*For the record, this is the very first piece of writing I ever had published in a public circulation, in this case, a literature magazine, uner the name "Coins". This eventually came to serve as the prologue to this book.



Life had never been good for Tess. At a young age she had been left an orphan. But that was actually the best thing that ever happened to her. Her alcoholic father possessed a frighteningly sadistic streak that often resulted in swollen bruises across her frail, young body. She wasn’t the only one to incur his sudden and relentless rage, however. Her drug-addicted mother garnered her fair share of beatings too, though that did little to comfort her. Her mother secretly blamed the girl for her father’s alcoholism, and took every opportunity to vent her twisted aggression by hitting her and pulling her hair. There was no shelter from her pain. Thus, she shed no tears when her parents were discovered mutilated in their bedroom one evening. Even the cops that showed up at the grisly scene were unnerved. Why, a rookie could have sworn the poor wretch was smiling. The little girl stood in a congealing puddle of blood, clutching her plush fox, grinning like a Cheshire cat. A killer was never found.

*****

Suicide.
At least, it should have been. Detective Norris stared numbly at the young man's body, swaying gently in the air-conditioned room. The late Richard Jackson had been home with his family the entire evening, going up to play video games in his room at 9:00 p.m. His parents had been there the entire night, and the quaint suburban home had been locked up tighter then a Scotsman's piggy bank.
"Christ, someone would've heard if the damned kid was being murdered," he whispered.
"Kids," mumbled Detective Michaels. "one day they're playing baseball, next they're hanging themselves."
"So you think Jackson killed himself?" inquired Norris, gazing intently at the corpse.
"Well yeah," stuttered Michaels, suspecting that he had just missed something rather obvious. "I mean, the kid's mom said he went upstairs to play his games. Next morning he was hanging from the ceiling fan."
"Then how do you explain his eyes, Michaels?" Interjected the detective, nodding toward the blue head, lolling above the makeshift noose. Gold coins sparkled in its eye sockets. "Are you saying that a suicidal boy calmly jammed two coins into his own eyes before doing the hanging himself?"
"No, sir," mumbled Michaels as he backed away from the detective.
All the pieces fit for this to be a suicide, save for those strange coins. Norris had heard of some cultures placing money over the eyes of the deceased as a payment for whatever reaper they believed in, but the man seriously doubted a young American kid would have bought into that kind of trash. A quick search of Richard's room turned up no signs of occult interests. But then, what were those coins? The detective reached up and carefully removed the golden discs. The eyes behind them were the full of broken blood vessels. They resembled crimson rubies, thanks to the noose's serpentine grip.

*****

Norris sat alone in the local coffee shop, savoring the brief relief of a cup of coffee. He had questioned Richard's grieving mother about the golden trinkets, but she swore that she had no idea where her late son had found them. Maybe they were arcade tokens or something. Obviously the kid liked video games. Hell, one was still running in his room when his lifeless body was found. The game system was now in an evidence locker with the mysterious coins. As he thumbed the coin, his cell phone began to ring.
"Detective Norris here," he answered.
"It's just been confirmed that the kid actually died from a heart attack," Michaels said quickly.
"A heart attack?"
"Yes, but what's weird is that they can't find out what caused the attack. His blood pressure was perfect, no history of heart problems. Family's history is clean too. What do you think?"
"Michaels, I'm not the diagnostician. I'm no doctor. Just call me when you find out more."
He hung up pocketed his phone. Heart attack, huh? Then what about him hanging himself? What's going on now?
A few hours later, Detective Norris sat in his cramped office fingering the mysterious coin. The kid had died from a heart attack, yet he was also hung. And he had been found with the coins in his eyes. This case was getting pretty queer, and Norris was sure the coins were the key. Sighing, he reached out to his desktop, and googled the words "gold coins", but the Internet was lousy with entries.
"Figures," mumbled Norris. But the question remained, where did the poor kid find the coins? "Hopefully not in his coffee," chuckled Norris grimly.
*****

A week later, he was back at the scene of the crime. The boy's body had been taken to the morgue, but the room still radiated the chill of death. Richard's mother didn't understand why the detective was back, but she trusted that he had his reasons. Little did she suspect, this was not the only case involving the coins.
After considerable research, the detective had discovered that another detective was on the case, this one from the FBI. His name was Ryuzakai or something along those lines. Apparently, another student from the local high school had died. Once again, the direct cause was a heart attack. And jsut like before, he had been found with two coins jammed into his eyes. What made this particular case odd was that there had been three coins at the newest scene; two in the eyes, one in the mouth. Yet, Norris had only found two from the previous murder. There was a distinct possibility that this was a copycat murder, even if the official report had yet to call it so. Still, Norris had a hunch, and his hunches were usually right, so he decided to check back with the Jacksons.
And there it was.
In the drawer of his desk, Norris discovered that there was a fake bottom. Underneath, wedged between two books, was another gold coin.
That made three.
"Didn't you ever learn about fake bottoms in drawers?" he asked his partner.
"Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Michaels replied.
"Yes, well, take these coins back. I want to check the room again."
"Yes sir."
As Michaels reached for the coin, the setting sun cast a swaying shadow across the room. For a moment it looked as if the boy's corpse had returned, but it was simply a cruel trick of the light. Michaels took the coin and left. Norris sat down at the desk and rummaged through the books. He picked up one of them and opened it slightly and...
"Son of a Bitch!"
Inside was another coin. That made four in all. Suddenly, the lights went out, leaving Norris in the comparative gloom of the dusk. He called to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, but there was no answer. They were probably in the basement, looking for the circuit breaker. He thought he heard a noise coming from behind and looked around. He could barely make out the bed in the dimly lit room, but he moved towards it, looking to the cause of the noise. Then he heard it again. Being a cop, the chief of the police force actually, he was not easily spooked, but this was getting kind of eerie.
"Farewell, detective," said a voice from behind.
The hairs on the back of Norris' neck began to rise defensively. The temperature seemed to drop. The very air itself stank of death, and all Norris could hear was the oppressive buzzing of flies in his ears. He swatted the air, but once again, he found nothing. He was beginning to go crazy.
"Stop it! Whoever you are, stop this at once!"
Something sharp pierced his neck. Detective Norris turned around and did something he had yet to do in his thirty years on the force. He screamed.

*****

When the detective hadn't come down in nearly a half an hour, Michaels climbed the stairs to the room to investigate. He hadn't heard a peep from the man since Michaels had left the room. He put his ear to the door.
Thump.
"Detective Norris?" he inquired through the closed door.
Thump.
He carefully opened the door and peered inside. To his horror, Detective Norris' body was hanging from the ceiling fan by his own necktie, his lifeless body bumping idly against the wall.
Thump.
Two gold coins had been jammed into his eye sockets.