* * *
New clothes—coolernew clothes—in my closet. Check. New glasses without dorky frames. Check. New Converse tennis shoes to replace the ugly leather loafers. Check. A brand new laptop and accessories. Check. New stuff was awesome. Especially when I didn’t have to steal to get it.
I never went to the mall to shop before. Turns out having money and not looking like a thug actually resulted in people being nice to you. It was a new feeling. I kind of liked it. I spent a lot of money (but stayed under the limit Mr. Burns gave me) and got a bunch of stuff I only ever dreamed about having.
While Hobbs put away all my clothes and stuff, I broke into a large supreme pizza and a six-pack of root beer while I watched a DVD I found in the TV cabinet. Sometime during my third movie and second box of donuts, I got a text on the iPhone Mr. Burns gave me. I picked it up off the coffee table, curious.
You had your fun. Time to get to work, Escort
Mr. Burns. Of course it would be from him. He was the only one that had this number. He sounded like he knew what I was doing. Was he spying on me? I glanced around the room, searching the shadows for prying eyes. Of course, I didn’t see any. Then I realized if this guy was spying on me, his watchful eyes wouldn’t be visible. For the first time since I got here, reality hit me. Hard.
This wasn’t some vacation. I didn’t win the lottery. I was a Death Escort. That meant I had a job to do.
Chapter Eight
“Memorial - Serving as a remembrance of a person or an event; commemorative.”
Piper
I got off the bus earlier than I should have and then had to walk home in the cold. But the cold was preferable to being on the bus. Riding on it made me feel like a traitor, like I was somehow dishonoring the man who died by sitting in the very thing that crushed him. I could’ve taken a cab, but the fare all the way across town would’ve cost way too much. I could barely afford to live now, and if it weren’t for Frankie’s love of sharing donuts and the fact I got free meals at the diner, I’d probably starve. Even still, I had it better than some people, as the little card in my pocket so boldly reminded.
I couldn’t get over the fact no one claimed him. No one cared he died. Everyone should have someone. I guess his someone would be me.
The wind began to blow and with it came another strange feeling—like the one that came over me at the hospital. I stopped and looked around, but nothing was there. I began walking again, changing my footsteps and heading toward a small flower shop on the corner. Inside, I bought a bunch of daisies. They were cheerful—a spot of sun in the gray winter—and the only thing in the place I could afford.
The lady wrapped them in sunny yellow paper and tied them up with a purple ribbon. As I carried them home, I guarded them against the wind and ignored the prickling at the base of my neck.
Once inside my tiny apartment, I threw the locks and let out a sigh of relief. I pulled out the card with the picture of the beach and tucked it into the frame of the mirror hanging near the front door. Then I placed the daisies in a vase and sat it on the chest of drawers beneath the mirror. It was small and simple, but it was my way of honoring the man who died. My way of acknowledging the heroic thing he did for me.
I don’t know if what I did mattered, but it made me feel better so I suppose it was worth it.
I turned when a dark shadow passed by the tiny window, momentarily darkening the room. When I looked through the glass, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to disrupt the sun’s rays.
So where did the darkness come from?
Chapter Nine
“Introduction - a presentation of one person to another or others.”
Dex
The first step in killing someone is recon. Well, it seemed like a logical first step. I’ve decided it would be easier to kill the Target by learning her habits and routine. Then I could decide the best possible way for elimination. Once I decided the best way to kill her, I could make a plan and carry it out. Job done, and I could collect my actual body, get a pay raise, and live richly ever after.
I drove the Roadster until I was just down the street from the diner where I knew the Target worked. I slid into an open parking spot down the street and got out to walk the rest of the way, stuffing my hands into my heavy black leather jacket and tucking my chin into my chest. The sidewalks were covered in salt, but there were still a few patches of ice and I avoided them, realizing my Converse weren’t the best for walking on slippery ground.
Maybe I should buy a pair of boots… Nah, I like my sneakers better.
As I got closer I tried to avoid looking at the spot where I died. But it was no use. My eyes went there automatically. The bench the bus took out was still missing. But other than that, everything else appeared unharmed.
It was as if the accident never even happened. As if I never died. Except it had… and I did.
I forced my eyes away from the area and toward the diner. The glass windows were lit up and the open sign on the door glowed red and blue. I didn’t hesitate to pull open the door and choose a table in the back corner, sitting against the wall so I could see everyone in the place.
A waitress with a black waist apron and white shirt came over and gave me a menu as I ordered coffee. The place wasn’t that crowded. There were a few tables with people and a few others sitting at the counter, but that was all. A cook worked behind the cook line and two waitresses were busy at the counter, pouring coffee and working the register.
I didn’t see the Target. I was pretty sure I’d know her if I saw her. After all, she was the last face I saw before I died.
I was slightly irritated my recon plans weren’t going that well, and I buried my face in the menu. I might as well eat. It would look odd if I got up and left without ordering.
