Death by Chocolate (The Davenports 2)

He arched his eyebrow. Had her irritation slipped out? Good. She turned from him, refusing to look back as she climbed the staircase. Let him ponder on why she was acting differently.

Chapter Four

Micah

The scent of feces and sow seared his nostrils. Holding his hand up to his nose, he swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise as his stomach protested. Knowing Cincinnati was once the pig capital, and smelling it were two completely different experiences. The sun sank low in the sky as the squealing pigs were marched through the streets beside the empty field. Men and women marched two by two across the landscape. Smoke drifted out of the hole thirty feet away. He opened his mouth to scream a warning. No sound emitted.

Regardless, the couple at the beginning of the line halted. They turned toward him and stared. The anger darkening their eyes forced him to take a step back. He pivoted on his heels and ran, pumping his arms and legs. The ground shook with the stampeding of feet. He glanced over his shoulder and cried out. They gave chase like zombies who caught the scent of flesh. His lungs burned, and his heart threatened to crack his ribcage as it beat double time in his chest. Beads of sweat rolled down his back and forehead, stinging his eyes.

The molten sun threatened to broil him alive. His strength began to flag from running full out. The gang behind him remained relentless. A sob rose in his throat. They saw him as the enemy. One who had oppressed, owned, and disrespected them. He could feel their breath on his neck. Hands grabbed at his shirt. Fingernails dug into his flesh. Fighting against the hold, he kicked and flailed. More hands held his arms and legs down. Hoisted into the air, he was hauled back toward the ominous hole spewing smoke.

He opened his mouth in a silent scream. A brilliant light blinded him. He squeezed his eye shut. The hands disappeared.

“You’re okay now, son.”

“Dad?” He rubbed his watering eyes and glanced at the man he missed every day.

“We wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, Micah.” His mother stood beside him all dressed in white. Her hand caressed his face.

“Mom.”

His dad offered his hand, and he took it. Pulled to his feet, he glanced back and forth at his parents. They exuded peace and joy.

“We know you’ve been looking for us, son. We wanted to come to you sooner, but it wasn’t time yet,” his father said.

“A-Are you really here?” Micah’s voice cracked.

“We’ve always been here. Now you’re finally able to see us,” his mother said softly.

“And you’re okay?” he whispered.

“Yes, baby. We are with the loved ones who came before us. Death is nothing to be afraid of. It’s simply the next stage in evolution.” His mother glanced over his shoulder. “Our time is almost up. I love you.” She held him close, and he was flooded with the floral scent she’d always worn.

“I know you’re wondering if this is real. It is, son, we’ll send you a sign, and you’ll know.” He hugged his father and wept unashamedly.

The blaring alarm startled him awake. The dream had been a replica of what occurred after he blacked out in the Claymore apartments. The experience had shaken him. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it until he knew if it was reality or a trick the ghosts were playing to prey on his weakness. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and forced his body to rise. They were trying to get their hands on a Ground Scanner.

Once they had proof, they could go to the church and see about having a holy man come in to try to move them on. It could be tricky. With so many different ethnicities there, they might not all recognize the priest’s authority. Carl was great for smaller jobs, but one this magnitude needed a person who acted like a bigger amplifier. No wonder Carl had static, there were probably too many trying to come through at once. He scratched his chest as he meditated on the dream, picking it apart, and padded to the shower.

The hot water beaded down on his skin and he bowed his head. How could he go to work and face his siblings with this memory so fresh in his mind? It’d be like opening a fresh wound. It’d been so long since he saw his parents in person. He’d forgotten the nuances. The sound of their voice, the way they smelled, and how it felt to receive one of their hugs. He rested his head against the side of the shower stall. What happened when you finally received the one thing you’d been striving to get and didn’t know how to deal with it?

He stepped out of the shower woodenly, dried off, and padded into his room. Standing in front of his closet he scowled at the suits. I’m not going in. Blessed respite filled him. He made the phone call to H.R. They’d be just fine without him. He texted Asher.

Micah: Hey, I’m taking a mental health day. I’m exhausted, and I need downtime.

Asher: All right. Thanks for the heads-up. We got things covered here.

Moving to his drawer, he slid on his favorite pair of sweatpants, a white T-shirt, dark denim, and an oversized gray cable knit sweater. Barefoot, he walked into the living room and found Daize clad in pajamas on the couch with a mug of coffee.

“Did you call in today, too?” he asked.

She rested her mug onto a coaster on the end table beside her. “Is that going to be a problem?” she asked sassily.

The vehemence in her voice shocked him. “No. Not at all.”

“Oh, you’ve decided to play nice today?” She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze.

“I can tell I’ve upset you. I don’t know what I did, but I apologize.” Weighed down by the burden of his lingering dreams, he spoke frankly.