Title: Undead And Kicking

Fandom: Original fantasy/mystery

Author: E.C.

Warnings: this is an original copywrighted work, do not use or reproduce without permission from the author save for small, credited excerpts for review or reccomendation purposes.

Archive: Mailing list only

Feedback: struttersuperior@aol.com/elizabeth@mother-superior.com

NOTES: It's a world where supernaturally gifted creatures, or Paranormals, live out in the open, side by side with Nulls, their non-gifted counterparts.

The LAPD is one of several police departments in the country to create a unit specifically equipped to handle crime of all types perpetrated by this exceptional minority: PC...the Parnanormal Crimes division.

Enter Arthur "Artie" Jackson...civil rights advocate, former Homicide detective and current Lead Investigator of PC's Special Investigator contingent...Paranormals employed by the department without rank. An eighty five year old vampire with over forty years of service to his name, he was transformed in 1963 and forced to leave behind his family just two years later in order to avoid suspicion. By the time he was finally able to go home and reveal himself to his children and wife, Gail Jackson, he was too late...the love of his life had passed on three years before.

Thirty three years later, he's working a case that spans his life story. The dead are coming back to life in San Fernando, and they're all familiar faces to the Lead Investigator of PC. Once face in particular is more than a LITTLE familiar...and it's a face that could either change his life forever...or bring Eternity to a schreeching halt.

Summary: Eternal life can get pretty lonely when all you've got is memories of life...and of love. With the past weighing down on him for the umpteenth time in forty years as a vampire, Artie and the PC squad catch a case down in San Fernando: while it appears that some thrill-seeking Paranormal youths have been trying to raise a zombie or two, further analysis shows that they may have something MUCH bigger on their plate.


Undead And Kicking
by E.C.
**********


It's like a scene out of a bad B movie. Stark yellow streetlamps illuminate a quiet neighborhood. Dead silence reigns, hanging thickly in the air. It wraps around everything like a plush, deafening blanket, soft and at the same time almost disturbing. There's not a parked car in sight, not a living soul for miles.

Because *I*, of course, am no LIVING soul.

I'm a lone shadowy figure in the twilight, roaming the sidewalks in the deathly silence. I'm a pale sentinel in black, a ghostly witness to the almost apocalyptic scenery around me. From under the brim of my fedora, I gaze at the houses on both sides of the street as I pass, recalling the homes that once stood in their stead nearly thirty years before.

Out of four blocks worth of housing, only one structure remains unchanged.

When the Neighborhood Council voted on a streetwide renovation back in '71, I was the only one who voted against it, halting the demolition of every structure within a two mile radius in an effort to 'revitalize' the area. Call me old-fashioned, but a man's home is his castle...and even if I haven't lived here for twenty three years, I'll be damned if I let anyone infringe on my domain.

The bus stop that used to be over on the corner now sits right in front of the old place. With a slow, measured stride that has become as natural to me as breathing once was, I walk over and lean back against the wood and plaster monstrosity. From my vantage point, I gaze at the run down old three-bedroom tract home that once housed a family of four and a world of possibilities.

Now the house and I are both the same: all we hold within our dead, empty walls are memories.

I gaze upon the dry, dead front lawn, where I can almost see my two children, long since laid to rest, playing with Barty, the neighbor's silkie terrier on a warm Saturday afternoon. In the empty driveway, I can just about make out the shadow of a once-living man pulling his car in after a 48 hour shift at the 21st precinct eight blocks away, craving nothing more than a good night's sleep in the comfort of his wife's arms.

And if I stare hard enough, I can almost see a happy young couple huddled on the front porch to stare at the stars. With their arms wrapped tightly around each other, they speculate contentedly on what their future holds.

If only back then we knew that all the future held was loss...would we still have come together? Was all the pain worth it just to have held her once, to know what those soft lips felt like pressed against mine? Even now if I shut my eyes, I can almost feel her delicate fingers sliding through my hair again...almost hear her soft, musical voice whispering my name...

But I don't shut my eyes. I can't. Because when I open them, she'll be gone again.

It's the reason for my midnight walks to the old neighborhood...the reason I haven't slept in thirty-eight years. I never rest, because I know that she's waiting for me.

And if I close my eyes, they'll stay shut for the rest of Eternity if it means keeping her by my side.

This is my eternal struggle...the battle to stop myself from losing her all over again. In oblivion, she's waiting for me. In the darkness, I know I can be with her again.

But I know I can never keep her...in the end, she leaves me just the same.

So instead of living in dreams, I live in memory...I live in solitude. Instead of sleeping in the ghost of her arms, I stand against a bus stop bench, staring at an old abandoned home.

And I remember.

**********

"What have you got, Jacko?"

I lifted my gaze from the freshly tilled grave at my feet to focus on the dark, intense young man striding towards me. "Not a lot, Joey...looks like a bunch of punk kids playing at witchcraft."

The young man, Detective Joe Lawrence, raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Okay...now you wanna tell me WHY we caught this one instead of Robbery? Small time shit is THEIR pidgin, not ours. If the brass thinks for one goddamn minute..."

"Joey, keep yer shirt on." I chided gently. "You think I'm gonna let those stuffed shirt kids get the best of this unit? Fuck no."

Joe rolled his eyes without rancor. "Yeah, I forgot...yer the avenging angel of the Paranormal Crimes division. So why'd we get this one, eh?"

"Maybe 'cause the punk kids responsible here weren't witches...but necromancers." I replied blandly, having grown accustomed to Joe's bad attitude
on the job over the years. "We got a bunch of disturbed graves...possible risen stiffs."

"Shit...rogue zombies? That's the last thing I need."

"No, according to my team, it's a bit more complicated than that." I informed him wearily. Turning away from Joe, I scanned the thin gathering of people around us until I spotted a familiar dark head. "Benji! Get yer ass over here!"

A tall, athletically built young man strode towards us. Long dark hair hung to his shoulders under a black leather ten-gallon hat, bright blue eyes
inquistive and cheerful, a contrast to Joe's own deep, steel blue gaze. "Yo yo...what's shakin'?"

"Joe, meet Benjamin Crawford, my newest Investigator. Benji, this is Detective Joe Lawrence, head of the Paranormal Crimes unit."

Ben's eyes went wide in fascination as he extended a hand to Joe. "Wow...it's an honor, Detective. You're THE Joe Lawrence, right?"

Joe shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "Ah, yeah, I am."

I chuckled at Joe's discomfort. Joseph's father was Dr. Jacob Lawrence, one of the foremost neurosurgeons in the country and a pioneer in the field of Paranormal medicine. Jacob was also the most powerful telepath of the 20th century and a prominent public figure. Joe inherited some of his father's celebrity by default. Like Jacob, Joe was something of an expert in the field of Paranormal power and physiology, specifically telepathy. As the only Null, or non-gifted person, in a family of Paranormals, he's had a lifetime to learn about the different aspects of power, colored by his upbringing in and around the medical field.

"Hey, that's cool." Ben replied, nodding. "I've read some of yer pop's research on Neural Energy Transfer Syndrome...heavy stuff."

"Ben here's a wizard, and a telepath himself." I informed Joe.

Joe nodded. "Hmph...you come talk to me if you need anything, hear me?"

Ben nodded. "Yes sir...thanks for the concern."

"Joe's rather knowledgeable when it comes to telepaths." I boasted. "Regular genius, this guy...has been since he was a baby."

"Whip out the photos later, Pappa Bear." Joe growled. "We got a case to solve."

"Hey, you're forgetting that I'm not one of your detectives, son...Lead Investigator, y'know. I'm the boss here, too."

"Yeah, well you only answer to the Chief of Police. I answer to every squad leader in the 16th precinct." Joe grumbled.

I laid a reassuring hand on Joe's shoulder. "I know, son...I know." I soothed. Jacob Lawrence was a dear friend of mine in life until NETS took his life when Joe was only thirteen. I've known the boy since the day he was born...to me, he's always been like a second son. Joe was close to his father, so it amazes me sometimes that he treats me like such a family member.

Hell, he's the ONLY one that calls me 'Pappa Bear'...goes to show how he sees me. Warms the cockles of an old man's heart.

"Anyway, enough chatter. Tell Joey here what you told me, Benji." I commanded.

Ben shook himself with a rueful grin. "Right, right...well, I went over the grave, Detective, and I found some stuff that makes me think we got more than a standard zombie raising on our hands. Start with the air."

Joe paused, inhaling deeply, rolling his shoulders as he took Ben's remark seriously. "Little chilly, so what?"

"More like a LOT chilly, Detective...sixty six degrees to be exact. And you feel that rush every time you breathe too deeply?"

"Yeah...it's nice out."

"It's nice HERE. Lawrence, someone invoked some pretty powerful living magick here...one of the indicators of power being invoked is a temperature change in the surrounding space, indoors OR out. Different forms have different changes...death magick lowers general temp, fire magick raises it and so on."

"Point, Crawford?" Joe growled.

"Point is that life magick lowers temperatures same as death magick, but less severely. When death magick's invoked, it's like ice. Life? It's more like a cool breeze. I had CSU do temperature readings around here...air's about sixty six degrees. All through the cemetery. Temp beyond the gates is seventy nine."

"Okay, so life magick was invoked here. What's so unusual with the temp readings?" Joe asked, crossing his arms as his brow knit thoughtfully.

"Detective, I've seen Ilana Korman work...she's THE most powerful necromancer in the known world. Necromancers work with life magick...their song animates the dead. At the MOST, after she's done a raising you'll find temperature changes within a fifty foot radius. We're talkin' acres of space in this cemetery, and when CSU hit each perimeter...they took a temp reading of sixty six degrees within the boundaries of the graveyard."

I glanced at Joe, who immediately sought out my eyes. I saw my own concern reflected there...there was a chance that we were dealing with more than just a group of rebellious Paranormal youths.

"So what's gonna happen with that much power?" Joe asked Ben. "What's that life magick gonna do?"

The other man shrugged. "Hard to say...depends on the practicioner. If the power were wild? The whole damn cemetery would be up and about. This power had to have been focused...and with this much, we ain't lookin' at a potential zombies like we USUALLY deal with."

I blinked. "Holy Christ...you don't mean..."

Ben nodded. "Lazari. Not walking dead, but RISEN dead. My best guess is that someone came here with the deliberate intent of bringing someone back to LIFE."


**********

Ben nodded. "Lazari. Not walking dead, but RISEN dead. My best guess is that someone came here with the deliberate intent of bringing someone back to LIFE."

"More than one 'someone,' Jacko." a feminine voice sighed behind us.

I turned around to face a leggy brunette in black jeans and a white wifebeater under a black leather vest. Her hands were shielded by latex gloves, a clipboard grapsed in one of them.

"What have you got for me, Dez sweetheart?" I asked, moving towards the young woman.

Theresa Desperdu gestured with the clipboard. "Your resident necromancer helped my team search the scene...we have a total of five freshly tilled graves besides this one, just like you asked about. You COULD conceivably have as many as half a dozen dead people roaming the streets."

"What can you tell me about the Lazari?" Joe asked Ben tensely.

"The Lazari are a reanimation ideal...no one's ever encountered one before." Ben admitted. "But, in theory, they're literally souls back from the dead...not zombies, but people. A necromancer has no power over them, and there's no physical risk of decomposition over time. They also don't need human flesh OR human blood for sustenance. A Lazarus lives up to the namesake...back from death itself. Assume you're working with normal human beings. Free will and everything."

Theresa frowned. "Do Lazari rise like zombies?"

Ben shook his head. "No, they don't. Zombies rise on command...the Lazari simply come alive. The earth opens, but it won't give them up."

Joe blinked, shock registering on his face. "Meaning those people woke up in their coffins." He looked at me again in horror. "If they're really Lazari, they might still be down there."

I glanced at Theresa, making a mental note to see if she would be interested in transferring from CSU to Paranormal Crimes...she was an electrokinetic and an empath, meaning she could control electricity and sense human emotions.

Since the Paranormal Uprising in 1970, by law Paranormals couldn't join the force. The law was modified in 1980 to allow them to be hired under independent contract as Special Investigators, or Paranormal Investigators...PI's for short. Basically, it's a consulting job that gives Paranormals all the powers and priveleges of a normal police officer without subjecting the department to lawsuits should they do something particularly heinous with their powers on the job. I was the first person in the country to receive the 'bronze shield' when the new law took effect, then got promoted fifteen years later to Lead Investigator. I'm still plugging away to this day.

Though at THAT moment, I wished that someone else had gotten stuck with my job.

"So you're saying we got live ones in the ground?" Theresa breathed.

"No, YOU did." I replied, pointing at her. "Nice work...I STILL say you need to come work for me, Dez."

Theresa rolled her eyes. "I ain't leavin' CSU, Artie. Being a cop's too damn much work."

"PI's, little one. Get it right."

"A sawbones is a sawbones, and a cop's a cop. Answer's still no."

"Get your people to start digging." Joe barked at Theresa, heading off towards another tilled grave nearby. "Exhumation orders be damned, if there's people down there we gotta act fast. Jacko!"

"Calling my friends on the bench for the orders now." I called out, reaching for my cell.

Just then a lanky young man with long, curly copper hair and crystal blue eyes strode up beside me. "Hey, Old Faithful...got the scoop?"

I glanced up at Jim Riley briefly as I dialed a number into my cell. Jim was one of my Investigators, a former cop who developed psychometric abilities after a motorcycle accident two years ago. He worked as a Homicide detective until he retired five years back, after accidentally shooting his partner down during an incident at their station house. The man was also Jim's twin brother.

"Possible raising of Lazari." I replied tersely, fighting with my cell phone. Damn infernal contraptions.

Jim frowned. "Lazari? No way! Where?"

I gestured to the grave nearby. "Check it out."

Jim turned to the grave and froze, his features paling. "Dear Lord...no. No, Mike..."

I was disturbed by his adverse reaction. I left my phone alone for a moment, turning to the young man at my side. "Jimmy? Son, what is it?"

"Mike...that's him. That's Mike's grave."

I turned to the unmarked grave in shock, then back to my co-worker. Mike was Jim's twin brother...this couldn't be real, right? "Jim, are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure! Jesus Christ, Artie, I come see him every weekend! Oh, my God..."

I reached out and laid a comforting hand on Jim's shoulder. "Hey, take it easy...CSU's on it, they're digging for them now..."

Just then Joe came jogging back to me. "Jacko...we got a problem."

"I'll say...Joe, Michael Riley's one of our risen stiffs."

"So's someone else...Pappa Bear, one of the tilled graves we found belonged to Gail Jackson."

I waved him off. "It's nothing, Joey...I had her remains moved a week ago from Rose Hills in Simi Valley. You know that."

"Yeah, well the CSI's didn't...they dug and came up with a shattered coffin...an EMPTY shattered coffin."

I didn't think a dead man could experience a head rush, but at that moment I did. I felt myself grow light headed, my knees growing weak. "Joseph Gabriel Lawrence, don't you fuck with me..."

"God, Pappa Bear, I wish I were...but I'm dead serious. Gail Jackson's grave is empty...your wife may have risen."

**********

After the digging was complete, the six tilled graves turned up four newly dead corpses and two missing bodies...Michael Ian Riley and Gail Elaine Jackson.

I stood by Gail's grave, gazing down into the deep hole where she once lay...where was she? Was she afraid? Was she alone? God, I felt so damn helpless...

"Artie? Are you okay?" Theresa asked me softly, gazing at me with concern as she stood by my side.

I barely heard her. For the first time in a long while, the images of Gail that always came when I shut my eyes were assaulting me though I remained awake.

It was as though she was there before me, her fingers in my hair, her breath against my face, warm and feather-light...I could almost feel the heat of her delicate frame warming my death-chilled skin...

"Artie?...Jacko, c'mon...you in there?"

"Barely." I managed to get out, my own voice sounding strange to me. If I'd had a pulse, my blood would have been roaring in my ears...the silence was something I didn't just hear, but FELT. Alive...she was alive and I didn't know where she was...I needed her here with me to make sure this was all real...

"Artie, we're going to find her, all right?" Theresa reassured me, her features filled with gentle concern. "She's okay, I know it."

"You don't know anything." I replied simply, without rancor or anger. She didn't know...hell, *I* didn't know. None of us knew...no one on planet Earth KNEW a conflabbed thing about the Lazari. Every bit of information there was on them was based solely on reanimaton theory and pure speculation. They were nothing more than a legend.

Now? They just happened to be a LIVING legend.

I knelt beside the grave just as a young man came striding up to me, his rich hazel eyes filled with genuine concern. "Hey, Jacko, I just heard..."

I managed to shift my gaze up to the dark haired man. "I know, Freddie...save it. What do you have for me? And don't say nothing, or I just might bite."

Detective Gabriel "Freddie" Washington sighed, running a hand over his curly dark hair, which was pulled back at the nape of his neck in a ponytail. "Well, I questioned the groundskeeper that reported the raising. Said he saw a group leave the cemetery...no sign of anyone else."

"So we got four dead Lazari, and two still at large." Theresa mused. "If they didn't leave, though...where could they be?"

end part 2