Bad Humans (Keep In The Light Book 3)

Book summary

Rodney, scarred by his father's abuse, finds solace in his crush, Liz. Together, they use a magic artifact to expose the hidden evil in people. They confront a sinister ambulance driver and a cruel nursing home orderly, while a mysterious Man in White battles his own demons. Will they triumph against these dark forces?

BAD HUMANS is a gripping supernatural thriller that delves into the depths of human and otherworldly evils.

Excerpt from Bad Humans (Keep In The Light Book 3)

Chapter 1: Emergency Room

Liz had given up on her hometown years before working in the Milner Emergency Room. It was rewarding work and never dull. Milner was not as big as some of the other cities in the country, but it had its fair share of stabbings and, once, a multiple shooting and a horrible bus accident.

That had been the worst of them for her. She had wanted to help everyone but had known to pick those who had the best chance over those who had none. It weighed on her soul that night, wondering if she had made the right decisions.

It seemed that all her life since the incident with Rodney had been about making the right decision. Every time she visited her mother, she would ask if she had heard anything about him, but it remained a mystery. She always made the trip for Christmas and Thanksgiving. In the summers, they would both fly someplace nice for a mother-daughter vacation.

They talked a lot on the phone; she loved her mom. She was fond of her new stepfather, the man her mother had married just after Liz had finished nursing school. She'd left because the town had no opportunities for her and served to remind her of her terrible act.

She sat in the breakroom enjoying a moment of self-reflection while drinking coffee and eating a doughnut. No more junk food on breaks; she promised herself again that she would start eating better. It was not that she was not in shape. On the contrary, working out and all the miles walking through the hospital kept the weight off, but she had seen people in great shape on the outside and falling apart on the inside when she got their test results back.

Bored and part of the social media generation, she opened her phone and checked to see what was happening. She figured she had a good hour before things got bad. It was a Friday night, and she knew the drunks would be on the road and there would be a lot of people in bars ready to blow off steam.

Thinking back, she remembered going to bars with her friends after her night classes and even when she first started working at the hospital. She and some doctors and nurses would go out for a drink. After a few nights that had not ended well, some uncomfortable surgeries with an ex, or a one-night stand, she settled into her current groove.

She worked the night shift and would get home at 8:00 in the morning, sleep a few hours, then go off to the gym, do some errands, and have an hour or two of her latest binge-watch, followed by supper and a nap before getting up to head to work. She feared she was in a destructive cycle but hoped that would change someday.

Her friends, most of whom worked normal day shift jobs, would post and say things like, “Out late at the grocery store and ran into,” or “The kid's sick. Wishing I could take a hot bath,” and other normal things for the given time in their lives.

“Maybe someday,” she said to the empty breakroom. Contemplating again about trying to find someone and start a family. What do I want?

A text from her mother interrupted her thoughts. “Honey, call me when you are free. I heard something about the boy's house.” Her mother never referred to him by name, only the boy, though he would be a man now if he were still out there somewhere. He would not be the awkward boy he had been.

Waiting to call until later, she received another text, “not urgent,” and then another, all within a few seconds of each other.

Smiling, Liz read the last ones. She knew her mother, and there was no secret her mother could not wait to tell. You could see it in her eyes when she had one; it just wanted to get out. Every Christmas was a challenge for her mother to not blurt out what all the gifts were. They always had a big laugh, especially the time her mother told her, “I got you a new watch, and you will never guess what it is,” They had laughed a lot over that one, and when she finally received the gift, it had been wrapped with a note on the watch box. “Not a watch. Act surprised.”

She could call her, but her pager was very likely to go off, and they had been through that too many times already. Her mother would worry about a stranger's emergency, and she would have to call her mom and reassure her once the emergency was over so she would not worry all night. Liz learned that early on and made it a point not to call while on a shift.

She never told her mother what she had done to Rodney, though she always thought she should. In the end, she was too ashamed.

Her mother sent one more text, “You must be busy. It burnt down last night. I just heard about it and wanted to tell you.”

Liz's mouth dropped open, and a doctor walking by to get coffee sing-songed, “You’ll catch flies.” It took her a second to catch his meaning.

She closed her mouth quickly and flipped him off. “I love you too, Stan.”

They both laughed, but Stan's laughter faltered upon closer inspection of her face. “Are you okay? You look pale all of a sudden.”

“I'm good. Just some odd news from home,” then, to avoid further questions, she made up something: “My mom's prize pig won another beauty contest, and she sent me the bathing suit pics. Want to see?”

Stan laughed, filled his cup, and left the room with his coffee.

Alone in the breakroom again, Liz shook her head to clear it. She texted back, “Wow, Mom. Thank you for telling me. I will call later, catching a quick nap,” She added the quick lie at the end so her mother would not worry.

Liz stood, stretched, and looked down when she heard her pager beeping. “I figured it would not be long,” she said to the room before draining her coffee and throwing the cup into the trash on her way out.

She took a deep breath before opening the door. This had been a ritual since the first day: Close your eyes, take a quick breath, and center yourself. “You never know what is on the other side of the door.” One of her mentors told her this.

Opening the door to the familiar organized chaos, she asked, “How many?”

“Five plus two.” It was a little code they used to not worry anyone who may overhear. This told her there were seven people, and two of them had already been claimed by death.

Everyone went through the standard triage. On her first night, she thought it was chaos. She kept asking the wrong questions and getting confused but quickly realized that by relying on everyone to do their individual jobs, things worked. She did not know if it was the same in other emergency rooms, but this one functioned well, and if someone was alive when they came through the door, they stood a good chance of staying that way.

Splitting the load, she took care of the first two and Stan the next two. In between, they compared notes while watching one of the rooms behind a privacy curtain. There was a police officer out front. She was used to this, but typically, they would relax and flirt with the nurses or sneak off and grab some coffee before a supervisor's return, but this officer was standing guard, almost at attention, and very on edge.

It took a while, but both finished about the same time. It happens that way sometimes; they played a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to determine who got the next one and who had to talk to the officer.

She lost, but since she just had her break, she would have told him to go ahead and get his paperwork done.

The violence of the first four was extreme. Multiple stab wounds, some sharp and neat like that of a knife, a few jagged like someone used a pool stick or maybe a broken chair leg. Their faces were slashed, but not with the sharp side of the knife. It was like someone turned the blade to the side and ripped it down to cause as much scarring as possible. Plastic surgery would not be able to help them much. They looked like bikers, but she tried not to judge. They could have just been men who liked motorcycle jackets.

Standing in front of the officer preparing to go in, she remarked, “Must have been one hell of a brawl. What was it? Two gangs?”

“No, ma'am. This guy took them all on.” He took a breath and, in a lower voice, said. According to the witnesses, so far, the other men were playing pool and drinking but not really doing anything bad. Not compared to other nights, and this guy walked in and called them out. Did not say why.”

Consulting his notes, he read aloud, “The suspect had been drinking at the bar when one of them walked past him. He looked at him for a second, almost like he knew him, then walked over and challenged them. He said to them, ‘We should go outside so that we don’t damage the bar.’ Who says something like that? The waitress said he was as calm, just as if he was telling them the weather, and then turned to go outside, then one of the deceased hit him on the back with a pool stick. The guy smiled when it happened and turned back.”

The officer put his notebook back in his pocket. “Well, you have seen the results. I have him cuffed to the bed, and he’s not caused any trouble, but I told him if he did, I would shackle his feet.”

He paused and shook his head to get the scene of carnage out of his mind. “Should have seen the faces of the others … or what was left. Fucking butcher!”

Liz did not know what to make of this. There had been some bar fights, but it was usually a couple of guys taking on a couple of others. Still, she had grown a bit resilient since the bus accident and doubted that anything one man could shake or surprise her.

Opening the curtain, she was still thinking about the others and wondered what type of man could do such a thing; she looked at the prisoner lying on the bed.

“Hi, Elizabeth. How have you been?”

Her jaw dropped again, and she was glad that Stan was not around, or he would be saying “flies” as she stared at Rodney.

She does not have to search for his name, recognizing him instantly. Sure, he had changed in size, and his hair was cut short—almost military-style. He had put on some pounds, and she noticed how good he looked in the tight T-shirt and jeans that were hitting him in all the right places. Shaking her head, she wondered why she went there and closed the curtain.