A Wish to Die For

Throughout history, people have sold their souls to the dark side in order to make their selfish wishes come true. With the dawn of the computer age, the ritual continued. Rock stars, race car drivers, and even politicians find their fame and fortune with the help of a new and mesmerizing, evil website. Little did these people know what price they’d pay for the use of its services. When Carrie Palmer, a frustrated housewife, logs onto the website and enters an angry comment about her husband, a chain of events begins to unfold that no one could have ever predicted. Now she must put two and two together and try to solve the riddle of the killer blog before it’s too late. With the clock ticking, and the fate of other people hanging in the balance, Carrie’s only hope lies twelve hundred miles away in the City of New Orleans. But will she make it there before their time runs out, or will her worst nightmare become a reality?

KUDOS FOR A WISH TO DIE FOR

In A Wish to Die For by Michael Infinito, Carrie Palmer is a lonely housewife whose workaholic husband is rarely home. In desperation, she turns to the Internet for company and, one day, she happens upon a blog called In Blog We Trust. It asks how it can improve her life and, after an argument with her husband, she sarcastically types in, If you want to make my life better, just kill my husband. But when her husband dies suddenly a few minutes later she is horrified, grief-stricken, and consumed with guilt. Going back to the blog, she discovers that several other people have left comments as well and are now dead. So she begins to investigate, trying to find a way to remove the curse of the blog and save her life. This is another Infinito page-turner, and it will not only keep you on the edge of your seat, it will keep you up reading well into the night. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

A Wish to Die For by Michael Infinito is another great horror/mystery on the level of Stephen King. Our heroine, Carrie Palmer, makes an angry comment on a mysterious blog, saying that she wishes her husband was dead. When she discovers his body the next morning, she can’t help but wonder if her comment on the blog had something to do with it. So she starts to investigate some of the other commenters on the blog, only to discover that most of them died exactly one year after they made their comments. Now she has to find a way out of her own death sentence. Infinito really has a way with storytelling. The story is fast-paced, action-filled, and edge-of-your-seat tense. This is one you’ll want to keep on your shelf to read again to catch all you missed the first time. Regan Murphy, Reviewer

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank everyone who has supported my writing dream, friends and family alike. Special thanks go out to Lisa Regan, for keeping me on track when I need an honest opinion, and to Michael Infinito Sr., whose reading critiques fuel my creative engine.

Jewell Cartwright McMurry, I obviously couldn’t have done it without a loving and supportive mother.

Thanks to the staff of Black Opal Books, and my agent, Jeanie Loiacono, for everything they’ve done to bring this novel to life.

A WISH TO DIE FOR

Michael Infinito

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2015 by Michael Infinito

Cover Design by Jackson Cover Designs

All cover art copyright © 2015

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626943-45-2

EXCERPT

Here she was in a race against time and she spent four days in a coma...

Carrie had been so traumatized by the injury and the loss of Krysta that she had forgotten all about the In Blog We Trust mystery. It had been four days since she last contacted Bridgette McCoy. She hoped the girl had figured out a way to avoid her horny teacher.

I don’t know, Mom. It was probably just a dream, she replied, But now that I’m thinking about things I might like to have, could one of you please bring my cell phone? It’s on the little table in the main hallway. If the house is locked, there’s a key under the mat.

I’ll go get it, David said. But leaving the key under the mat isn’t a good idea for a woman who’s living alone.

I know, Daddy. Thank you for the advice.

The Lipkas left the hospital. David returned less than thirty minutes later with her cell phone.

I brought the charger too. I’m sure the battery’s probably dead by now.

Thanks again, Daddy. They hugged one more time, and a few seconds later she was alone.

Carrie plugged the phone in and turned on the power. Cell phone usage not permitted on the floor, she just wanted to check her call history for the past few days. There would obviously be nothing from Carlos Russo, because he only had her home number, but she suspected there might’ve been some attempts from Bridgette. The phone came to life and soon acquired full signal strength. As expected, there were over twenty missed calls from Gary’s old phone. She stumbled to her feet and found the clothes she’d been wearing when they brought her to the hospital. After getting dressed, she let the phone charge for a few minutes before making her way down to the lobby.

I’m sorry, Bridgette. I hope I’m not too late.

DEDICATION

For Liz

Chapter 1

1996:

The crowd erupted into chaotic screams as Incorrigible, the decade’s most influential rock band, made their way onto the stage. Wasting little time, they picked up their instruments and broke into the track, "Are We Alone." With a bombastic riff behind his gravelly voice, Kirk Cochoran belted out the lyrics, eventually screeching the song’s final lines.

"The candles and the stained glass

Comforted my heart

As the bitterness in my brain

Tried to tear their world apart

"I am no one

I am someone.

Isn’t life so odd?

"I am no good.

I am so good,

A child of some God."

The audience went crazy as the feedback from Kirk’s guitar continued humming, even after the song had come to a thunderous conclusion. He let the instrument hang from its strap, freeing up both of his hands. Grabbing the microphone stand, Kirk pulled it against his skinny, five-foot-nine-inch frame.

It’s great to be fuckin’ home! he shouted, eliciting a cheer from the crowd. We’ve played all over the world, but I can tell you, Portland’s where the party’s at. This is also a special night for us. One year ago today, we released Corporate Generation as a single.

Tommy Hanes, the band’s bassist, and drummer, Carlos Russo, began playing the song’s rhythm section, while Kirk tantalized frantic fans with his introduction to the decade’s biggest hit.

Tonight we want to bring it back to where it all started, he continued, unplugging his fancy red guitar and trading it for an old, worn out, black model.

The amplifier’s feedback intensified as the vintage guitar roared to life. The unusually high pitched buzz brought pain to Kirk’s ears. He immediately tried turning it down, but his efforts proved fruitless. The escalating noise became shrill enough that even a majority of the half-stoned crowd looked uncomfortable. Kirk reached to disconnect his power line, and that’s when all hell broke loose. A surge of electricity made its way through the guitar and into the rocker’s body. He began shaking as the current ripped through him. Saliva boiled from his mouth and he fell backward onto the stage.

Cut the mother fucking power! Tommy Hanes screamed.

Security, roadies, and emergency officials stormed the stage. They cut the electricity off, but sparks still flew from Kirk’s gyrating body. By this time, the genius songwriter of his era was on fire. Bulging eyes exploded from his head, and cooking brain matter splattered the nearby area like popcorn from a popper. Security officers tried spraying him with fire extinguishers, but nothing could douse the blaze. Kirk was dead. The electricity had settled into his body and refused to leave. Blue sparks continued flying as the pile of charred bone and flesh burned through the stage floor and down to the building’s lower level. Hordes of people soon pushed their way to the scene, hoping it had all been some sort of outrageous publicity stunt perpetrated by the band. The sight of Tommy Hanes on his knees, throwing up, and Carlos Russo bawling hysterically proved it was no hoax. By the time the gruesome event ended, all that remained of Kirk Cochoran was fourteen pounds of cremated ashes and a rock and roll mystery for the ages.

Chapter 2

Twelver Years Later:

Ken Worfield was just a few hours away from giving his acceptance speech. All the major news networks had already declared him the winner in over seventy-five percent of the most populated counties. His unlikely victory almost official, soon a night of partying and celebration would be in full swing.

Ken put his feet on the hotel coffee table and poured another small glass of scotch over his already melting ice. Although he enjoyed the feeling of a slight buzz, he tried his best not to drink too much. Appearing as a sloppy drunk for the most important night of his political career would surely have negative consequences. Fresh drink in hand, he sank into the comfort of a luxury sofa. Ken still wore his dress clothes, but had removed the jacket and loosened his tie. He also took the hotel phone off the hook and cut the power to his iPhone. He just wanted a few peaceful moments alone to bask in his political triumph.

Turning his attention away from the newscaster, who was steadily barking out projected election results, Ken picked up the latest issue of his favorite magazine, Music Scene Monthly. Kirk Cochoran’s picture graced the cover, along with the caption: Remembering The Man Who Shaped a Generation. The words rang true for Ken. Incorrigible had been his favorite band in 1996. It was hard for him to imagine that Kirk Cochoran had been dead for over twelve years.

He began reading the article about Cochoran, even though he already knew most of the band’s history by heart. Kirk and his two pals from grammar school, Tommy Hanes and Carlos Russo, had formed Incorrigible when they were freshmen in high school. The band didn’t play very well, but they had enough energy and drive to break into the raw, punk-like, Portland club scene. Although they sounded loud and aggressive, their own material lacked originality, and no record company had shown any interest in signing them. With very little hope of a successful future in mainstream music, they floundered around in local bars for quite some time.

In the early part of 1995, Kirk Cochoran decided to take a month off from the music business in order to refresh his creativity. Naturally, because of his rail thin frame, greasy blond hair, and terrible complexion, his friends assumed him to be on some sort of heroin bender. That was not the case. Kirk emerged from his break with a complete album’s worth of stellar new material. The songs were heavy and poetic, but still reflected the angst of the punk movement. One song in particular, Corporate Generation, grabbed people by the throat and never let go. It became a monster hit.

Upon hearing the new material, record companies soon lined up to sign the band. Kirk didn’t really care about the business end of it, or which company they played for. He left those decisions up to his childhood friend, and band manager, Dan Edmondson.

Dan had been the typical fat kid when the boys were in elementary school, and he had developed into an even fatter man. Like most heavyset youngsters, he had been teased about his size, almost to the point of being traumatized. Also, the fact he was a red head who wore geeky looking eyeglasses and sported a bad case of acne didn’t help him in the popularity department. He had very few friends. Fortunately for him, one of those friends turned out to be Kirk Cochoran. Kirk loved the way Dan always stood his ground when the other kids would pick on him. Even if the insults and pizza-face fat jokes took a toll on him, he never let it show. Dan may have been a dork, but he was by no means a pushover. Years later, when Incorrigible needed a manager, he was the first person who came to Kirk’s mind. Even with his fiery red hair, Coke-bottle glasses, and a weight that tipped the scales at almost four hundred pounds, as the manager of the world’s biggest band, Dan’s days of being teased had all but ended.

Edmondson proved to be a shrewd manager, working out a lucrative recording deal with DELMO SOUND, ensuring that Incorrigible would become platinum selling superstars. At first, the record label had trouble with the band’s image. Kirk looked worse than most of the homeless people who lived under the local freeway bridges, while Tommy Hanes was half bald and seventy pounds overweight. Carlos Russo served as the only attractive one in the bunch.

At six-foot-one, and weighing a mere one-eighty, he always appeared well groomed. With his short dark hair and hazel eyes, he looked more like an underwear model than a rock star. DELMO tossed around the idea of only putting Carlos’s picture on the album cover, but Dan stood his ground. It was either going to be the entire band, or nothing at all. In the end, Incorrigible and their feisty manager got their way.

Ken continued reading the article, filling in missing facts with information he remembered from other interviews and magazines over the years. It seemed ridiculous that he knew so many useless things about Incorrigible. Ken couldn’t even remember what he had eaten for dinner the night before, but could recollect the band’s entire tour schedule from 1995. He smiled at the absurdity of New Jersey’s newly elected governor being a rock and roll groupie. At that moment, a knock on the door broke his concentration.

Kenny, you in there? a voice asked from out in the hall.

Just taking a minute, Jim. I need to relax for a sec, Ken replied.

You’ve got to be in the ballroom in twenty minutes. It would be fucked up if the new governor was late for his own victory speech.

God almighty! Ken griped. I know what time it is. I’m not an idiot. Give me a few more minutes and don’t bang on my door again.

Geez, man, I was just looking out for your interests. That’s what you pay me for.

I’m sorry. I’m just a little uptight at the moment. I’ll be down in a few.

Good deal. Apology accepted. See you then, Governor.

A little miffed by the interruption, Ken understood that as governor his free time was going to be very limited. He only wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet before the festivities began, and he couldn’t even get that. Filled with frustration, he turned his attention back to the magazine and his memories of an easier time.

In 1995, Kirk and his band mates exploded onto the charts, bringing with them the entire Portland musical scene. It was a powerful train of new music, and they were the locomotive pulling it all. Record executives dubbed the new rock and roll Dinge because of the dingy Portland clubs from which it had originated. The raucous sound was a huge departure from the pop and glam held over from the late eighties and early nineties, and it brought Kirk Cochoran from obscurity to rock god status overnight. Incorrigible’s signature song, Corporate Generation, became an anthem for change, both musically and socially. Unfortunately for the music lovers of the world, that tragic night in Portland ended it all way too soon.

Ken closed his eyes and pictured the scene. He was at that concert, only a few rows back from the stage. He and his friend Jimmy had driven all the way across country, following Incorrigible, just like the Deadheads had done with The Grateful Dead in years prior. The image of Kirk shaking uncontrollably, as his body crackled and roasted, would never escape Ken’s memories. The auditorium, which had reeked of pot, became filled with the odor of vomit, as most of the kids in attendance emptied their stomach contents onto the floor. The smell of Kirk’s body cooking on stage made it impossible for Ken to ever eat meat again. He had witnessed a gruesome electrocution from only fifty feet away. It was an event that even someone with a bad memory could never forget.

In the years that followed, investigations concluded there was no possible way Kirk should have died that night. The equipment wiring showed no signs of fire damage, and even the black guitar responsible for his death remained unscathed. Cochoran roasted for a full five minutes after the power was cut. Conspiracy theories flew, and accusations of murder were tossed about. Some people speculated his death had been plotted by the fading ’80s bands, who had all but gone bankrupt by the mid-nineties, while others claimed jealous Portland acts were probably responsible. A small group of critics believed Kirk worshipped the devil, and that he had been punished by God that fateful night. They claimed the lyrics to the song, Until I Signed My Name, told the story of his demise.

Blank is my mind

I’m just average, good at nothing

Lonely, in despair

Screen dancing in front of me

The answer is in there

Sign my name, drain my vein

I am genius with the pen

Who do I owe?

I don’t know

Can I sign again?

It sounded like a laughable theory, but Carlos Russo fueled the fire in an interview he gave a few years after the incident. Russo claimed Kirk’s songwriting ability was nonexistent prior to his one month vacation in 1995. He also said he had some insight as to where Cochoran supposedly found his muse, but that he would take it to the grave with him, claiming the story to be unbelievably silly. Russo never spoke of the incident again.

Tommy Hanes faded away into obscurity, enjoying his retirement and the millions of dollars Incorrigible had provided for him. Carlos Russo stepped out from behind the drums and started acting, becoming a superstar in his own right. Retaining Dan Edmondson as his manager, he landed a role in a prime-time cop drama, and even received an Emmy nomination. Kirk went down in history as another rock and roll visionary who died too soon.

Ken closed the magazine and looked at the clock. I’ve only got ten minutes. He adjusted his clothes and stepped into his shoes. He thought about downing another shot of scotch, but then decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. The lingering buzz he still felt would be enough to get him through his speech. Ken was not a good public orator by any stretch of the imagination. He often tripped over words as he spoke. People frequently likened him to George W.--a comparison that made him angry.

One year earlier, he had been a struggling lawyer, doing his best to build a practice and start a political career, and now he stood moments away from giving a victory speech, proclaiming himself as New Jersey’s Governor-Elect. Ken never thought it possible to make it so far in such a short time span. His best friend, Jimmy Delvin, the same Jimmy who had driven across country with him in 1996 to see Incorrigible, had been instrumental in guiding his campaign. Jimmy was a positive thinker who never considered losing as an option. Ken, on the other hand, always saw the glass half-empty. He didn’t think he’d ever stand a chance of making it onto the ballot, let alone defeating Karen Howard, the ultra-popular incumbent. However, in a strange twist of fate, Mrs. Howard died suddenly from a massive stroke, leaving behind a frenzied scramble to fill the vacated governor’s seat. Although Ken felt bad about her demise, he had no emotional connection to the woman and, therefore, considered it more of a career opportunity than a tragedy. Not a superstitious man, he thought it interesting that she died the morning after he had found the peculiar website.

Ken put on his jacket and adjusted his tie one final time. Then he flipped his laptop open and waited for it to come out of sleep mode. Seconds later, he accessed his Internet quick launch and tried pulling up a web page.

I owe you everything, he said, staring at the blank, white screen.

He closed the laptop. Glancing at the clock, Ken Worfield realized he only had two minutes remaining. He grabbed his wallet and room key and left the suite.

Chapter 3

What the fuck is with you? Jimmy Delvin asked as Ken emerged from the hotel room. If you’re late, we’re all gonna look bad.

Okay! I’m sorry. You know me. I’m always late for everything.

A fact Jimmy knew all too well. Ken never made any appointments on time. It was something that needed fixing if they wanted to possibly further their political aspirations. With such a long history together, Jimmy felt pretty sure he could help rectify the situation.

The duo shared an interesting dynamic. They played off each other like DeNiro and Pesci in a Martin Scorsese film.

Unlike his tall, timid friend, Jimmy only stood five-foot-eight, but he was tough as nails. He kept his hair cropped short and spoke with a typical north Jersey accent. To compensate for his small stature, he lifted weights regularly and sported a chiseled physique.

In the 1980s, a man like Jimmy was commonly known as a Guido, or roughly translated, a little Italian punk with a big mouth and a lot of attitude.

Ken was the polar opposite of his friend. He hated mingling with people and, at most times, came across as being shy and withdrawn.

In social settings, Jimmy had always initiated conversations with strangers. He often teased Ken about having no balls, especially where women were concerned.

My mom says the only thing you should be late for is your own funeral, Jimmy stated. You know my mom. She’s always right.

Ken flashed a sarcastic smile. You’re the one who’s holding us up with all this lecturing. If you could walk and talk at the same time, then maybe we wouldn’t be late.

Jimmy returned the grin. Fuck you, Governor.

Both men laughed and then proceeded to the elevator. When its doors opened on the first floor, Ken and Jimmy emerged into the hallway. They were greeted by a sizeable security force, which had been waiting patiently to escort them to the main banquet room. A red velvet rope barrier separated the hallway from the hotel lobby, and it was being closely guarded by two New Jersey state troopers. Enthusiastic people made their way to the ropes, shouting phrases like Way to go, Ken and It’s time for a change. The positive reinforcement bolstered the newly elected governor’s confidence. He waved at the crowd, shook a few hands, and then followed his escort into the banquet room. The venue overflowed with supporters, as well as reporters from every major news network. They all sprang to their feet and cheered at his arrival. After an extended ovation, the people settled down per Ken’s request.

They said we’d never make it! he shouted to the gathering, eliciting another round of applause.

Jimmy, who stood with Ken’s wife and two young daughters just behind the podium, clapped along with the audience, even though he didn’t completely share in everyone’s festive mood. He always acted upbeat and kept a smile pasted on his face, but truth be told, he sometimes resented Ken’s success. After all, it was he who had steered his friend toward politics in the first place. He had always pushed Ken into everything, including law school, and even into the arms of his current wife. Emily Worfield should’ve been Emily