I, Death

Prologue

The kid was a killer, a mass murderer; that much Bryan Brecht knew for sure.

What he still hadn’t been able to figure out, though, was how exactly he was going to get close enough without falling prey to the powerful death curse that had people around the kid dropping like so many dead flies.

Removing his glasses, Brecht rubbed the side of his face, absently scratched at the patch of weeks-old stubble on his chin and started thinking about his options.

Brecht had learned about his existence thanks to the kid’s online web log. Fuckin’ idiot, he’d thought. Throwing his every emotion, his every feeling, all of the events of his pitiful life up on that blog. And it’s not that he was entirely stupid about it — at least not until he was well into his almost daily rambling and moaning about his strife. The kid did know that people were reading his online diary, that they were following the macabre events which seemed to spiral around him. He knew there were readers out there — all over the world, in fact — checking in to see how he was doing, and perhaps also to keep track of the latest body count the kid left in his wake.

Another thing Brecht couldn’t figure out was why nobody out there had alerted the authorities. Particularly since this kid pretty much admitted to being responsible for no less than the deaths or crippling accidents of a dozen people.

Maybe it was that ‘mob mentality’ Brecht remembered reading about in a first year Psychology course at University. The fact these deaths were being broadcast and talked about so cavalierly on the internet might have meant every single person who stumbled upon it assumed someone else would alert, or even have already alerted, the police or fbi or the fucking Ghostbusters about this.

But another possibility occurred to Brecht.

Perhaps when people read the account of this teenager, this Peter O’Mallick who lived in a remote northern town and described the details of leaving a wake of bodies in his path, they wanted to believe it was a hoax; they wanted to believe this kid was making everything up.

Because to believe in the power this kid professed to have — the ability to kill someone so simply, so ruthlessly, so easily, without even needing to raise a single finger — that might be too much for the average person.

And if Brecht hadn’t witnessed, first hand, the fact this kid wasn’t actually lying about the evil force that burned within him, perhaps he wouldn’t believe it either.

He not only believed, but he recognized the urgency of wanting to put the kid’s power to his own use; of trying to control Peter and his supernatural ability to make Brecht more powerful than ever.

Finding the kid would be easy enough. Brecht had enough contacts, had enough means to find almost anyone anywhere.

But figuring out how to control the kid, how to not fall prey to his power, would be more difficult. Brecht knew he had been lucky both times he’d encountered the kid. But he couldn’t count on luck to keep him alive. That wasn’t how he operated.

Brecht picked up his thick, pop bottle glasses and put them back on.

Though he’d read it a hundred times, he returned to the kid’s blog, wanted to read it again.

Wanted to dig into it for any clues he could find that would help him elude the kid’s intense death curse.

[The rest of this novel will continue to be rolled out on a regular basis here on Wattpad, but if you can't wait to read it, the print and eBook version is available through all major online retailers - Atomic Fez's page (with links) is here:  http://www.atomicfez.com/book-catalogue/9781927609033.html]