Recalled
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
Recalled
“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.
