Recalled (4 page)

“Don’t need lottery numbers. That’s what all these curves are for… to hook a rich doctor who I happen to bump into while visiting my super smart, future-seeing doctor friend at the hospital.”

I laughed. “I won’t be a doctor for many years yet, Frank.”

“All the more reason I can’t get fat. So go on. Look.” She waved her hand at me again.

I shook my head and sighed. “I might not see anything. You know it doesn’t always work.”

“It’ll work,” Frankie said confidently.

 I closed my eyes and took her hand in mine. I took a deep breath and reached down into the part of my brain that seemed to be able to access my visions—something I don’t think it really should be able to do. I asked to be let in—never demanded—and it opened for me, flooding me with a rush of warmth in welcome. I thought of Frankie and her donut habit and asked gently for an image of her in four years. It came easily and I smiled. She still looked the same—kind of like Marilyn Monroe—short blond curls, big smile, and major curves. Instead of opening my eyes, I tucked the image back and eased out slowly, thanking that part of me for the information. Only then did I open my eyes.

Frankie watched me, donut poised against her lips.

“You still look hot in four years,” I told her.

She bit into the donut and made a sound of appreciation. “So good,” she said around another mouthful.

“Just remember the future isn’t concrete. It can change so you might want to rethink that box of donuts.”

“I’m not going to eat them
all
,” she said, snagging another with icing and sprinkles. “You’re going to help me.”

I started to shake my head, but she pinned me with a stare. “You could’ve died! And never ate another donut again!”

“Oh the horror!” I gasped, but I did pick up a cinnamon twist. She had a point. What was the point of living if I didn’t enjoy it?

“So when’s the funeral?” Frankie asked as she polished off her second pastry.

“I don’t know. He didn’t have any ID on him and the hospital wouldn’t tell me anything when I called.”

“Maybe you should just let it go,” she suggested.

I jerked like she slapped me.

Frankie sat her coffee down and pushed her blond curls from her face. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. But there’s nothing more you can do,” she said gently.

Maybe not, but I could remember. It seemed not forgetting what this stranger did for me was the very least I could do.

Chapter Five

“Deal -
An agreement, especially one that is mutually beneficial. A business transaction.”

Dex

A Death Escort. An image of a stiff black polo with a little embroidered logo on the chest that stated exactly that popped in my mind. It was ridiculous. Death escorted people. People didn’t escort Death. Still, I wanted to know. “How exactly does someone escort death?”

“By killing.”

He made it sound so simple. I guess in a way it was. It hadn’t been that hard to stab and kill my mother’s boyfriend.

“So let me get this straight.” I held up a finger to count off my reasoning, but the movement only loosened my shape and I was left with no fingers at all. “You want to give me back my life so I can kill people for you?”

“Not just anyone. You will be assigned a target. Once that target is Escorted to their death, then you will receive another. You will only have one target at a time. There will be times when you have no target at all… You will be free to enjoy your money and life.”

So basically I’d be an assassin with paid vacations. I guess it was a good offer for a guy like me. Still, I hesitated.

Mr. Burns sat down in his massive desk chair and opened the desk drawer to his right. Silently he pulled out a shiny red credit card and laid it on the desk. Next he pulled out a stack of crisp one hundred dollar bills and finally a set of keys, which I assumed were for a car.

“This first job will be your test—your initiation. If you complete it successfully, you will then be an official Death Escort. The more jobs you complete, the more power and money you will receive.”

“And if I turn down your offer?”

His hand disappeared beneath the surface of the desk and then returned. To my right, a swirling black hole opened up. Angry red flames came licking out of it, reaching for me. From inside the hole I could hear hollow wailing. I felt a slight tugging feeling and realized the hole was trying to suck me in and the mist that made up my body began drifting toward it.

“If you turn down my offer, you can begin eternity right now. You won’t mind if I keep your body, will you?” He steepled his hands beneath his chin again and watched with open amusement as I thought about my choices.

I always knew hell would be where I ended up, and I accepted that, but why not have a little fun before? Eternity could wait.
I glanced back at the shiny credit card and stack of bills. “I accept.”

The black hole snapped shut and Mr. Burns clapped his hands in glee. “Wonderful! Let’s get you a body.”

The closet doors were still open, still displaying his collection, but instead of going directly to my body, he went to the other end and began going through the others.

“Mine’s over there.” I pointed to it, ignoring the fact my finger spread out like a puff of smoke.

“Your body won’t do for this assignment,” Mr. Burns said with his back to me.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re Target may recognize you, and we can’t have that. You’re supposed to be dead.”

I was still processing that when he exclaimed, “Ah-ha!” and pulled a body from the rack. “I knew it was here.” He turned and held it out. “How about this one?”

I stared at the flat, limp body. It was dressed in navy khakis (what is it with this guy and khakis?), a red-and-white plaid button-up shirt, and a navy sweater vest. It had dark blond hair combed neatly to the side, and even though his head lay against the chest, I could see the arms of a pair of glasses around his ears.

It was a deflated dork.

This guy wanted me to get dressed in a dork costume.

“No,” I said, thinking of the way I looked… er… used to look. I had dark hair that never got combed. I wore the same pair of jeans everyday with a T-shirt, a dark hoodie, and a black puffer coat I stole from some homeless guy on the street. And even if I needed glasses—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t have worn them.

“New life. New body. No choice,” Mr. Burns said as he took the body off the hanger and came around the desk. The next thing I knew all the mist that was me was pulled into the body and it began to inflate, to fill up with life—my life—and become whole again. I held out my arms and watched my hands become plump and then I flexed my fingers, enjoying the fact that when I moved I didn’t have to worry about disappearing into a cloud. I looked down at my feet and legs, trying to get used to the idea that I looked like someone else. I lifted one leg and then the other, smiling when the body obeyed, and any worry this body might be awkward or hard to control vanished. It felt good to have a form again.

“Ah, yes, it fits! I knew it would,” Mr. Burns exclaimed.

I guess bodies weren’t one size fits all. I’m glad this one did because I didn’t think I was up for a round of musical bodies.

“So how do you feel?” he asked, taking in my new appearance.

I felt like me. I didn’t feel like I was somewhere I didn’t belong. I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own body… but this really wasn’t my body, so I guess I was a stranger to it. Then a thought speared me.
Where’s the guy who used to own this body?

“Where did you get this body? Where did you get all of them?” I asked.

“Various sources. Don’t worry. This person doesn’t need this body anymore.”

That didn’t make me feel better.

“Have a look at the new you,” he said, sounding like the host of a makeover show on TV as he pointed to a full-length mirror on the other side of the room.

I went toward it, the feet obeying my mind, and looked into the mirror. It’s quite a shock to look in a mirror and see a complete stranger. Especially when you still feel like yourself. I stared silently at the blond hair and the dimple in my chin. The skin was smooth like whoever had this body before had an easy life. They weren’t forced to withstand the harsh Alaskan elements. I was tall, about the same six feet as before, but my shoulders were broader now, probably because this body wasn’t starved half the time. I had a wide jawline, a strong nose, and green eyes that peered back at me from behind wire-rim glasses. Seriously, wire-rimmed.

I made a sound and shoved my hands through the perfectly combed hair. The dark-blond strands fell over my forehead and I pulled them up until they were almost standing straight up. I reached under the sweater vest and untucked the ends of the button-up, letting them hang from the sweater. Then I unbuttoned the collar and sleeves, rolling them up a few times to expose my forearms. It was the best I could do until I got some jeans, Converse sneakers, and could ditch the glasses.

When I turned from the mirror, Mr. Burns frowned. “Well, I guess as long as you do the job it doesn’t matter what you look like.”

Then he held out a wad of cash and I reached for it, shoving it in my pocket. “Here’s your credit card. The bill will come to me. Don’t spend more than twenty thousand a month.”

“Twenty thousand,” I said, practically choking on the number.

“Yes, well, I know it isn’t much, but this is your first job. You aren’t officially an Escort yet. Once it’s official, your limit will increase.”

He must’ve thought I was offended by the amount. I tried not to outwardly react—I wasn’t offended; I was shocked. I’d never seen this much money in my entire almost eighteen years! Killing paid well.

I reached out and took the credit card, glancing down at the name. “I have a new name, too?”

“Of course.”

I glanced at the name again and wanted to roll my eyes. Dexter Allen Roth. It might as well just said Dork of the Century. I glanced back at Mr. Burns. “Just call me Dex.”

Mr. Burns inclined his head. “You can call me G.R.”

So I got saddled with Dexter and he got a cool name like G.R.? I shoved the credit card in my pocket and grabbed up the keys. “Are these to my new car?”

“Yes. I will take you to it shortly. There is also the key to your new apartment. The GPS in your vehicle will take you to its location.”

“Sweet.” I palmed the keys and glanced back up, my eyes falling on my body—the one still hanging in the closet. I felt I was betraying it somehow. “What about my body?” I asked.

“Once you become an official Death Escort, you can have it back if you like. The one you wear now will go back in the closet.”

“About that… You said I couldn’t have my original body because the Target might recognize me. Who’s the Target?”

“The night you died, you pushed someone out of the way of the bus that crushed you. A girl.”

“Yeah, so?”

“She is your Target.”

I felt the denial inside me, but just as quickly, it was gone. Why not her? The Target had to be someone, and at least this girl wasn’t a friend.