Hades (Contemporary Mythos Book 1) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Published in the United States by Carly Spade.

  HADES

  A Contemporary Mythos Novel

  Copyright © 2020 by Carly Spade

  www.carlyspade.com

  Cover and Interior Formatting by We Got You Covered Book Design

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Also by Carly Spade

  Apollo Excerpt

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “Hateful in my eyes as the gates of Hades is that man, who, yielding to stress of poverty, tells a deceitful tale.”

  – Homer, Odyssey

  Click. Click. Scroll. Scroll. As a digital forensics examiner for the Illinois State Police, my life was an endless series of mouse clicks and down arrows on the keyboard. Though a relatively large portion of my job required in-depth analysis, an even larger part revolved around merely sifting through a suspect’s collection of files. Files pulled from devices such as computers, cell phones, and tablets. All files. Including some I’d rather not see, but could never seem to avoid. You can tell a lot about a person from their search history alone.

  I peeled the glasses from my nose, rubbing my hands over my face, and giving my eyes a break from the constant blaring white light of the computer screen. One of the troopers ducked in his head. The digital forensics unit had its suite away from the other investigators. It made it easier to maintain evidence and to avoid seeing potential mind-bending images that came up on our screens. I preferred it that way. It was my own little hole in the universe where I could seclude myself and do my job.

  “You have a visitor downstairs, Costas,” he said, leaning on the doorknob.

  After saving my case file, I grabbed a pen and brushed my bangs away from my forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you, Bruce? Call me, Steph. You trooper. Me civilian.” Chuckling, I pointed between the two of us.

  “Just want to make you feel like a part of the team. There are no first names here. Number one rule.”

  I smiled and moved into the hallway. “Who is it? Please tell me it’s not Mr. Sanders. My brain is far too fried to deal with his level of crazy right now.”

  “Mrs. Conroy. Sound familiar?”

  I pinched my eyes shut. Please tell me it wasn’t the Mrs. Conroy. “What does she look like?”

  “I’d guess early forties? Auburn hair. Sunken eyes. Looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.”

  Definitely sounded like her. Oh, boy.

  After pushing the down button for the elevator, I removed the pen from my dress pocket. “You mind sticking around until I give the clear?” The elevator doors opened, and I clicked the pen several times as I walked in.

  “Of course,” he said.

  When we stepped out of the elevator, the woman waiting sprinted toward me. I could picture her plain as day in the courtroom when I was on the stand, answering questions about my findings in her husband’s murder case. A case that closed four years ago.

  I waved at Bruce over my shoulder. “We’re good.”

  He studied the woman’s face and then looked at me. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He paused another beat before turning away.

  “Mrs. Conroy, can I help you with something?” I placed a hand on her shoulder.

  She wrung her hands together, her hair in disarray, dark bags under her eyes. Her clothes were stained with brown splotches; nails caked with something dark. She gave off a body odor that smelled like she hadn’t showered in days, possibly weeks.

  My great-grandma used to say I could see a person’s aura. Throughout my life and in my profession, I stood firm that seeing was believing. Magic. Mysticism. Gut instinct was my superpower. Still, it never stopped me from seeing colors. Colors which made it possible for me to read a person without an explanation of how. Black mixed with bright yellow floated over Mrs. Conroy like vapor.

  “Henry came to me from the Underworld. He came to me in a dream. There had to be more evidence, Miss Costas. There had to be.” Her words came out frantic, rushed, and loud.

  The Underworld? She was worse off than I thought. Her anxiety was rubbing off on me. It reminded me why I hated the main floor. There were always too many people. Even in their cubicles, it suffocated me. “Let’s go talk over here.” We moved to a quieter corner, as far away from everyone else as I could manage without leaving the building.

  “Henry told me there was financial evidence. That it would prove, Earnest Fueller bought the hammer. I’m sure the dates, the times, location…. all of it would match!” She grabbed onto my shoulders with wild eyes.

  I tensed, beads of sweat dripping down my neck. The pen. I rolled it in my palm to distract myself. It was unlikely any of what Mrs. Conroy was saying was true. Four years ago, her husband was one of a string of murders. The suspected murderer was Earnest Fueller, who’d conveniently committed suicide after the seventh murder, her husband. Without his testimony and little evidence found, he was never officially ruled as guilty. Over the years, it drove Mrs. Conroy to the brink of insanity.

  “Mrs. Conroy, I understand you need closure, but there’s nothing else we can do. The case was combed over and over for almost a year. There wasn’t enough evidence. I personally searched devices for months on end. You know that.”

  “Couldn’t you open it again? Take another look?” Her grip tightened, tears welling in her eyes. “Please.”

  With her situation and the pained look in her eyes, I’d have a hard time saying no. Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I turned down anyone’s request. She needed closure. To know, with the utmost certainty, who killed her husband. Who could fault her?

  “I’ll take another look.” Nausea boiled in my stomach, knowing it was unlikely I’d find anything. Despite it, I felt obligated to try it because I didn’t like letting people down if I could help it.

  She let out a breath and wrapped her arms around me. Given my short stature, my face shoved against her bosom. I held my glasses to keep them from falling off.

  “Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me.” A newfound hope flickered in her eyes. A hope I put there knowing the chances were slim.

  Me and my big mouth.

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try a few things between my other cases.”

  “Absolutely understand! I’ll—I’ll leave you to it. Please call me as soon as you find anything.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, tears streaking her cheeks.

  If I find anything. “Of course.” I offered a half-smile.

  She headed for the door, sniffling and bumping into desk corners.

  I slipped off my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose as I walked back to the elevator. My throat burned from the acid reflux making an unwanted visit. I fished through my pocket, pulling ou
t a roll of Tums.

  “Looks like you need to release a bit of tension there, Steph,” Leo said from behind me.

  After pressing the elevator button, I turned around to see his snarky grin. Every station had one. The cocky, creepy cop who loved to hit on the civilians. Was it because they didn’t think we’d have as much balls as a female officer? I hadn’t fallen for it yet…and wouldn’t.

  “Nothing a bottle of wine and a bubble bath can’t cure, Leo,” I said, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.

  “You in nothing but suds and water…I can get behind that. Do you wear your glasses too?” His slimy grin continued as he leaned against the wall.

  “Goodnight, Leo,” I answered, stepping into the elevator. As the doors closed, I caught him waving at me through the crack.

  I shuffled back into the digital investigation suite, and grabbed the hard drives for old cases we kept in the closet. Dragging my finger down the rows of labels on each drive, I sighed once it landed on the Fueller case. The moment I opened the file, I knew I risked becoming overly reinvested, but a promise was a promise.

  Chewing another Tums, I flopped back into my desk chair, hooked up the drive, and transferred the case and evidence files to the backup drive on my computer. I plucked the stirring straw from my mug of coffee and slipped it between my teeth, feverishly chewing on it. Using two of my three monitors, I kept one case opened on one and pulled up the old case on the other with different forensic software.

  Popping my earbuds in, I skipped to the next track on my playlist. Familiar images of questionable internet search histories, shopping lists, and cell phone pictures flooded the screen. I nodded to the familiar tune of Take On Me by A-Ha. Eighties music always leveled my head.

  Something poked me in the ribs, causing me to jump from my chair. I turned around, spotting my best friend, Sara, glaring at me.

  I blew my bangs out of my eyes. “You scared the crap out of me. When did you come in?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You were so focused, you didn’t hear me. What if I would’ve been a criminal overtaking the station?”

  “And said criminal somehow managed to get past several floors of armed troopers?” I arched a brow.

  Sara and I became friends once I joined the department. She was a detective, rough on the outside, but an absolute teddy bear on the inside. Her skin was umber with eyes to match, and she always kept her hair chin-length to not touch her collar.

  She leaned past me, immediately drawn to the monitor with the old case pulled up. I attempted to step in front of her. She grabbed onto the back of my dress and, with little effort, pulled me away. “Is this the Fueller case? The one we closed four years ago?”

  Licking Tums residue from my teeth and silence was my answer.

  She stared at the roll of antacids in my hand and grabbed the mouse quicker than I could pull the cable on it. After spending a few seconds clicking through a couple of the drives, she sighed. “Why are you working on this, Steph?”

  I adjusted my glasses, counting the scuff marks on my ballet flats. “Mrs. Conroy came in today. She asked me to take another look.”

  “Stephanie…”

  Oh, that tone. I wanted to stuff my cheeks full of Tums like a hamster.

  “You should’ve seen her, Sara. I couldn’t in good conscience tell her no. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “When’s the last time you’ve told anyone, no?”

  I stuck the stirring straw back in my mouth and clicked the pen that’d never left my hand. “I didn’t have the Blue Satchel software at the time. I’m going to process it through there and see if anything new comes up.”

  “Uh huh. Did you look at those brochures I gave you three weeks ago?”

  My gaze shifted back to the monitor. “What brochures?”

  “The ones of the different resorts?” She groaned. “I asked you to look through them and give me your top two?”

  Sara insisted we went on vacation, especially considering I hadn’t taken a day off in over two years. Where the brochures were now would remain a mystery.

  A trooper named Evans walked in with a stack of papers, brushing past Sara. He plopped the documents on my desk, sending Snickers wrappers flying in every direction.

  “I’ve been absolutely swamped today and haven’t had time to file these. Would you mind? Please?” He asked, giving his best puppy dog eyes.

  “Uh…” I feverishly clicked the pen, spying Sara’s death dagger stare from the corner of my eye.

  “Please? My fiancé will kill me if I’m late for dinner again,” he added, clutching his hands together in prayer.

  I chewed on the end of the pen. “I mean…”

  “Costas. Please. I’ll owe you.”

  He’d owe me, but would never actually pay me back in any way.

  “Fine. Yes. Say ‘Hi’ to Annie for me.”

  He slapped my shoulder, making my glasses slide down my nose. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  I picked up the papers and shuffled them until they were in a perfect stack.

  Sara growled under her breath, yanked the papers from my grasp, and stormed for the door.

  “Evans,” she bellowed. “File your own damn paperwork. Costas isn’t your secretary.” She threw the papers on the ground and walked back to my desk with her arms folded.

  “It really wasn’t a big deal. I’ve got nothing else going on tonight. Just waiting on this evidence to process,” I said.

  “You do have something going on tonight.”

  I stopped clicking the pen. “I do?”

  “Friday the thirteenth?”

  “And?” I asked, dragging out the “a”.

  Her hand slapped over her face. “You’re already distracted. Lovely. Patrick Swayze and provocative dance moves?”

  My eyes fell shut. “Dirty Dancing.”

  “Bingo. And it’s your place this time.”

  Dirty Dancing was one of my favorite movies of all time. Somehow Sara hadn’t seen it when we met and I was quick to rectify that. It happened to be a Friday the thirteenth, and now we’d made it some bizarre ritual.

  “I’ll head home as soon as this is done processing in—,” I peeked at the monitor and frowned. “Six hours, no wait eight hours…seven?” The estimated time for completion kept fluctuating, as it always did.

  “We both know it won’t finish processing until tomorrow. Come on.” She wheeled my chair backward and shook it until I was forced to jump off.

  “Fine. Fine. I’m going home. But if this freezes overnight and I have to start it over you’re going to be…Under Pressure.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Was that you doing your eighties song thing?”

  I had a habit of working the name of an eighty’s song into everyday conversation as much as possible. Sara was the only one who often found it amusing. Others looked at me like the quirky weirdo I am.

  “Yes?”

  “Grasping at straws with that one, Steph.” She pointed at me.

  “Right.” I snickered. “Home I go. Meet me in thirty?”

  My eyes dropped back to the progress bar as soon as Sara whisked out the door. A gust of wind blew across my desk, sending my hair into my face. Papers flew everywhere, and something landed on my keyboard with a loud thwap.

  What in the world? Faulty vent?

  Staring back at me was a colorful brochure for a resort in Corfu, Greece. One of several Sara had given me to look through. The others scattered across the floor. I shifted my eyes, shoved the brochure in my dress pocket, and left.

  When I entered my apartment, Sammy, my cobalt colored cat, greeted me by doing figure eights between my calves. I picked him up, shoving my nose into his fur, relishing the vibrations from his purrs.

  My apartment was a modest studio in the suburbs with the most spartan furniture known to man. I made up for it with wall to wall framed posters of some of my favorite movies, including Disney’s Hercules, Princess Bride, and Dirty Dancing. My covet
ed signed poster from the band Apollo’s Suns hung in all its glory above my TV. It was signed by every member except Ace, the lead singer. The latest book I’d finished reading, Korrigan, rested on my coffee table. Scooping it up, I returned it to my bookshelf. My blessed fantasy collection. Pitchfork, Rhapsodic, Homer’s Illiad, Homer’s Odyssey…I yanked the Illiad from the shelf.

  A loud knock sounded at the door.

  Sara’s eyeball stared back at me through the peephole. Her pearly whites beamed with an exaggerated grin once I opened the door. She held up a bottle of white merlot and ducked under my arm, heading straight for the kitchen. After shutting the door and securing the deadbolt, I followed her.

  She grabbed two wine glasses from my cabinet. “Cue up your preferred streaming service, my dear. And do you have any cheese? These eyes are hungry,” she said, somehow managing not to crack a smile.

  I chuckled. “Top shelf in the door, but double-check. It’s pepper jack.”

  “Ah, yes. Your fear that one of the peppers could be mold. How could I forget?” She snatched the cheese, shut the door with her hip, and winked. “Why do you have three pomegranates in your fridge? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in someone’s fridge, let alone three.”

  “Uh, because I like them?” After looking for the remote control in every couch cushion crack, I was about to do the abysmal act of turning the TV on by pressing the button on the unit itself. “Besides, they have all sorts of benefits. Anti-inflammatory, natural antioxidants, cancer prevention…”

  Sara gasped. “Cinnamon Bun Oreos? I thought they didn’t sell these anymore.” She eyed the platter of Oreos I purposely put on display and grabbed a handful.