BECK: Gods of the Fifth Floor Book 1 Read online

  BECK

  Gods of the Fifth Floor Book 1

  MV Ellis

  The Other Shoe Productions

  Beck © 2020 By MV Ellis

  First published March 2020

  All rights reserved. ©

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  Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Thank you for respecting the work of this author

  Disclaimer

  Beck is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges all song titles, song lyrics, film titles, film characters, trademarked statuses and brands mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners. MV Ellis is in no way affiliated with any of the brands, songs, musicians, artists or other entities mentioned in this book.

  “Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that's what.”

  ~Salman Rushdie

  For those whose past is at war with their future, or whose future is marred by their past.

  Beck Playlist

  Mokita - When I See You

  R.LUM.R - Boys Should Never Cry

  Blake Rose - Gone

  Sam Tompkins - You're The Love Of My Life

  JP Cooper - The Only Reason

  JP Saxe - Blurry

  EXES - Quiet

  Martin Garrix - Used To Love | Acoustic

  JC Stewart - Lying That You Love Me

  Juke Ross - Amazing

  Halsey - More

  Harrison Storm - Be Slow

  Kita Alexander - Against The Water

  John K - 6 months

  JP Saxe - If The World Was Ending

  alayna - Glowing

  Lianne La Havas - Bittersweet

  JARNA - Stay

  Kevin Garrett - Keep You Waiting

  H.E.R. - Comfortable

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Beck

  2. Mel

  3. Beck

  4. Mel

  5. Beck

  6. Beck

  7. Mel

  8. Beck

  9. Mel

  10. Beck

  11. Mel

  12. Mel

  13. Beck

  14. Beck

  15. Mel

  16. Mel

  17. Beck

  18. Mel

  19. Beck

  20. Beck

  21. Mel

  22. Beck

  23. Beck

  24. Mel

  25. Mel

  26. Beck

  27. Beck

  28. Mel

  29. Beck

  30. Mel

  31. Mel

  32. Mel

  33. Beck

  34. Beck

  35. Beck

  36. Mel

  37. Mel

  38. Beck

  39. Mel

  40. Beck

  41. Mel

  42. Beck

  43. Mel

  44. Beck

  45. Beck

  46. Beck

  47. Mel

  48. Beck

  49. Beck

  50. Mel

  51. Beck

  Epilogue

  Raine - Gods Of The Fifth Floor 2

  Books By MV Ellis

  Thank You & Follow me

  Acknowledgments

  ABOUT MV ELLIS

  Prologue

  Beck

  The Dream

  I pull up to the house, surprised to find all the downstairs lights off. Looking up, I note the same upstairs. Nothing on anywhere. The murky darkness renders the ordinarily imposing home even more sinister. There’s a distinctly haunted house on the hill vibe about the place.

  I shudder. Then I mentally chastise myself being a pussy and letting the horror movies my best friend Kyle loves to watch affect me so much. I am confused, though. It’s late, but not so late that everyone should be in bed, without a light on anywhere.

  Even weirder, when I approach the stairs, the sensor-activated security light I know is fitted at the front of the house fails to trigger. Odd. Unperturbed by the unusual and eerie darkness, I approach the house anyway.

  I rap confidently on the front door, using the old fashioned brass knocker, and wait expectantly. I steel myself for the confrontation ahead, certain there will be one, and prepared for the fact that it’s likely to be ugly. Very ugly.

  I don’t care. No, that’s not right. I do care, but not enough to be put off by the thought of facing the man who stands between me and my future. It takes more than some draconian control freak to scare me. He might be king of his sinister castle, but I’ve faced bigger and worse in my life, and lived to tell the tale. Just.

  Besides, even if I was scared, it’s now or never. I do this now, and we’re free to live the rest of our lives together. I pussy out, and we’ll never be free, so no matter what awaits me on the other side of the door, I’m going to stand my ground.

  He can come out all guns blazing, and I won’t budge an inch, until I get what I came for. He’ll have to blow my head off if he wants to see me leave without my girl. Even then, if there are nerve endings still firing, I’ll drag her out of there with my severed head tucked under my arm. Real talk.

  I wait, but nothing happens. No sounds inside the house at all. This time I pull the faux old-fashioned iron handle that triggers the equally faux old-fashioned ‘Ding-Dong’ of their doorbell. Not that I would know, of course, seeing as I’ve never actually been allowed to ring it.

  In fact, I’ve never been officially allowed within even a block or two of her house. Let alone to step foot on the property. Not that I haven’t ‘casually’ and ‘coincidentally’ driven past hundreds of times on my way to or from somewhere completely unrelated—and sometimes in the opposite direction—and just happened to ‘glance’ over on the way past. I have. Still no response.

  The sound of that bell was loud enough to wake the dead, and if not, then surely the family dog, Peanut? I was told he’d lose his mind barking if someone clanged two plates together too loudly, let alone rang the doorbell.

  Even weirder, the sound ricochets off the other houses in the scarily quiet neighborhood. It’s like the land that time forgot out here. It’s only then that I note that not only is there no sound or movement from anywhere else on the street, but there’s also no light. Not streetlights, nor in any of the homes. What the fuck?

  Something doesn’t feel right. Big time. A heavy sense of foreboding cloaks me in the darkness. It’s clear nobody’s coming to answer the door, so I try the handle a couple of times. Predictably, it’s locked. I give up on the front of the house altogether, instead, following the paved pathway around back.

  I knock on the back door, although I’m fairly sure nobody’s coming to answer there, either. I wait a little while to have my suspicion conf
irmed. Nada. I try that door, too. Surprisingly, the handle gives under the gentle pressure, and the door creeks open noisily, again piercing through the silence hanging thickly in the air.

  I step inside the kitchen, using my phone as a flashlight in the gloomy darkness. It’s empty. Not just free of people, but completely empty. Not a stick of furniture, not an electrical appliance, nothing. I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but it’s creeping me out completely. I swing my phone around, affording me a better view of the whole area. Nothing. Anywhere. “Hello? Hello? Is anybody here? Hello?…Hello?” Nothing except my own voice echoing back at me.

  I rush around the house, speeding from room to room, with only the light on my phone to guide me, repeatedly shouting out, although it’s clear the entire house is completely empty. Nothing anywhere. No signs of life. In fact, no sign that anybody lives, here, or has recently lived here.

  Completely freaked out now, I run into the yard again, and down the pathway back to the front of the house. Approaching my car, I realize it’s the only one anywhere on the darkened street—either at the curb, or in any of the driveways. I can’t even begin to fathom what in the hell is happening here. I rush into the road, frantic now.

  “Hello? Hello? Is anybody here? Anyone? Is. There. Anyone. Here? Hello! Hello! Hello!”

  I scream at the top of my lungs in the all-consuming darkness, met only with my own voice as it rebounds of the (presumably) empty buildings, in reply. If I was scared before, a potent mix of panic and terror creeps over me now, like ivy consuming the trunk of an otherwise healthy tree, taking root, circling it tighter and tighter, choking it until it eventually succumbs, and dies.

  Beck

  Mary mother of all fucks.

  The elevator swished open on the sixth, and never had I wanted to find a “rewind” button for life more than I had in that moment. If I’d had one, I swear, I’d have set it back to the previous night, and instead of climbing into bed hoping to get a good night’s sleep before D-Day, I’d have sat awake all night—pinned my eyelids to the top of my head and snorted enough coke to fire up a herd of elephants, if I had to—just to ensure I didn’t wake up to The Dream. Then I’d get on a plane with a one-way ticket to somewhere hot, tropical, and off the grid, and never fucking come back.

  Back in the real world, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other and exit the elevator without puking up my guts. I came close, though, the sting of bile rising in the back of my throat, searing my windpipe as it went. My eyes watered, and I coughed and swallowed forcing the bitter liquid burning like fire, back into my churning stomach. To say I couldn’t believe what was happening was the understatement of the millennium.

  The strangulated coughing sound drew the female client’s gaze—and everyone else’s—to me. Not the entrance I had been hoping for. We locked eyes, and it was some small consolation that she looked as much of a deer in the headlights as I felt. As the other gods strode out of the elevator behind me, ready to do battle, bringing on the charm offensive in their own inimitable ways, for me, the world seemed to go into slow mo.

  The air around me thickened, reducing the hubbub of our rich voices to an indistinct yet monstrous rumble. Our movements slowed to a turtle’s pace. The light seemed to dim, and everyone faded to soft focus, with no distinguishable features, or solid edges. Everyone except her.

  The light from the rest of the room had somehow been harnessed to shine a dazzling spotlight on her, throwing her features into relief. She seemed almost hyper-real. Even the tiniest of facial movement blared at me like it was being projected from a ten foot multiplex screen. I always could read her like a book. At that moment I saw fear, shock, confusion. You and me both, Mel.

  Her light brown eyes darted quickly from side to side, probably looking for an escape route. Drawing a blank, she blinked furiously, as though hoping I’d magically be gone when she opened her eyes. Nope. That’s more your style than mine. I cleared my throat one more time, hoping to snap us both out of our reveries before that shit got any more noticeably awkward than it already was. Introductions. Act. Normal.

  “Hi, I’m Tyler Beckett, Head of New Business. Friends call me Beck, nice to meet you.” I spoke loudly enough to be socially acceptable, but not so much that anyone would have heard the emphasis in my tone. Around me, the others introduced themselves to Martin.

  “Hello Tyler, Melissa Reid, Senior VP of Marketing.” I was glad she had picked up on the hint. Damn straight we’re not friends.

  Along with my hand, I offered her the most meager of tight smiles, completely aware that it came nowhere near meeting my eyes. In fact, it was almost more of a grimace than a smile, and was far from the margins of acceptable charm levels when wooing a prospective new client, or dealing with any client, in fact. Normally at times like this, I’d ratchet the charisma levels up to sky high, but right then, it took all I had in me not to storm back into the elevator.

  Melissa. Fucking. Reid.

  Why the change of surname? I glanced casually down at her left hand, and noted the lack of wedding ring. Divorced, maybe? As our handshake connected, a zing of awareness shot through my arm and straight to my dick. Really? My only consolation was that she frozein shock at the exact same moment. A startled “Oh!” slipped from her lips, quiet enough that nobody else would have noticed, but loud enough to stiffen my dick further. The next two hours were going to be interesting.

  I moved on quickly, maintaining some semblance of professional conduct, introducing myself to Martin, and hoping to God that nobody else had noticed my lapse in social competence. Why did I feel like an imposter in my own life, all of a sudden? Like an actor speaking lines, rather than my true self? When the introductions were over with, I called everyone’s attention forcing my brightest smile, and turning the charm on to full beam. And…we’re back. Thank fuck.

  “Now that everyone’s acquainted, let’s head on into the room. I just first need to check if anyone’s in there, as we might not be welcome.” Theater was one of the big reasons clients were so wowed by our creative pitches. No two were the same—each one tailored to the unique characteristics of the brand or product, and the specifics of the brief at hand. Nobody could fault us or beat us when it came to attention to detail. We thought of everything, and then some.

  I gestured to the door at the far end of the hall, where a KEEP OUT sign had been hastily scrawled in juvenile handwriting on a piece of checkered notepaper, quite clearly hurriedly torn from a school notebook, and stuck to the door with heart-printed sticky tape.

  With all eyes on me, I approached the door, rapping loudly a couple of times. When no response was forthcoming, I gingerly pushed it open, beckoning the others to follow behind. Swinging it open fully, I revealed the boardroom in all its glory, decked out from floor to ceiling like a teen’s bedroom; complete with captain’s bed, poster-adorned walls, and overflowing laundry basket.

  As our guests’ eyes boggled in amazement, we busied ourselves settling them into their seats—amongst the pencil shavings and discarded magazines at our teen’s desk. The presentation would run on the fictitious kid’s wall-mounted TV, which was covered in stickers, and draped with fairy lights. Thousands of dollars and two days’ worth of custom fit out for a two-hour meeting. We didn’t just go the extra mile, we crawled there on our hands and knees, over broken glass, beds of nails, and flaming hot coals.

  For the next two hours we wowed the two executives with our strategic and creative prowess, each of us playing our role to a tee, as always. Slick didn’t even begin to cover it. Our shit was as tight as a French bulldog’s asshole, and we didn’t put a foot wrong.

  The only way I could bring my A game, and not let the team down was to pretend Melissa wasn’t there. The normal technique of imagining the audience naked wasn’t going to cut it. In fact, I was actively trying to block out her expressive brown eyes, honey colored skin, and glossy, thick black hair. I certainly wasn’t taking note of her long, shapely legs, full curves, and im
pressive bust.

  Adding a raging boner to my list of issues at that point would have been like dropping a lit match in a barn full of hay, but I couldn’t completely ignore her, so I pretended she was somebody else. Anybody else. Whatever it took to get through the longest two hours of my life.

  Add in the fact that I was in the midst of a creative presentation, and to her, and it was a recipe for my idea of Room 101 in Hell. Honestly, I would rather someone had rubbed at my balls with a fucking cheesegrater, then thrown salt in the wounds for two hours, than have been in that room with her.

  At the end of the meeting we bid our guests farewell in reception, fairly certain that we would be seeing them again soon. While Maddie, the receptionist, called them a car, we headed back to the fifth. Raine’s office, of course. His PA James was hot on our heels brandishing something small and black in his hands.

  “Ms. Reid left her tablet,” he panted.

  Before my brain was properly engaged, I’d snatched it from his hand, and was heading back toward the bank of elevators.