Those light bulbs are expensive. Money doesn’t mean anything on the other side, but here it’s important. So stop flickering my damn lights.” Stella had to change three bulbs last night.

  Aunt Stella paused the movie trying to decide what to do. She placed her snack on the coffee table and strummed her fingers on her thigh. And she waited. And again the knob shook. She got up and went to the peephole and looked out into the hall where a ghost was standing and patiently waiting to be let in; she couldn’t believe it. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “You have got to be shitting me! You’re a spirit, walk through the damn door like everyone else. Why the hell do you have to make me get up? Un-fucking-believable!”

  The ghost floated in and stood near the sofa as she locked up. “If you think that I’m gonna get my ass up and let you out of here you are one crazy ghost. Now, what the shit do you want?”

  The ghost was wearing a green frock coat, a blue vest, and a white bow tie, carrying a low top hat. Sometimes the spirits were in color, and sometimes they weren’t; Stella had no idea why and they didn’t appear to know either. “It starts again.”

  “What starts again and why are you bothering me about it? I don’t know why they send all the stupid ghosts to me.”

  “Olivia is in grave danger, or she will be.”

  That got her attention, and she sat up straight. “Olivia! At this moment?”

  “No, in the future.”

  Stella rose from the chair and approached the ghost, and the closer she got, the colder the air. “How far in the future?”