Boobie Call: Supernatural Activity in the Southwest

Boobie Call

A supernatural mystery

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, corporate or government entities, facilities or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Gwen Davis-Chile Line Books

Cover art by Gwen Johnson. Gwen helped me out when two professional cover artists told me they were not capable of doing the cover I wanted. Personally I love the cover and it’s exactly what I’ve had in my head since I came up with the premise for the book. She is a fantastic artist if anyone is interested. G.S. Designs [email protected]. I colorized it myself with inkscape, like photoshop, and people seemed to hate how amateurish it looked.

Hence our controversial cover contest. Don’t forget to enter the contest. I can't wait to see everyone’s designs, drawings, and artwork. The best one that seems to fit with the novel the best will be the cover of Visions thru the Veil coming out next summer.

Chile Line Books supports free expression and the value of a copyright. The purpose of a copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of the book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Chile Line Books

www.chilelinebooks.com

First edition 2021

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBNs: 979-8-9850185-0-9 (hardcover), 979-8-9850185-1-6 (paperback), 979-8-9850185-2-3 (ebook)

Printed by Ingram Spark

Ingram Spark

https://www.ingramspark.com

For my Dad

Who always believed

I would make it happen!

Boobie Call

Gwendolyn Davis

Chapter 1

Being a coroner in a city like Albuquerque was pretty much the same as being a coroner in a city like Los Angeles or Phoenix. He knew; he had serviced both cities for several years before moving on to this slightly less crowded, though not greener, pasture. Albuquerque was a smaller city but a city nonetheless, with its crime rate higher than or equal to much larger cities. For a coroner with a conscience, this would not have been good news. But for Coroner Ralph Jacobson, this was his kind of town. The more bodies that came across his slab, the more opportunity to develop his side business, and his depravity.

He looked down upon the pretty young lady with long dark hair. He stroked it back off her face in a loving fashion. He leaned over to turn on the water and microphone. While washing the body down, he touched every part of her gently and with care. He spoke into the microphone.

This is Dr. Ralph Jacobson; it is 2:48 am. I am about to perform the autopsy on one Mary Beth Valdez, age 24 and 3 months. Died of an apparent gunshot wound to the abdomen, no other obvious wounds. She has a tattoo of a rose on the small of her back and another of a snake wrapping around her right forearm.

He reached up and stopped the tape. He liked working in the middle of the night. No one else was in the building; at least not this wing of the building. The morgue was in the bowels of the police station. Five stories underground, it was an old army bunker that was a self-contained building. They had cut a hole in the roof for a stairwell and built a four-story police station on top of it, then turned what became the basement into the morgue. The people who worked in this building were mainly office personnel on a 9-5 schedule. An occasional cop would come down looking for information but rarely in the middle of the night. The main reason he liked the night shift, other than less disturbance, was less contact with the day people.

In the last five years that Ralph had worked there only once had anyone shown up in the middle of the night. Of all the places he had ever worked, he genuinely liked this place the best. If anyone came into the building it would take them a full minute and a half to reach his location and he could hear them every step of the way. He was incredibly careful in his work. He had never been caught and didn’t aim to be. He had almost been busted back in Los Angeles. Then there was the suspicious cop in Phoenix. At the first sign or even an inkling of suspicion, he simply moved on.

The soft soles of his shoes squeaked quietly as he walked up to the slab. The overhead light was bright and shown down on her in a way that almost made her look alive. They all, almost, looked alive. It was that far-off look in their eyes that always gave them away.

His hand trembled as he touched her cold, rubbery, brown skin. Her breasts were firm and plump, though not made by God. It was why she was of particular interest to him. He needed her. The scalpel vibrated quickly in his hand as it always did. The first cut was always intoxicating. As he sliced the flesh gently, careful not to cut too deeply and damage the goods, he soon became aroused. The strain against his pants caused him to pause, with his left hand he unzipped his pants and allowed his swollen member to spring forth. He then diligently went back to the task at hand. He lifted the fatty membrane and slid out one saline implant and then the other. He sloshed them gently into the stainless steel tray he had nearby. As he lowered her breasts, he gently brushed his hands across her nipples, as if to flatten out wrinkles on a sheet.

He walked over to the counter, next to the sink, and dipped his fingers in the oily concoction he had prepared previously. He dropped his pants, stepped out of them, and rubbed the oil mixture all over the end of his cock.

When he turned and walked back towards her, a look came across his face. He did not look gentle anymore but angry as he climbed onto the slab and the girl. He forcefully rammed his cock into her quickly and methodically. There was but one goal and that was to fuck the dead girl’s brains out. Her head inched closer and closer to the end of the table with each vicious thrust. She was to a point where her head would flop back and bend at the neck when he suddenly stopped, closed his eyes, and shuddered as he released into her. Then as suddenly as the angry look had come, it was gone, and the kinder man was back. He looked down at the girl with his dick still inside of her and softly said thank you repeatedly as he stroked her breasts, first one then the other. When his cock became limp and fell out, he stood up, pulled his pants back on, walked to the sink, and methodically cleaned up. First himself, then her. He snapped on a clean pair of gloves and walked over to the body.

Chapter 2

She could not believe what she was looking at. She felt lighter and freer than she ever had in her life. She was floating, hovering. But how? When she was also lying on the table, dead? How can I possibly be dead, she wondered. If I’m dead, how in the world did that just happen? I’m being raped after I die? If I’m dead, what am I doing here?

Mary was very confused. She wasn’t completely sure whether she was dreaming. If she was dreaming, she sure hoped to wake up soon. This was a fucking trip she wasn’t enjoying. She kept watching the man below as he set about to wash her. He started at her head and worked his way down to her feet. He started with the front, pausing at her crotch, shooting the hot water inside to wash away all the evidence. Then he turned her over and repeated the process on the back. He reached up and turned the recorder back on as he made his Y incision and continued with the autopsy as if nothing had happened.

She watched the bizarre scene play out below. She was watching her own autopsy. Was this normal? Could everyone do this? Is this what happens when we die? She didn’t know the answers to any of this. The more she hovered the more she started to remember or, rather, the more thoughts suddenly popped into her head. She knew how she died and who she had been in life, who her family was. But if she was dead, why was she hanging around? She was never the patient kind in life. Now she felt a kind of peace. Physically she felt nothing. She was curious. She watched as the good doctor finished his report. She had died of massive internal bleeding. It had been a hollow point that exploded on impact, scrambling her guts beyond repair. So that would be the official cause of death. Bled out due to shooting at the mall. Who would have thought a day of shopping would turn into lying on a cold stainless-steel slab.

She knew they had caught the punk at the mall who shot her. She could not tell how she was able to know these things. It was just that, the longer she was dead, the more she seemed to know and understand. About everything. Take that freak down there with the necrophilia habit. She knew that he had had a perfectly normal childhood. He had been raised in San Francisco by two successful parents, one an architect, the other a painter, though she didn’t know which was which. Non-relevant information really. He had no siblings and was raised in an affluent manner. He never wanted to be a doctor but was constantly pressured to be successful. They were thrilled when he told them he was going to be a doctor, until he announced, after fully completing medical school and his internship, that he was choosing to be a coroner. It was a slap in the face to his parents. His mother nearly fainted, and he’d had a strained relationship with them ever since.

Mary Beth didn’t know how he had become depraved. She watched as he slid her body into a drawer and signed off on the paperwork. Then he cleaned up her implants, sterilizing them, rolling them up, and placing them in a saline solution before he re-packaged and labeled them. What is he possibly going to do with used boobs? She thought.

Mary watched and waited. She must be observing all this for some reason. She thought it was to finally get this freak caught. He placed the boobs gently into a cooler and walked out of the room. He paused in the doorway and gave one last careful look around to make sure there was no evidence lying about what he may have missed. He looked down to make sure his clothes were unruffled and in place. Then he flipped off the light and closed the door.

Mary knew that he knew that he hadn’t left anything out of place. Not in the room or on his person—or hers. He was a perfectionist and was methodical in his routine. A well-practiced routine it was. She knew he had been violating dead women for decades, starting in Los Angeles, the first place he had worked as a coroner. There, he had also begun to harvest implants. At first, the anticipation of getting caught was almost enough to get him off. The more practiced he became the more routine it was. He had violated at least 220 women in his nineteen years in L.A.

He had moved to Phoenix because a young office girl had walked up and caught him just as he was about to get started. She had gotten a little suspicious. That little bitch sneaking up like that was the closest he had ever come to being busted. The next day, he was questioned and was able to blow them off. He didn’t want to take a chance on any rumors starting, so he waited a couple of weeks, then put in his resignation. There was no job opening anywhere else in LA so, when he was offered a job in Phoenix for less money, he jumped at the opportunity. The anxiety to get out of California had been overwhelming. He didn’t like it or find it exhilarating at all. He had no intention of getting caught. He had worked for five-and-a-half years in Phoenix and had violated almost 200 women there. He had perfected his lewd behavior; it took less time to get off and clean up, ultimately resulting in more frequent conquests of varying sexes.

On his 40th birthday, he discovered that he wasn’t depraved at all. Rather he was a rapist who had graciously sacrificed warm bodies for cold ones. That way he wasn’t hurting anyone, at least he believed. Because of this understanding, he never did attempt to rape a living woman. Actually, he had never been with a woman who wasn’t cold. To mix things up and create a little more variety he had begun sodomizing dead men as well as raping dead women. He never did sodomize a woman.

For some reason, this made Mary curious. Why would someone that depraved avoid this area on women but not men? She had too many questions and the answers were coming fast. It was a bit overwhelming.

It was also kind of cool, what was happening to her, except for the whole being dead part. She liked understanding things. As she thought of a question the answer would be revealed to her. The answers were placed in her head somehow as she floated along.

She wished she wasn’t hovering like a balloon and suddenly she was walking behind him. He went out the third-floor exit which came out at street level. He walked past the police sentry on watch at his desk looking half asleep. As he stepped out into the cool morning air, Mary, who didn’t have any clothes on, expected to feel the blast of cold. But she didn’t. She reached down and pinched herself. Nothing. Huh, how ‘bout that, she thought to herself. I wonder if I can walk through walls too. She tried it and found she could, and did it again when she got into his car and sat on the passenger’s seat next to the doctor as he drove down the empty streets. She stared at him, wondering if he could sense her there. She didn’t think he could. She knew what he was thinking; his head was pretty empty. She wondered how many times she had been driving down the street and had a spirit sitting next to her and she never knew it.

They were heading east. He left the downtown area and got on the interstate. The early morning sky looked different to her, somehow. She could see everything super clearly as if her whole life had been spent looking through a shroud. She could see the energy emanating from everything and it was all connected through thin strands of light bouncing between the energy fields. The colors swept by as the car flew down the highway, slowing suddenly as they exited at Louisiana Blvd.

Chapter 3

Dr. Jacobson turned down one of the side streets off Louisiana then turned again into the driveway of a small blue house. Mary was familiar with the area but had never been on this particular street. He waited for the single car garage door to rise before pulling in and shutting off the engine. Mary followed him into the house. She was less confused, but still had no idea what was happening, and felt compelled—almost pulled—by him. He sat the cooler with her implants in it on the counter then went to shower. Mary watched him take his clothes off and hang them neatly in his closet. She again wondered how many times people were watched by an unseen force and never knew it. How creepy. It must be possible because she was there watching this douchebag getting naked in front of her and he was clueless. Mary was fascinated watching him act in such a way; he clearly thought he was alone. How would he act if he knew she was there?

She waited for him to get in the shower and then watched as he soaped up, taking care and giving extra attention to his groin area. Probably to wash the dead off of him. He washed with such vigor that he gave himself a hard-on. Mary was fascinated in a weird voyeuristic kind of way. She watched his body language and facial expression as he worked himself up into an orgasm. She chuckled and turned away.

The mirror was steamed up and she wanted to see if she could write a message. When she touched it, she was surprised to see herself standing there naked as a jaybird. Her breath caught at the sight of her nude and damaged body. She suddenly felt very self-conscious and wished for clothing. As the thought finished forming in her mind she looked up and saw herself now clad in a white t-shirt and jeans. What a fucking trip! she said out loud. It sucked that she was dead but, hey, it was kinda cool at the same time.

She reached out her finger to touch the mirror again. It looked detached from her body like the finger belonged to someone else. As she touched the mirror, it did nothing; she left no mark. She tried again and again to no avail. Maybe, she thought as the doctor was shutting off the water, if I think what I want it will appear as the clothes did. She closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment. What should the mirror say? As Dr. Ralph Jacobson stepped out of the shower and looked up, he saw, I know what you are doing. He jumped back and threw himself against the wall. His eyes darted around the room looking for someone.

Who, who the hell are you? Come out and show yourself! He yelled into the empty little house. He looked everywhere before convincing himself he was alone. By the time he went back to the mirror, the steam had dissipated and the message was gone. He half-convinced himself that nothing he had seen was real. All imagination. He drew the curtains tightly, as it was 6 am and he was off to bed.

It was kinda boring being dead. Now there was nothing to do except wait for the asshole to wake up. She wasn’t hungry or tired and hadn’t needed to pee all night. She thought of herself standing on the roof and she was. Then she thought herself to the roof of the nearby mall but she wasn't able to leave the house. It was as if she was tethered to him for some reason. She wondered if she could fly. She closed her eyes and envisioned herself soaring over the house. How cool! You can fly when you're dead. She played with her newfound power for a moment before trying to think herself to her own house. Damn it! I can't leave this bonehead, she realized. She was dead and stuck with this freak. She sat and waited impatiently for him to wake up. She began wandering around his house, looking at his stacks of dirty magazines on his dresser. From looking around his kitchen counter, she noticed he was behind on most of his bills. She saw a notepad next to the phone and saw that the doctor had an appointment tomorrow at 2:00 pm on 151 Second St. S.E. Not the greatest neighborhood in town, she muttered. She sat on the sofa and looked at his movie collection (mostly porn) and a stack of check stubs from the City of Albuquerque. He made $4,500.28 every two weeks for being a depraved asshole. She laughed, then thought, I know a whole bunch of guys who would consider being a depraved asshole for those bucks, and yet he's behind on his bills. Mary was becoming anxious; something wasn't right with the whole situation, aside from being dead. She began to feel like something was coming, a bad something, and it would know how to get her. She wanted him to wake up already and get the hell out of that house. She stood over him and yelled in his ear GET UP! When he didn’t respond, she kicked the side of the bed. He stirred and she thought she had actually made the bed move, so she tried again and again, but it had not been her that had caused him to stir. So she sat and waited until he finally woke up.

Chapter 4

Dr. Jacobson dressed quickly then went to a drive-through and had lunch while he sat in his car. Anti-social of him, Mary thought to herself. He hadn’t made contact with anyone since she had the misfortune of attaching herself to him. After he finished lunch, he drove across town to some nondescript warehouse off the freeway on Second St. S.E. She followed him step for step as he knocked on a side door. A short little ethnic-looking fellow stepped out and looked around to see that no one was watching. He took the cooler from the doctor and handed him an envelope. With that, the doctor turned to leave. Mary turned to go with him but found herself stuck and unable to move. She was beginning to panic a little as he got in his car and drove away. Why couldn’t she go with him? She was feeling herself being pulled only not with the doctor but inside the warehouse. She was clueless as to what was happening but she had no