Blood Is Thicker Than Water (Next Of Kin Book One)

1.

December 10, 2016

The weather report proclaimed this as one of the coldest days of the season. A gush of wind whistled in the air, mimicking a daunting tune as armadas of leaves blew in the wind—disclosing the unseen—a creepy old abandoned warehouse that hadn’t been touched in years. It had born witness to enough murders to last a lifetime. The floors were rotted and the windows were boarded up. It had fallen apart and was on the verge of being revamped into a railroad station. Several scraps, aluminum siding and graffiti were all that adorned it.

A thunderous noise filled the soulless hovel that had surrounded them.

Medina Price watched Jordyss’s eyes roll back in her head, taking in a final breath, studying her as if she was a science experiment. What happened next would remain a mystery for years to come. Even to her. It started with a bang, and ended with her brains splattered all over the floor.

Price turned her gaze to the man whose untimely death was anything but an accident, smiled at the thought.

The man’s name wasn’t important but the information he had was. Price made the man suffer just like he made them, taking great pleasure, all while holding nothing back—anger coursing through her veins— driving her to the absolute edge. Whoever the man was, he knew the answer to the question plaguing Medina her entire life—the question that kept her up most nights.

Price still remembered it like it was yesterday. The blaring of police sirens—the smell of fresh blood on her cold wretched body—the ghastly sound of a .357 Magnum, fired at close range, leaving traces of gunpowder.

Price spent a chunk of her life trying to forget. Been in therapy more times than she could count, but there were things she couldn’t block out no matter how desperate. Some things Price was doomed to repeat. Sometimes the way to let go of the dead is to put someone else in their place.

Price stood over the lifeless body, the killing machine in hand; morbidity took over her face, initiating a metamorphosis. Price’s eyes changed—dark, cold and menacing. Her face took a form all its own.

It was either her or me, and I wasn’t ready to die yet. Not again.

A secluded lake near the woods proved to be a place where Price could dispose of the remains, weighing it down with cement blocks, dumping it in with the toxins of the reservoir. The cadaver descended deeper and deeper. She tossed a single black rose. It was her way of mourning the damned. Price had more respect for the dead than the living. Finding fascination with tortured souls and rotting skeletons, she had come to revere them. She thought it was beautifully poetic how each one of them died. Price carved a K in each one of the victims, sending a message to anyone who was fortunate enough to discover them. It would be a message no one will forget. A message that would make the people of this town remember.

The people she’s killed. The bodies she’s buried. The old Medina would be ashamed. But the new her was dawning. Holding someone’s life in the palm of her hands, Price never felt more powerful, thus believing that everyone was guilty until declared innocent. Little by little, Price felt herself slipping away, becoming someone else. Someone she’d never been before; Dark, fearless even. Cold and emotionless.

Fifteen minutes later she stood in the bathroom of the studio apartment in Linden Heights. It wasn’t much to look at but it had personality. She didn’t have much furniture, just a mattress and a folding table, but she didn’t need much. It was home, at least for now. Price eyed her reflection, wearing a bullet wound like it was a badge of honor, snarling at the notion that Jordyss got one last shot before her demise. It triggered something; scenes from her sordid past controlled her train of thought, playing like a broken record in her head.

The yellow police tape cornering the room off—the flash of the camera as the photographer captured a woman’s murdered body—the thick trail of black blood leading up to it—a man’s devilish grin.

In a fit of rage, Price rammed her fist through the glass, noticed the blood dripping from her knuckles onto the Parquet floor, looking at it as if it was insignificant. Then peeked directly into the shattered fragments, spied on something she didn’t want to see, or someone.

I don’t know who I am anymore. Can’t remember the last time I saw her alive. I’ve got enough blood on my hands to start a fucking blood bank. I don’t know what happens. Half the time it’s a complete blur. It’s getting harder to tell me apart from the familiars. The closer I get to finishing this, the further I get from the person I used to be. The further I get from what’s real.

* * * *

Price walked into the mortuary, emotionally unaware of the troubles that befell, biting her lower lip to keep from grinning. The grief stricken detective led the way, the robust sound of his shoes setting the tone with every step. Jordyss’s father would arrive shortly.

Thanks for coming. She put you as her contact in case of emergency. It wasn’t easy to track you down. The detective said, fishing for an explanation.

Apparently it was. Price stated, mumbling under her breath, showing disdain for something that was less than trivial. It was no mystery that she didn’t want to be found.

Before we go in I must warn you, the chemicals from the pond had some pretty bad effects. When my men got there, some of the body parts were dissolved. He halted, blocking the passageway.

This is what was left. He finished, hesitantly opening the door.

They entered the room. It was cold and unsettling, enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. Price secretly relished the odor of formaldehyde filling the air, reveling in the horror as the mortician unveiled the grotesque figure that once was beautiful. She eyed it blankly, showing no signs of remorse.

Is this her? The detective inquired.

I’m sure if you fix her up it’ll look like her, if that’s what you’re driving at. Are we done here? This place gives me the creeps. Price lied, smirking behind his back.

The detective escorted Price out of the morgue, slipping her a card in the hopes she would call him if ever in need of a shoulder. Truth be told he wasn’t just another cop, a friend of the family more or less, but that was all in the past and now she reduced the man to a mere acquaintance. After the infamous death of her mother, nothing awaited Price but darkness and isolation, thus cutting anyone who was closet off at the knees and suffering in silence.

Dina! the chief cried out, anxiously running up, trying to place her. She was a seasoned meddlesome officer whose career was on the brink of retirement, menopause settling in, and the mother of her former comrade.

How do you know my name?

It’s on the form.

Oh.

Why don’t you stay? I’m sure your friends would like to see you.

I don’t have any and I don’t plan on sticking around.

You must be pretty upset, huh?

People die all the time. Why should I get upset over something that happens naturally? Price replied—giving the chief a piercing stare, she hopped in the car and put in it drive. Price saw her in the rearview mirror as she roared away; the screeching of the wheels woke her up from some deep deliberation.

How strange. Should I know her? Is there something I’m missing?

The chief shook her head in disbelief, shrugging it off like normal. Pretty soon it wouldn’t be her problem anymore.

Price pulled up to the penitentiary, marveling at its dark shabby presence. She grew up hating these places, vowing not to be caught dead in here, visiting or otherwise. No matter how much Price wanted to turn back, this was unavoidable. A man was unjustifiably sentenced to life in prison and needless to say she felt partly responsible.

She rifled through the purse in search of her favorite brand of cigarettes. Price always smoked Newport.

Price stumbled upon a vintage wedding photograph of her parents, looking at it fondly, admiring the baby bump. Way before this ever happened. Way before this could ever happen. Who would have thought it would turn out this way? This was indeed a simpler time when things were less chaotic.

2.

March 20, 1993

Medina’s grandparents hadn’t approved of the arrangement and saw Alex as a no account bum who was unworthy. Marrying someone below their class was unheard of by the socialites they ran with. Zoe was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and Alex was a working stiff. They had nothing in common but each other.

Alexander Price stood in front of the mirror, decked out in a Ralph Lauren tux, nervously tying his tie, practiced saying his I Do’s, taking breaths in-between. What some described as a decent guy, others called him a mess. He was a little of both. Maybe more of a mess than anyone ever realized.

I can do this. Alex adjusted his cummerbund. His thoughts had begun to consume him. Thoughts about marriage and being a father. He worried he would put his kids through the same hell he endured at the hands of his father.

I can do this.

Alex was a lieutenant who got demoted to beat cop on a bribery charge—two hundred dollar bribe as part of a corruption sting. He accepted a plea bargain; twenty hours of community service.

He always knew he was out of her league. They ran in completely different circles. Zoe had come from old money while he worked for everything he got.

The door swung open, disrupting his ritual—a dark form approached, greeted him smugly. This was something the man was all too familiar with.

Was I this bad? The man said.

You were worse. Alex replied, wiping beads of sweat off his brow.

I never thought I would live to see this. Is this for real or am I being punked? He replied.

"If you are then this is one bad joke.