Recalled (Death Escorts #1)(4)
Author: Cambria Hebert

“Doing what?”

“You will be an Escort.”

On the streets, another name for escort was prostitute. “I don’t think I would look good in a dress and heels.”

“You joke. You’re funny,” Mr. Burns said, smiling. “Not that kind of escort. This is more exclusive. More important.”

“So what exactly will I be escorting?” I asked, more confused than before.

Mr. Burns’s little beady eyes gleamed with excitement and he smirked, causing his cheekbones to jut outward.

“Death. You will be a Death Escort.”

Chapter Four

“Remember – To keep (someone) in mind as worthy of consideration or recognition.”

Piper

I was watching the sun rise and feeling sorry for myself when the doorbell rang. I sighed. Why did the doorbell always ring when you didn’t want company? I dashed the tears from my cheeks, knowing there was nothing I could do about my swollen eyes, and went to the door.

“Who is it?” I yelled right through the white, peeling door.

“I have a delivery for Piper McCall,” replied a phony deep voice.

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Open the damn door, Piper!” Frankie yelled, dropping the fake voice.

I unchained the lock, turned the deadbolt, and pulled open the door. Frankie barely paused to look at me as she bustled by with her armload, yet she saw everything. “If I looked like you I wouldn’t want to open the door either.”

“It’s barely six a.m., Frank. What’re you doing here?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t come when you called to tell me about your brush with death!?”

“I thought maybe you’d wait and come at a decent hour,” I grumbled, locking the door and following her into the tiny kitchen.

“The donut makers are up,” she said, flipping the lid open on a box of a dozen donuts. “Therefore, the hour is decent!”

Fried dough, sugar, and icing wasn’t a healthy way to start the day.

“Where’s my coffee?” I said, cracking a smile because she motioned to the donuts like Vanna White.

She handed me a very large cup. “Here, it’s the boring kind. Cream, no sugar.”

I took a sip of my boring coffee as she untied her red trench coat and slipped it off her five-foot-four curvy frame. Frankie liked her curves and her sugar habit helped maintain them.

“So you almost got creamed by a bus, huh?” she said as she rummaged through my cabinets for napkins and a couple plates.

My stomach clenched at the mention of the bus. I set my coffee on the table and pulled out a chair. “Yes, I almost got hit by a bus, but didn’t because someone else pushed me out of the way.” I felt my eyes tear up again and I blinked them away, reaching for my coffee.

“It was real bad, huh?” Frankie said, sitting down and patting my hand.

“He died. He pushed me out of the way and the bus crushed him…” My voice fell away. “It was awful.”

“He died?”

“Almost instantly.”

We both sat there for long, silent moments. The kitchen filled with the comforting scents of donuts and coffee, but I felt awful that someone would still be breathing and alive if not for what he did for me.

“The thing is,” I said, my voice low, “I don’t know why he did it.”

“Well, I’m glad he did. I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Thanks, Frankie,” I said, but in the back of my head I wondered if I was the one who should’ve died.

Frankie reached into the donut box and pulled out a glazed, then looked at me. “So if I eat this am I going to get fat?”

I rolled my eyes. “Depends on how many you eat.”

“I plan on eating at least three. So go on, check.” She held out her hand, the one still holding the donut.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“What’s the use of having a BFF that can see the future if you can’t exploit it?”

“I can’t see the future, just portions of it.” I reminded her as she rolled her eyes. “Most people would want to know lottery numbers. You want to know if you’re going to get fat.”

“Don’t need lottery numbers. That’s what all these curves are for… to hook a rich doctor who I happen to bump into while visiting my super smart, future-seeing doctor friend at the hospital.”

I laughed. “I won’t be a doctor for many years yet, Frank.”

“All the more reason I can’t get fat. So go on. Look.” She waved her hand at me again.

I shook my head and sighed. “I might not see anything. You know it doesn’t always work.”

“It’ll work,” Frankie said confidently.

I closed my eyes and took her hand in mine. I took a deep breath and reached down into the part of my brain that seemed to be able to access my visions—something I don’t think it really should be able to do. I asked to be let in—never demanded—and it opened for me, flooding me with a rush of warmth in welcome. I thought of Frankie and her donut habit and asked gently for an image of her in four years. It came easily and I smiled. She still looked the same—kind of like Marilyn Monroe—short blond curls, big smile, and major curves. Instead of opening my eyes, I tucked the image back and eased out slowly, thanking that part of me for the information. Only then did I open my eyes.

Frankie watched me, donut poised against her lips.

“You still look hot in four years,” I told her.

She bit into the donut and made a sound of appreciation. “So good,” she said around another mouthful.

“Just remember the future isn’t concrete. It can change so you might want to rethink that box of donuts.”

“I’m not going to eat them all,” she said, snagging another with icing and sprinkles. “You’re going to help me.”

I started to shake my head, but she pinned me with a stare. “You could’ve died! And never ate another donut again!”

“Oh the horror!” I gasped, but I did pick up a cinnamon twist. She had a point. What was the point of living if I didn’t enjoy it?

“So when’s the funeral?” Frankie asked as she polished off her second pastry.

“I don’t know. He didn’t have any ID on him and the hospital wouldn’t tell me anything when I called.”

“Maybe you should just let it go,” she suggested.

I jerked like she slapped me.