Chapter one: Just One Touch (review pretty please!)
The first thing Chuck noticed about the customer was his clothes.
Black coat that trailed down to his calves. Black chinos. Black dress shoes. Black knit cap pulled down tightly over his scalp. Black woolly winter gloves...lucky that black was always a rather fashionable colour, isn't it? The only piece he was wearing that wasn't black was the gun-metal grey Aviator sun glasses pushed onto his face.
The second thing Chuck noticed was just how much like Ned this dark phantom was.
The moment he took his gloved hand away from the door, he shoved them in his coat pockets and hunched his shoulders up around his neck. Despite how tall he was, he looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. And the way he avoided touching...anything; tables, other passing customers, everything, screamed NED,NED,NED.
Chuck peered over her shoulder just to confirm her pie-baking boyfriend was still in the kitchen- And he wasn't!
She looked back at Mr. BlackCoat, who was now situated at the table furthest from the door and perusing the menu, and wondered briefly if Ned was dressing up like a pretend customer- like a secret restaurant critique or a HEALTH INSPECTOR.
She took her first step to confidently stride over to him, but-
-"Chuck!" Ned (the real Ned, not a black coat wearing imposter) skidded to a halt, almost dropping his armful of plates and pie tins, and almost crashing into his dead girlfriend.
After exhaling a shaky breath and retreating to a safe distance, he said "We definitely need to get you a bell."
"What, like a moo cow?" She replied "Noo, thank you..."
"Y'mean 'Moo, thank you'." Olive chipped in, amused at her own humour.
"Well, maybe not a cow bell. Maybe...Jingle bells!" Ned grinned "To really fit in with the upcoming Christmas Holiday spirit!"
"Like a seasonal change in staff uniform?" Chuck smiled, warming to the idea "Ooh, would we get to dress up as elves?"
"I'm not dressing up as an elf." Olive said quickly "I mean, does anything at all relate me to being an elf?"
No-one thought it polite to mention the spunky waitress's height.
"Customer, Olive." Ned quickly, and cleverly, shifted the topic and pointed towards Mr. BlackCoat, who was waiting patiently at his table.
Once the short blond was at a good enough distance, Chuck pleaded to her boyfriend in a hushed tone, "Do I really need to wear a bell?"
"Chuck," Ned began, a depressed sigh in his voice "we've been over this so many times...Just-"
"-One Touch, and I'm dead (again). I know Ned..." Chuck huffed.
"It's cute how we finish each other's sentences." Ned cooed, causing Chuck to melt and forget what she was annoyed about instantly.
Aaaaand, totally breaking the cute, romantic atmosphere, Olive came in with Mr. BlackCoat's order, "One Dark Chocolate Cherry with coffee; cream and ten sugars."
"Ten sugars?" Chuck and Ned raised their eyebrows in sync with their disbelief.
"What can I say? Tall, Dark and Surprisingly Handsome's got a sweet tooth." Olive looked back over to the waiting diner "And who am I to refuse a hot stud like that some sugar? Grrraow."
"Maybe he just likes trips to the dentist..." Ned theorized.
"Maybe he has a crush on his dentist!" Chuck assumed on that theory.
"And plans to woo her/him with rotten teeth?" Ned shook his head, whilst preparing the slice of pie, "I guess everyone has different fetishes."
Ned passed the pie slice to Chuck; Olive passed the sugar-laden coffee to Chuck, and then Chuck took them to Mr. BlackCoat.
"Thank you." Chuck was surprised to be greeted by a heavy Chicago accent. And by her own reflection, as she could only see herself in the polished Aviators and not into the eyes of Mr. BlackCoat .
"Heya, Dead Girl!" Emerson Cod, seconds after walking into the Pie Hole and to the counter by Ned, called her over.
"Dead?" Mr. BlacCoat inquired suddenly, a forkful of melting chocolate and warm cherries and soft pastry forgotten just halfway to his mouth "Why 'dead'? It's a peculiar nickname. And not very fitting."
Ned, Emerson and Chuck froze.
"Why is he questioning the nickname? No one ever questions the nickname, what right does he have to question the nickname?" Emerson frantically whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
"You never use the nickname in public." Ned whispered back.
"Don't go blaming me for this!"
"It's your fault for calling her 'Dead Girl'!"
"It's her fault for being a 'Dead Girl'!"
"They call me 'Dead Girl' because...I...look an awful lot like a girl who happens to be dead!" Chuck said brilliantly.
After a strained pause, this was 's only response:
"Huh." And then he returned his attention to his pie.
Chuck breathed a secret sigh of relief and went over to Emerson and Ned.
"That was close..."
But Emerson was distracted. His honed detective eyes were focused on Mr. BlackCoat.
"Hey, does he come in here often?" He asked Ned.
"No, first time customer." Ned replied.
The private eye's tone hushed, and he leaned in closer.
"Can you get him to stay a little longer?"
Ned's caterpillar eyebrow arched in question. Emerson produced three glossy CCTV photos from his jacket.
"Awright, now, the facts were these; Terry R Canine was out on his way to the Chunky Chewy Doggie Biscuit factory but dropped dead in the middle of the park. His brain just stopped, leading every gut in his well toned body to crash."
"That just sound like an unfortunate yet normal death." Ned questioned.
"Terry R Canine was at the peak of health. It's either unfortunate or it's murder- and his grandfather says it's murder. See, his bank balance was the complete opposite of his former health; he was in heavy debt to both the bank and the mafia."
"Is there any difference?" Chuck joked. Emerson wasn't amused.
"But the cause of death sounds natural. How can it be murder?" Ned asked.
Emerson gestured to the first photo. It was a standard, grainy, black and white CCTV image stride. And mere meters behind him was an ominous streaky smudge of black; Mr. BlackCoat.
He then tapped the second photo. had gained on Canine, rushing past him.
The third photo showed Canine toppling over, diving head-first for the pavement. Mr. BlackCoat's disappearing coat tails were all that pictured in the bottom corner.
"The mortician's still doing examinations," Emerson muttered quietly "But he's found nothing; no cuts, no syringe punctures, no wounds, nothing."
He let out a low rumble "I'm stumped."
"It could just be a coincidence and a paranoid grandfather?" Ned offered helpfully.
Emerson grunted and stared at Mr. BlackCoat. "There are no coincidences no more."
Ned walked briskly over to Mr. BlackCoat when he noticed he'd finished his pie slice.
"That was...nice." He said quietly as Ned replaced the plate for the bill.
"Thank you." Ned beamed "You're welcome back any time."
Mr. BlackCoat nodded. He seemed preoccupied with something. He reached for the bill, but Ned hadn't taken his hand away from the table. The skin of Ned's fingertips scarcely brushed against the silver of exposed wrist of Mr. BlackCoat. Ned whipped his fingers away instinctively, as he would with anyone. Mr. BlackCoat reacted very differently.
He recoiled, as if stricken with sickening disgust or petrifying terror, falling backwards off of the chair. The Aviators slid down his nose, showing hazel eyes shaking in their sockets with shock and confusion. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted like a man running from demons to the door.
"Don't just stand there!" Emerson yelled "Get him!"
Ned ran after Mr. BlackCoat, acutely aware that Chuck was running behind him.
They threw the doors open at raced against the bitterly cold air, chasing the dark phantom that fled the Pie Hole.
They chased him to an alley. There was a person standing near Mr. BlackCoat. He had his right glove in between his teeth, and his bare hand on the other person's face.
It took a second to fully register, but then Ned understood what was happening. The person's body was rigid, skin losing its colour to be replaced by blue, then deathly grey. Mr. BlackCoat removed his hand, and the corpse fell to the ground. –Thud-
Mr. BlackCoat's Aviator's locked on Ned. He stepped towards him and struck his face with his bare right hand. Ned heard Chuck gasp, and then his ears were filled with a Chicago hiss "Whatever the hell you are, get back to your Hole. I'll be back at ten o'clock tonight." Then he pulled his glove back on, and strode away.
"Are you sure about this, Ned?" Chuck asked. She looked scared. The night had rolled in and only the few lamps Ned left on illuminated her face. If she wasn't so terrified, Ned would've told her several times by now that she was beautiful.
"You saw him kill some gal the same way he killed Terry R Canine," Emerson rumbled "and now he wants to come here. It'd be even more dangerous if we refused."
The door opened. Mr. BlackCoat slowly walked in, head bent low. Emerson's hand hovered near his woollen gun holster. Chuck's hand squeezed her other one, desperately fantasizing that she was clinging onto Ned.
There was a moment of pause. Then Ned spoke.
"Why did you come back here?"
"Because you didn't die." Mr. BlackCoat edged toward the counter. "I have a very special talent. Everything I touch, dies." He pulled his glove off with his teeth, and picked up an apple from the bowl on the counter.
The apple withered, rosy skin shrivelling and darkening before rotting to a mushed grey pulp sitting in the bare palm of Mr. BlackCoat's hand. He dropped it, and the remains splattered messily on the floor.
"You saw it with that girl in the alley." He continued "Just one touch-"
"-and they're dead." Chuck finished, in barely a whisper.
"But...you." He advanced on Ned "You didn't die...And I...I need to know why."
"I...I don't know." Ned replied.
"No, no, no," Mr. BlackCoat laughed shakily ",you don't understand; I need to know. Do you have any idea what it's like to be able to do something all your life- and then, all of a sudden, you can't...do you? It's terrifying! I thought I lost my power!"
"Would that be so bad?"
Mr. BlackCoat's Aviator's snapped towards Chuck.
"You kill people with a touch...If you lost your power, you could touch people without causing harm...Wouldn't it be better for you?" She asked.
"No." He growled "It wouldn't."
"Listen, " Ned interjected, sensing the threat towards his girlfriend ",I have no idea how you have your 'power', I have no idea how it didn't work on me, and I have no idea how to work out why it didn't work on me. So, why don't you just leave?"
"Because you're just as haunted by what's happened as I am...And I won't rest until I find some sort of connection that could explain why you're still breathing. And you're gonna help me."
"And if I don't?" But Ned already had a sick feeling what the consequences would be.
"Then I'll kill your girlfriend, your fat friend-"
"I'm cuddly!" Emerson protested.
"-your short friend, one customer each day, your daddy, your mommy, your brothers, your sisters, your granddaddy, your grandmammy, everyone. And you know that I can."
"Who are you?" Ned snarled.
"My name is Dead." He grinned. "Who are you?"
"My name is Ned."
Dead chuckled dryly, and extended his hand. "I'd like to shake your hand, Ned."
Ned shook Dead's hand, wishing with all his might that every bone in his bare hand would snap under his grip.