Recalled (Death Escorts #1)(7)
Author: Cambria Hebert

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.