Recalled Read online

  Recalled

  A Death Escorts Novel

  By Cambria Hebert

  RECALLED Copyright © 2013 CAMBRIA HEBERT

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions

  thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief

  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by: Cambria Hebert

  http://www.cambriahebert.com

  Interior design and typesetting by Sharon Kay

  Cover design by MAE I DESIGN

  Edited by Cassie McCown

  Copyright 2013 by Cambria Hebert

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

  either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

  fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Other books by Cambria Hebert

  Before

  Masquerade

  Between

  Charade

  Bewitched

  Tirade

  For all of those who love and support me.

  You know who you are.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Excerpt of Games of Fire

  Recalled

  Chapter One

  “Dying - ceasing to live; approaching death; expiring: a dying man.”

  Dex

  I’m going to hell. I’ve known this since I was ten years old. The year I murdered someone. Knowing my fate made it a lot easier to determine how I was going to live my life and what kind of person I was going to be. Since I wasn’t going to heaven, why bother living like it?

  And so, my destiny was sealed long before most even think about it. I never worry about it because I don’t really care. I figure since I’m already living like I belong there, it won’t be much of an adjustment. I actually look forward to one aspect of hell: the heat. After almost eighteen years of living in the blistering cold, I’m still not used to it. I still don’t like it. Honestly, I don’t like much of anything.

  Sliding into the shadows of a narrow alley, I positioned myself so I could look for the lucky person who’d help me get warm. After a few people passed—without realizing I was watching, debating what kind of mark they would be—I settled on my victim. I had yet to see her, but I knew without a doubt it was a her. The sound of high-heeled boots cracked down the pavement with an intonation I recognized well: exhaustion. With every slap of her boots, another lighter noise caught my attention—coins hitting together as she walked.

  I sank back, keeping an ear on the approaching footsteps. It wouldn’t be long before I would be warming myself with a hot cup of coffee and a slice of homemade pie. I smiled at the irony that the very place I planned to go was the very place she just left. It was almost too easy. Usually, I liked a challenge, the thrill of outsmarting an impossible target. I liked stealing from people who were too stupid to know what happened right under their noses.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight the cold seemed colder and my stomach emptier. As she drew near, I straightened, pulled my cap lower on my head, and walked right out onto the sidewalk. I didn’t look at her; I pretended she wasn’t even there.

  She wasn’t as smooth.

  I felt her stare and I knew her eyes probably widened at my unexpected appearance. Her steps faltered, just barely. In fact, if I weren’t paying attention to the clap of her feet, I wouldn’t have noticed.

  But I did.

  I looked up, right at her. Her startled, wary expression was exactly as I expected. So I did the unexpected.

  I smiled.

  This time her steps noticeably faltered before they quickened. Unfortunately for her, the sidewalks were icy and she slipped. Fortunately for me, I was right there to catch her, sliding my free hand down into the front pocket of her apron.

  “Easy there,” I told her as my hand closed around a stack of bills. “It’s a long way down.”

  Her eyes stretched wide as I steadied her on the pavement and stepped back, stuffing my hands into my jacket. I could taste the coffee already. She continued to stare without saying anything. It was weird, and I got what I wanted, so I walked away.

  “Hey!”

  I froze, pivoting slightly on my heel. She couldn’t possibly know I just picked her pocket. It was over in less than five seconds. Not responding would only confirm her suspicions, if she had any, so I raised my eyebrows in silent inquiry.

  “Thank you.”

  Thank you? When she got home later and realized all her tips from the night were gone, she would regret those words. Although, I did teach her a very important lesson so maybe the thanks were deserved. Maybe this would teach her not to go walking around alone in a dark, not-so-great neighborhood.

  “Yeah.” I answered, because she was doing that staring thing again and I just wanted to get rid of her.

  Thankfully, she seemed to pick up on the fact I didn’t want to chat and she turned, walking to stand just below the bus sign. The bus rounded the corner and barreled toward the stop.

  I opened the door to the little diner, welcomed by a blast of heat. The aroma of baking pie beckoned me. Then, for some unknown reason, I looked back.

  Everything slowed.

  The bus driver recognized he was going too fast and slammed on the brakes. The heavy bus fishtailed on the sheet of black ice and slid forward, coming up over the curb, pulverizing a bench and sliding right at the waitress.

  No!

  I shoved her out of the way of sure and certain death. She landed roughly on her side a few feet away.

  Our eyes met.

  I paused instantly to wonder what the hell I was thinking. Just as quickly, the bus plowed into me,
stealing my breath and crunching my bones. I landed in the middle of the street, a crumpled mess. Everything was silent when I finally opened my eyes. She was there, leaning over me, tears on her face. I always knew I would go to hell.

  I just never knew it would be so soon.

  Chapter Two

  “Alive - possessing life. In existence; active.”

  Piper

  He seemed to come out of nowhere, appearing out of the shadows in front of me. It was his sudden presence that made me pause, caught me off guard. He wore a black toboggan pulled low over his head, a black quilted coat, and scuffed-up jeans.

  I kept walking, knowing he was probably just heading into the diner for a late-night meal. He had the look of someone who couldn’t quite get warm and needed something to fill him up. Working in this part of town gave me a lot of experience in recognizing hungry, cold people. I hoped Julia would take pity on him and let him order before they closed up the kitchen.

  Even though I knew he probably wasn’t anyone to be afraid of, I couldn’t look away as I walked. There was something about him that held my stare.

  And then he smiled.

  It was the kind of ornery smile that told me he probably wasn’t as innocent as I thought. Distracted by his unexpected behavior, I slipped, my heels sliding right over a patch of ice. I braced myself against the hard sidewalk, but never hit it.

  The stranger caught me around the waist, his touch triggering things inside me I hadn’t experienced in a while. It was quick, almost fleeting, yet carried the impact of a blizzard.

  And then he spoke.

  “Easy there.” He smiled again and I was dazzled. “It’s a long way down.”

  His voice was gruff and it matched his exterior so well. It made me wonder about his interior—what was behind that smile.

  And then his hands were gone, stuffed into his coat. My feet were steady on the ground, but everything inside me wobbled. I stood there, trying to shake away the image in my head and the side effects of his smile.

  He walked away, toward the diner, when I heard myself call out. “Hey!”

  It took a few long seconds, but he turned and I actually felt grateful it was so cold and windy. He wouldn’t be able to tell that the pink in my cheeks was from my embarrassment, not the weather. When he lifted his eyebrows, I realized I needed to say something else.

  “Thank you,” I told him.

  He didn’t seem to want me to thank him. He didn’t seem to want to talk at all.

  “Yeah,” he said with the slightest hint of irritation.

  I was keeping him from the last few minutes the diner was open so I said nothing more, turning away, instead, toward the bus stop. I really hoped it came soon. It was freezing out here.

  And then it was like someone pressed the fast-forward button, throwing everything around me into chaos.

  Just as I wished, the bus appeared, but instead of stopping to open its doors for me, it began to slide, the heavy end fishtailing across the narrow road. I stood there watching it barrel toward me, threatening to run me down, but I couldn’t move.

  Then I shifted, pushed out of the way, and landed just feet from where I had been. I looked up to meet the eyes of the stranger who captivated me. And then I watched as the bus smacked into him, flinging his body like a ragdoll, bending him at angles people weren’t supposed to achieve.

  I jumped to my feet as the cacophony of the crash died away and everything seemed to be silent for one long second. The man lay in the street, crumpled and unmoving. I ran to him and dropped to my knees beside his head.

  His eyes were open and they stared up as I leaned over him.

  “I’m going to get help. Hang in there.” I looked toward the diner where Julia stared at me from the sidewalk. “Call 9-1-1!” I screamed and then turned my attention back to him.

  He hadn’t moved at all. He still stared at me. I had no idea if he was dead, but I knew—I knew—when help finally arrived, he would be.

  “I’m so sorry.” I choked, the words sounding strangled to my ears.

  I wanted to touch him, but I was afraid it would only cause him pain. Something passed behind his eyes—I didn’t know what—and then it faded away into nothing.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, leaning over him, praying to God he heard me. I hoped he knew he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t going to slip away without anyone caring.

  Noise and panic erupted around us. People began to emerge from the bus; the driver wailed with horror and pain. In the distance I heard the piercing wail of sirens and the wrecked bus moaned where it lay.

  But even through the chaos I felt as if we were in a bubble, somehow separate from the disarray. Snowflakes swirled down from the midnight-colored sky, their path never straight, and they began to coat everything around us. The stranger’s black knit hat began to turn white and small, perfectly shaped flakes caught in his lashes.

  He didn’t move.

  He didn’t breathe.

  Tears slipped from my eyes and turned icy on their path down my cheeks. I didn’t brush them away. He deserved these tears. I sat there weeping, sitting vigil over his still form as all the color leeched from his skin and the snow blanketed him in white.

  The snow didn’t stick to me. Because I was still warm. Because I was still alive.

  Chapter Three

  “Proposition - An offer of a private bargain. A plan suggested for acceptance; a proposal.”

  Dex

  Something wasn’t right. Being hit by a bus should cause excruciating pain. I should be floating between consciousness and unconsciousness in varying degrees of “why me?” and “give me some drugs!” But, surprisingly, I felt fine. I didn’t feel my shattered bones. I didn’t hurt so much I wished I were dead. Maybe it was because I was frozen, numb from lying here on the ice and in the snow. Maybe along with my many other injuries, I also had hypothermia.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes. I expected to see her face, the girl I stole from. The girl that should be lying here instead of me.

  She was gone.

  Probably reached into my pocket and took her money back, then left me here to die.

  Except… I wasn’t lying in the street.

  I moved to sit up, and when I did so without screaming with the pain I should have felt, I looked down.

  And looked some more.

  My body was gone.

  Like, gone, gone.

  Where my legs and torso used to be was nothing, nothing but a translucent purple mist outline of where my body should be.

  Well, that just explained everything.

  Not.

  I looked up, concentrating on more than myself, to see where I was exactly. It appeared to be an office of some sorts. The room itself was huge and I felt like the rug I sat on (was I really sitting?) was an island floating in the center. It reminded me of the pictures I had seen of sand on a beach. Behind me was a massive leather couch with pillows in golds and oranges, a huge wooden coffee table with a bowl full of white stones in the center, and two end tables with lamps. In front of me was a giant, almost bare black desk. Another bowl of white stones sat off to the right and on the left there was a metal tray with a glass decanter filled with an amber-colored liquid and four empty glasses beside it. In the center of the desk was a neat stack of papers, but no pen. Behind the desk was a wall of floor-to-ceiling, cherry-colored paneled doors trimmed in black.

  Before I could do or look at anything else, I noticed the chair behind the desk—black leather and about as wide as a football player’s shoulders. It faced the doors, which I didn’t really notice until it began to spin around. I watched as a man revolved into view.

  He was dwarfed by the chair—or maybe he just wasn’t very big—but his utter stillness was chilling. When the chair completely faced forward, it stopped moving and the man stared at me for several long seconds. I immediately began to take stock of him—wanting to know what I was facing. He had a long face with sharp features. His cheekbones were well defined and he had a
very long, pointy nose. His thin lips pressed in a line and I knew his sharp eyes missed nothing. His hair was dark but peppered with grey and he slicked it back from his wide forehead, which only made his face seem that much more prominent. I didn’t speak as he brought up his hands and steepled his very long, bony fingers beneath his chin.