Recalled (5 page)

“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.

“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.

I didn’t stand there pondering my situation for long. I had a car to drive. I jumped in and started up the engine—it purred like a kitten, and I grinned. I didn’t remember to turn on the GPS until I was out of the driveway and speeding down the ultra-exclusive looking neighborhood. I’d never been to this part of Fairbanks, Alaska, and I glanced around, waiting for someone to come running at my car, yelling, “Stop thief!” or “Intruder!” But no one came and the guard at the gated entrance actually tipped his hat as the Roadster roared by.

I relaxed back into the leather and switched on the heat.

I really should get a coat. A leather one.

About twenty minutes later, I pulled up to another gated community, except this one didn’t have sprawling lawns and mansions. It held three-story townhouses with stone fronts and arched windows. The guard at the gate signaled for me to stop, so I did and rolled down the window, wincing at the cold air that hit me in the face.