Recalled (Death Escorts #1)(9)
Author: Cambria Hebert

After I’d slurped the last of the milk from my fourth bowl of cereal, sometime during the football highlights, I fell asleep.

* * *

For a man, there’s nothing better to wake up to than the smell of bacon and coffee. Okay, maybe there was something else, but bacon was a really close second.

I opened my eyes and for a moment I had to think about where I was. I was at home. On my couch, where I fell asleep in my khakis and sweater vest. I stretched and sat up, looking over my shoulder toward the kitchen where Hobbs was frying up some bacon.

I stumbled toward the island and pulled out a stool.

“Coffee.” I groaned.

Moments later, a steaming cup of dark liquid appeared under my nose. I took a big sip, grimacing at the strong taste. I never was a huge fan of coffee, but I liked its warmth.

Hobbs noticed my face and reached for my mug. Out of habit, I snatched it back, wrapping both my hands around it protectively. He said nothing but went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle with a blue lid. He popped the top and poured some of the liquid into my cup, still in my death grip, and then plopped in a spoon. I looked at the drink suspiciously before giving it a stir, then taking a small sip.

I never thought much about heaven, but once I swallowed, I decided this is what it must be like.

I grabbed up the little bottle with a blue lid and studied at the label. Salted Caramel Mocha Coffee Creamer. I’d never had coffee creamer before, but I decided it was my new favorite food.

“We need more of this,” I said, taking another huge gulp of my brew.

“I’ll add it to the shopping list, sir,” Hobbs said as he placed a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. I dug in with gusto.

Hobbs lifted his eyebrow. “Your fork is not a shovel.”

“I don’t pay you to tell me how to eat.”

Hobbs made a sniffing sound and turned away.

“We need more of this, too. You cook real good, Hobbs.”

“Hobson. Thank you, sir.”

He made a note on a piece of paper on the counter. “Anything else, sir?”

“Pizza, pancakes, donuts, and meat.”

As I chewed I watched Hobbs write more on his paper, then I paused. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

Hobbs glanced at me. “Usually the help doesn’t eat with the master of the home.”

“Pull up a chair, Hobbs,” I said, kicking out a stool next to me.

He hesitated, then filled a plate with food and sat beside me. I got up and poured some more coffee and creamer into my mug, waving him down when he started to rise. Having a butler was unnerving. Was I supposed to just sit here while he served me? I was used to doing everything for myself so that seemed a little weird. Not that I wouldn’t let him cook, clean, and do my laundry, mind you.

Speaking of clothes… I needed some.

I finished my breakfast and left a pile of money on the counter for Hobbs’s shopping, and I drove to the mall.

Buying clothes seemed like a better idea than trying to come up with ways to kill someone.

* * *

New clothes—cooler new 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?