Death is My BFF (The Death Chronicles Book 1)

Ten Years Ago . . . Pleasant Valley, New York

“I want to go home, Mommy.”

Faith’s mother, Lisa Williams, held the steering wheel precariously with one hand as she struggled to close the crammed glove compartment. One final slam shut the sucker for good, and she blew a strand of blond hair away from her face. “Why, baby? What’s wrong?”

“My tummy hurts. Daddy made me toast, and it tasted like dirt.”

“Not again,” Lisa said. “Your father, the next Iron Chef. Mommy has a very long day at work tomorrow, so we have to go food shopping now. In and out, I promise. How about we get your favorite waffle mix? Do you want chocolate chip waffles for dinner?”

“Daddy said I’m not allowed to have sugar for dinner, or else all my teeth will fall out, like an old geezer’s.”

Her mother sighed. “Daddy also made you dirt toast for breakfast, so what does he know?”

Faith giggled. “Can we get bacon? Not the gross veggie bacon Aunt Sarah eats, please. It makes everyone fart.”

“Normal bacon it is, princess.” Lisa laughed. “Feeling a little better now?”

“Mm-hmm.” Faith hugged Mr. Wiggles to her chest, extracting the comfort she needed from his soft body. Food shopping was her favorite activity to do with her mother and her stomachache was ruining it.

As they drove down a pothole-riddled road, Faith looked out the car window. Her little eight-year-old heart fluttered at the ghoulish clouds edging closer on the horizon. She unzipped her backpack, sliding out a folded picture of Mr. Wiggles. Turning the thick parchment paper over revealed another drawing she’d created, one she’d strangely forgotten. The picture was of a storm with an ominous black sky. At the center of the drawing stood a cloaked man with a tall, curved weapon. Shadows spread from his monstrous frame, like vicious snakes prepared to strike. There was a building behind him, a store of some sort, colored aggressively in red.

Glancing out the window again, Faith pressed the paper to the cold glass, lining up the sky of her drawing to the identical menacing clouds currently blanketing the horizon. With wide eyes, she stuffed the horrific sketch into her rainbow backpack and turned to tell her mother of her many drawings of the cloaked man. Instead, her attention switched to another wave of pain that shot through her stomach. She sat back and squeezed Mr. Wiggles to her tummy.

And once more, the illustration became a faded memory.

In the parking lot of the store, an eerie feeling came over Faith.

She looked up at the sky, but her mother tugged her to the shopping cart and asked her to grip the metal cage on the sides as they walked.

Hugging Mr. Wiggles under her arm, the pain in Faith’s stomach mysteriously subsided.

The cart rolled forward. Faith and her mother approached the luminous store, unaware of the cloaked figure perched atop the building, watching them.

Lisa and Faith weaved in and out of the aisles and piled the cart high with waffle mix and other necessary sustenance for the week.

At the register, Faith felt sick again and thought she might throw up.

The automatic doors of the market slid open, and three men charged into the building wearing ski masks and holding guns. Their voices thundered out commands as the leader of the pack stumbled out in front of the rest and loaded his shotgun in a clumsy manner.

“Everybody get down and shut the fuck up!”

The men spread out across the store, grabbing items, breaking into cash registers.

Panicked, Lisa ripped Faith from the cart and dropped to the floor behind a cashier station. Faith whined against her mother’s palm covering her mouth.

“I said, open the damn register!”

“Don’t touch me!” a woman shouted. “Let me go!”

“Ow—fu—you bitch!”

Faith trembled as the woman darted into her line of sight, sprinting away from one of the armed men. A piercing shot went off, followed by a sickening crack. A heavy object smacked against the floor, followed by a moan. Another shot fired through the air. Faith’s ears rang.

“Stay quiet,” her mother whispered as she pulled Faith closer and struggled with her phone. Faith held Mr. Wiggles tight and whimpered.

As a thin stream of blood oozed down their checkout aisle and crept toward Faith, she began to scream. Her mother tried to suppress the cry with her hand again, but she was too late. A pair of boots lumbered closer, belonging to a man with a ski mask and twitching hands.

“Isn’t she pretty?” His words slurred. He smelled rotten. With bloodshot eyes and decayed teeth, he grinned down at Faith. “Come here, little girl.”

The man snatched Faith by the arm and yanked her to his side.

He was so frail his clothes sagged off his bones and gross sores poked through the gaps in his mask.

Faith choked out a sob.

“Take whatever you want! Take my whole purse!” Lisa threw her bag at the gunman’s feet. “There’s two hundred dollars in there. It’s all I have. Please, don’t hurt my daughter. Please.”

“Two hundred dollars? Is that all your kid is worth?” The masked man laughed harshly, but his amusement terminated as his gaze dropped. Faith followed his stare and noticed her mother’s phone was wedged between her legs. “Planning on calling the police?”

Lisa shook her head. “No, no, I wasn’t! I swear!”

“Give me the phone now, or I’ll shoot her!” A crazed look rolled over his bloodshot eyes. The coolness of metal paralyzed Faith as he pressed the barrel of the gun to her forehead. “Or maybe I’ll shoot her anyway.”

“No! No, please! She’s just a child! I’ll do anything you want!”

The intense pain in her stomach overcame Faith. Inhaling sharply, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Why is she screaming like that?” the masked man demanded.

“What’s the matter with her?” He shoved Faith to the side, glaring at her with the gun clenched in his unsteady hand. “Shut up! Shut up, you little brat!”

Faith’s mother jumped into action, emptying pepper spray into the gunman’s face. They grappled for the gun.

“Faith! Run! ”

Faith launched to her feet and ran toward the store entrance.

But ahead, another masked gunman slinked out from a checkout aisle, blocking her way. At the crack of the bullet, Faith’s ears roared, unable to hear her mother’s shrieks. She felt neither the bullet enter her stomach nor the side of her head striking the tile floor.

Mr. Wiggles fell from her small hand. Her lips quivered. To her right lay the cashier who had been shot, a gaping hole in the center of her forehead. Faith wanted to scream, but her breath was short-lived; she stared at the ceiling with glazed eyes, drowning almost peacefully in a pool of crimson.

Above her, the harsh florescent lights warmed to a golden hue and spread out like heavenly wings. Calmed by the ethereal glow, she closed her eyes to sleep . . .

The store plunged to a bitter cold, awakening Faith with a sudden gasp for air. Her hands pressed into her stomach, finding no trace of blood or pain. The market was different, dimmer, drained of color. And there were no people. Regaining the ability to stand, she rose to her feet.

“You must be Faith.”

She jumped at the melodic voice. A boy leaned against a shadowed wall behind her.

Faith analyzed the dulled surroundings in confusion, then narrowed in on the strange boy. Nearly blending in with the darkness, his features were concealed, except for a small grin.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He emerged from the shadows as if he were a part of them, threads of dark matter clinging to his body like fingers, before retreating back into the wall. He had the most frightening eyes. Otherworldly.

Mismatched green with all the characteristics of a cat, including thin vertical pupils. A mean scar slashed from his eyebrow to his cheek enhanced his cruel appearance.

“Anyone I want to be,” he replied at last.

She noted his strange accent as she watched him with rapt attention. He stood a good head taller than her, with a lean build that was by no means skinny. He was midnight, clad only in dark clothes, and around her age. A few years older, though, by Faith’s guess.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everyone’s name, Faith.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t.” He looked her up and down. “What are you, five?”

“Eight.”

“Five, eight. Same thing.” He buried any sliver of pity behind a vacant expression.

“You don’t look much older than me,” Faith argued.

The boy snickered, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Right, you got me there.” He pushed off the wall and glided toward her. “I understand you’ve lost your way. I’m here to walk with you to the light.”

When the boy moved closer, a black aura hovered around his body. His shadow on the wall was one of a man, not a boy. Faith tried to retreat backward, and panic struck her as she realized she couldn’t move her feet. Her heart raced.

“No,” Faith said firmly. “I’m not leaving my mom!”

“I’m not real big on sympathy, kid. It’s time to come with me.

Now, if you will. I have a busy schedule.”

The boy reached to grab her hand, only the tips of his fingers brushing hers. He froze, surprise washing over his expression. Light filled the boy’s vision in an instant, paralysis locking every bone in his frame. Memories. Memories buried long ago, crawled from the deep graves of his wicked mind and flashed before his eyes like broken film. His mother, smiling down at him, haloed by the sun behind her. A willow tree with a mirror embedded in its old bark. An arena with blood-stained compacted sand and a gladiator falling to his knees with a silent roar of despair.

Shadows curled around the boy’s shoulders and tugged, jarring him to the present with the girl. It took him a moment to gather himself—those distant recollections promising to bury him alive alongside them.

Faith trembled with a small sob, their fingertips still touching.

Her soft, innocent features had lost all color. And the boy knew. He knew she had somehow seen those glimpses into his past too. He felt weakened—vulnerable in a way he could never allow.

He lurched away from the girl as if he’d been struck by lightning.

“What are you?” he hissed through tight teeth.

“What . . . what do you mean?”

The boy’s darkness pooled across the floor. The inky tendrils veered around Faith’s shoes, oil to water. His wicked gaze slowly lifted from this strange phenomenon, until he looked deep into her eyes. He regarded her curiously, as if just now noticing a peculiarity about her.

“Your soul. I have never encountered anything like it.” The boy tilted his head to one side as his face and eyes hardened. He looked frightening then, a snake primed to strike. Faith wanted to run far, far away from this boy. “Do you wish to see your family again, Faith?”

Faith nodded like a bobblehead; her words wedged in her throat.

“You’re in luck. I’ve got a deal for you.” She stared into his catlike vertical pupils as they dilated ever so slightly. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, you died. I will bring you back to life and to your mom, but I cannot do so without consequence. When you are eighteen, I will return to collect your soul. Ten years is a long time from now.

Would you not agree?”

“Yes,” she trembled out.

“Unless, of course,” the boy continued, feigning concern, “you want me to take you away now?” He clasped his hands behind his back and stalked a slow circle around her. “If that’s the case, you’ll never see your family again. Do you want the deal?”

“The deal . . . I want the deal.” Faith didn’t think twice. She would have done anything to get away from the frightening boy as soon as possible. “Please, bring me back to my mom.”

He stopped circling and stuck out his palm. Though he was wary of what would happen once they touched again, this could only be finalized one way. Faith looked down at his hand, hesitating, before clasping it fully with her own. He wasn’t as cold as she’d expected.

Without warning, the boy’s complexion changed. His hand clutched hers in a vise grip as his exposed skin developed intricate black markings. A shadowy matter expelled from his fingers, spiraling up Faith’s arm in black coils. She tracked the mist with wide eyes before the blackness launched itself into her chest. She inhaled sharply, held motionless, as his power marked her soul with a kiss of death.

The sunshine in her blond hair slowly drifted to midnight from the roots down.

“You will meet me again, Faith Williams.” This time, when the boy grinned, he had a mouthful of fangs. “When your luck runs out.”

Young Faith sat up in her bed with a jolt. A vague recollection of a nightmare left her heart hammering in her chest. A crash of thunder startled her. Her pink blinds weren’t drawn all the way, and outside, torrential rain pelted down from malevolent clouds in deafening strikes against the windowpanes. Faith swung her small legs off her bed and jumped. She hurried out of her bedroom with Mr. Wiggles’s little bear arm clutched in her hand, unaware of the shadows slinking up the hallway walls and clinging to the picture frames behind her. Within the frames, her golden-blond hair had darkened to a raven black.

She discovered her parents in the living room and sought their comfort. Their eyes were glued to the television screen. Climbing into her mother’s lap, Faith watched the report on the television too.

She recognized their local food store on the screen, surrounded by police, and her heart rapidly thumped, but she didn’t know why.

The camera panned to a reporter, who announced a female cashier was shot and killed in an armed robbery. The male suspects were all in police custody. In an ironic twist, all four suspects were rushed to the hospital with life-threatening injuries that could only be explained as a mauling from some sort of large wild animal.

“Oh, my goodness,” her mother gasped, after the victim’s face appeared on the screen. “I know her! That’s Rachael Evans from down the street!”

“Christ, that’s awful,” her father said, his mouth gaping open.

“And to think, you and Faith were supposed to go shopping there today.”