Recalled Read online

  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.

  “She won’t know who I am,” I said, seeing no reason for the new body and the new name. This girl saw me for all of five seconds before I was smashed by a bus. But she really looked at you, a voice inside me whispered. That wasn’t something I would forget because few people in my life have ever looked at me and really saw me.

  Still, it didn’t mean anything. She probably knew I was stealing from her and was about to call me out.

  “Don’t think your death went unnoticed,” Mr. Burns said. I know he told me his name, but in my head he would forever be Mr. Burns. “Remember, in the business of Escorting, no detail is too small.”

  “Right.” I agreed.

  “Once the Target is dead, you will call me.” He reached into the still-open drawer and pulled out an iPhone and slid it across the table. “My number is programmed in. I will arrive and take things from there. You have two months to complete the task.”

  The task of killing someone.

  Chapter Six

  “Morgue - A place in which the bodies of persons found dead are kept until identified and claimed or until arrangements for burial have been made.”

  Piper

  Hospitals always smelled like harsh cleaning supplies with a slight hint of stale air. I wondered if after a few years of working here you’d get used to the smell. Maybe someday I’d be able to find out. If I ever finished college, that is.

  I wound down the long, white, surprisingly empty corridor. Although, I guess given where
I headed, the empty hallway shouldn’t be a surprise.

  No one wanted to hang out by the morgue.

  When I called the hospital this morning, no one would tell me anything. I wasn’t really surprised, but I wasn’t ready to give up, either. I had to know more about the man who died for me. I wanted to at least know his name.

  I paused outside the wide swinging doors that led to the morgue before taking a deep breath and pushing through them. Just ahead and on the left was a small station with one nurse behind a Plexiglas wall with a small cut out circle for people to talk through.

  It was quiet in here. There was also a sort of stillness in the air, like the dead bodies close by somehow stole some of the life right out of the air. I shivered and pulled the sweater I wore closer around me.

  The nurse looked up from her desk and leaned close to the circle. “Can I help you?”

  I nodded and stepped forward. “Yes, I was hoping you could tell me some information about a body that was brought in last night?”

  “Name of the deceased?” she asked.

  “I don’t know his name; that’s what I wanted to know.”

  The nurse looked closer at me. “Are you a family member or next of kin?”

  I sighed. “No.”

  “I’m sorry we can’t give out any information,” she began to say, but I held up my hand and she paused.

  “Look, I know the rules. I called this morning. But, please, that man… that man in there… he died for me. He pushed me out of the way of a bus and got hit instead. All I want is to know his name, to know something about the man that saved my life.”

  She thought about what I said for long moments, then held up a finger. “Wait here.” And she disappeared from the office and went down the hall.

  I stared at the chairs in the waiting room with distaste, refusing to sit down. I wondered how many people sat in them, waiting to identify a body or to collect the personal belongings of someone they would never see again.

  I thought about the dead bodies lying a few doors down, draped in white sheets, closed up in little drawers, waiting for someone to claim them or put them to rest. This had to be one of the saddest places on earth.

  I heard the nurse’s soft-soled shoes coming back down the hall and I turned toward the door of the office. Instead of her, a man in a white lab coat appeared and headed toward me. “Miss? You’re here about the body?”

  “Yes. Please tell me his name.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  I let out a frustrated sound. “Yes, you can!”

  “No. I don’t know his name. He had no ID on him when he was brought in.”

  “How can that be?” I asked, thinking maybe the reason the police officers at the scene wouldn’t tell me was because they hadn’t known either.

  He shrugged slightly. “It happens sometimes.”

  “Didn’t you use his fingerprints or dental records?” I asked, frustrated.

  “Well, yes, normally we could, but it’s not possible this time.”

  “Well, why not?” I demanded.

  “Because the body’s no longer here,” he said, watching me closely.

  “What do you mean it isn’t here? Where did it go?” Last I checked, bodies didn’t check themselves out of the morgue.

  The man cleared his throat. “We aren’t really sure.”

  “You aren’t sure,” I repeated, flat.

  “The nurse said you were at the scene of the accident. I was hoping you could tell me a few things, like if he spoke to you, if anyone else was there…”

  “No,” I cried. “No, he didn’t speak to me. He died almost immediately. And no one else was there except for the people on the bus. It was only after he died that people started showing up.”

  “You never met him before?”

  “No. Never,” I said, feeling completely let down. All I wanted was his name.

  He nodded. “Well, thank you.” He turned to walk away.

  “Wait,” I called. “What are you doing to get him back?”

  “I can’t discuss that with you.”

  “Has no one come to claim him at all?” I knew the accident wasn’t that long ago, but wasn’t someone wondering where he was?

  He hesitated, then said, “No. Just you.”

  I realized then his body would probably never be found. No one would come looking for him, and no one would care. The hospital would just sweep this under the rug like it never even happened.

  I felt my shoulders slump. He deserved better.

  The man came back to stand next to me. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything more I can tell you. I’m sure he’s at peace where ever he is.”

  I nodded.

  The man reached into his lab coat and pulled out his fisted hand. “I shouldn’t do this, but I really don’t think anyone else will come by.” He cleared his throat. “Judging from the clothes he was wearing and the condition of the body, excluding his injuries, I’m pretty sure he was homeless. He had twenty-four dollars in his pocket and this.”

  He held out his hand and opened his fingers to reveal a small picture, no bigger than a business card. The edges were tattered and curled like it had been carried around for months in someone’s pocket. The image was slightly faded—a beach with crystal-blue water and a sandy, warm beach. The sun was sinking behind the ocean and it cast a golden glow over everything in the picture.

  I felt tears well in my eyes as I reached out and took the photo. I flipped it over and on the back there were two words:

  Some Day

  If the man in the lab coat was right, then this was a homeless man’s hope. His wish for something better, something more. It was his sunshine in a world of ice and snow; his warmth in the cold. Maybe he hoped he would get there someday. But he never would.

  My hand curled protectively around the picture. I looked up, prepared to fight the doctor, to refuse to give this back.

  But he was gone.

  I looked over at the little boxy nurse’s station and she was gone too. I was completely alone, standing here in the silence, looking down at a dead man’s dream.

  And I never got to hear his name.

  But at least I had something of his. I traced my finger over the words, wondering if he wrote them. Something caught my attention and I looked up. I really couldn’t say what it was that startled me… not a sound. It was more of a feeling of suddenly not being completely alone.

  I stuck my hand with the picture into my pocket and walked out into the hall, going back the way I came. It was still empty and silent here, the only sound being my shoes on the white linoleum floor. Then up ahead I saw a dark figure disappear around a corner. I glanced around, wondering where he came from.

  When I walked by the hall he went down, I looked, but no one was there. A funny feeling crept its way up my neck and I quickened my steps. No one was there, but still I felt like someone was.

  I ran my thumb over the heavy paper of the card inside my pocket and wondered again about the man who carried this. Where did his body go? And why would someone take it?

  Chapter Seven

  “Reward - payment made in return for a service rendered.”

  Dex

  You know, I didn’t so much mind the dorky body when I got a look at my new car. In all my life—well, my life before I died and took on a new body and identity—I never owned a car. In fact, I didn’t have my driver’s license. I learned to drive in stolen cars. But Dexter Allen Roth AKA Dex did have a driver’s license and he was also the new owner of a 2013 Mercedes-Benz SL550 Roadster.

  And man, was it sweet.

  It was a steel-gray two-seater with black and red leather interior, a hard top convertible that operated with the push of a button. A glance at the dash told me it went at least one hundred and forty miles per hour, and I couldn’t wait to put this baby to the test.

  Mr. Burns handed me the keys and I snatched them, not bothering to thank him. This wasn’t a gift; this was part of my paycheck.

&nbs
p; “The GPS inside is programmed with your new address,” he said. “Familiarize yourself with the place and then get to work.”

  He started to walk away, back toward his mansion, and a strong—very cold—wind whooshed as he turned back. “Well, you might want to get a coat first.” He laughed, amused with himself. He was quite jolly for a death dealer.