Kory M. Shrum
Worst Tuesday ever.
One minute I was standing in front of my office on Broadway, chatting it up with my new assistant, drinking my Starbucks, and so on. The next minute, something slammed into the side of my head with the force of a brick.
Oh wait, it was a brick. Or at least, it was a chunk of concrete the size of my fist.
I cried out as the side of my head exploded in pain. My grip on the Starbucks cup tightened and the top popped off. Coffee splashed over the rim and ran across my knuckles. Thank god it was an iced latte to combat this awful summer heat, or I would’ve been burned too.
My head reeled. I stumbled into someone’s arms.
“Oh my god,” my new assistant screamed, and tried to prop me up. This was her first week on the job, and I just knew she thought protect boss from flying bricks was definitely not in her job description. “Jesse? You’re bleeding!”
“Ow,” I wailed, reaching up to touch the side of my face. Fire bloomed there and I stopped trying to inspect the damage. My fingers came away red, warm, and sticky. “Jesus Christ, ow.”
I looked up at the sky. Maybe some rubble fell off the top of the building. Nope, it was clear and blue without any sign of flying concrete. So I searched the street around me for evidence as to what the hell just happened.
Then I saw them.
Three guys stood in the back of a moving truck wearing matching camo. They were cheering and laughing, and if I had any doubt they were the jerks who’d just thrown the brick, they quickly removed it. One of the guys threw another rock, but it didn’t make it across the street this time, as they’d already driven too far away from me. This chunk of concrete busted up in the middle of the wide avenue, before being demolished by oncoming tires.
Ally, the new assistant, pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed 911. I heard her saying something about the address to my office and what’d happened, but none of it was clear. The ringing in my ears made me feel sick and nauseated. I didn’t realize I was falling over again until someone lifted me up.
“Thank you, thank you. I think she has a concussion.”
“Bring her inside until the ambulance comes.”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“Jesse,” a man said. I didn’t recognize the voice. “I’m going to lay you down here so you don’t fall, but don’t go to sleep, OK? You have to stay awake until the ambulance comes.”
“Sweet, Jesus. There’s so much blood. I’m going to get some towels from the bathroom,” Ally said.
“Did someone just throw a big rock at my head?” I asked, tasting blood on my lips.
“Fucking asshole,” was the only reply I heard, again from the male voice I didn’t recognize. Of course, I hadn’t been in Nashville long. My handler had just relocated me from Saint Louis because he thought the city was too dangerous. Just wait until he saw this hole in my head.
“Is this how people act in Nashville?” I asked him. I imitated a thick Southern accent. “Let’s put on the camo and throw bricks out of the back of our—OW.”
“I’m sorry,” Ally said. “I’m just trying to clean up some of the blood. It’s in your eyes and everything. And this shirt is ruined.”
“What else is new,” I grumbled.
“Maybe we can get it dry-cleaned?” she offered.
“If you’re going to be my assistant,” I told her. “You’ll have to get used to seeing me covered in blood.” I was trying to be funny, but I couldn’t see her face to know if she got it. She certainly didn’t laugh.
A few more painful wipes and I could open my eyes again, but the whole side of my head was throbbing. “Fuck, does anyone have some Motrin or something? I feel like my head has been cleaved open with a battle ax.”
“We should probably wait until the paramedics see you, what if there’s an interaction?” Ally’s voice was shaky at the edges. Her blond hair had fallen forward and her brown eyes were wide with concern. There were even little tears in the corners.
Geezus, I thought. Either I really looked like death, or this poor girl wouldn’t last a week. Wait until she saw me actually die! And it would be a shame to lose her. I was paying out of pocket for this probationary week, $750 cash upfront, in hopes that she could help me with the horrible office stuff and orchestrating all the details of my hectic life. After that, the plan was to convince Brinkley, my FBRD handler, to write it off. I was already preparing my speech as to how she was indispensable, assuming she would still be around after seeing the worst. It seemed like she was definitely going to see the worst. After all, this was only day 2.
“I’ll be OK,” I told her, though I had no idea why I was trying to comfort her. I mean, I’m the one who had my face bashed in with a chunk of flying concrete.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” the male voice said. I turned toward him. Oh man. It was the landlord, the guy I rented my office from. Of course, the word landlord wasn’t accurate at all. It conjured the image of a chubby, older dude, with maybe a bald spot on top of his head. Maybe even fat, in cheap suits.
But this guy—I struggled for just a moment to remember his name…Hand… Handel, that’s right. Lane Handel…he didn’t look like a landlord at all. He was in his late twenties maybe, with thick dark hair. His blue eyes were soft and sympathetic. He was cute as hell, and I was suddenly super embarrassed to be bleeding all over his furniture.
“I’m sorry I’m getting blood everywhere.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “It’ll wipe right off.”
I thought I managed a smile, but the side of my head had gone sort of numb, so it was probably lopsided at best.
“I’ve heard you guys can take a lot of damage,” he said, placing a pillow behind my back. “But that doesn’t mean some asshole has the right to hurt you.”
I laid back into the pillow and couch, looking around. Then I realized where we were, his comic book shop. They’d placed me on a black leather couch. The it’ll wipe right off comment made more sense now. And it gave me the idea to just wear leather all the time. Too bad the Catwoman look wasn’t really my style.
“My coffee,” I murmured.
“I’ll get you another,” Ally said. “How do you feel?”
I wanted to tell her to forget about the coffee. That wasn’t what I meant. I was trying to say I felt bad that I’d made her go across town so early in the morning to get me a coffee, only to water the sidewalk with it.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to complete my thought about the coffee.
“I think she has a concussion,” Lane concluded. “Is that bad, for someone like her?”
Someone like me. A death replacement agent with the ability to die and wake up again, assuming my brain isn’t damaged of course. Had my brain been damaged by a flying brick? Maybe.
I felt—off. The world tilted again and I was spinning, digging my fingers into the leather arm beside me, desperate for something to hang on to.
“I think I’m just going to close my eyes,” I told them. “Or maybe vomit.”
“No, no!” I heard them say and felt rough hands shaking me. It didn’t matter.
The darkness reached up and swallowed me whole.
“Ow,” I whined for the second time that day. I’d woken up to a nurse poking me in the arm and failing to get my vein. “Geezus, are you new or something? Haven’t you worked with dehydrated people before?”
With a final angry thrust, her needle found my vein. I watched the blood ooze into the tiny glass tube and thought about whopping her upside her head for being mean to me. I’d already gotten into trouble for verbally assaulting the nurses this week. I was pretty sure physical violence was even more frowned upon.
“We are just taking some blood. We need to make sure everything is OK,” Dr. York said. He pulled a butterscotch candy from his lab coat and handed it to me. With his wispy white hair and crinkly blue eyes, he put off a very grandfatherly vibe. He was my favorite work person so far since moving here from St. Louis.
“Did the jerk bash my brains in?” I asked him. Then a realization hit me. “Shit, did I die?”
“No,” Dr. York reassured me. “You just blacked out from blood loss. We’ve filled you up and you’re recouping fine. We ran you through the MRI to be sure, but it’s all OK up there.” He tapped the side of his head.
“Whew,” I exhaled. “Can I have another candy?”
He pressed a butterscotch into my hand with a smile, and I pocketed it for later. “You might experience vertigo for a few days. Take it easy.”
“I have a replacement on Friday,” I told him, making it perfectly clear that I could rest, but not forever. I had work to do.
“You should feel better by then,” he said. “But maybe not 100%. Just be careful.”
“I die for a living,” I said. Like Rachel, and see what it got her.
I reached up and touched the puffy white bandage on the side of my head. I bet my face looked like shit. “How careful can I be?”
Ally eased me into the front seat of her car, then climbed in herself. Before starting the car, she handed me another iced latte and a brown bag reeking of something sugary. The bag was still warm.
“I got you a new coffee,” she said, turning on the car and blasting the AC. “Though it’s almost five in the evening.”
“I love evening lattes,” I told her and accepted the cup. I didn’t want to be ungrateful.
I found a muffin inside, one of those fat hunks of cake with the crumbly top. I loved those muffins. Whenever I saw one, whether it was in a gas station or bakery, I had to buy it. It was a compulsion really. I couldn’t not eat a beautiful muffin.
I shoved a chunk of sugary muffin top into my mouth and moaned. “Bless you. You’re amazing.”
Her shoulders rolled back and her face softened. Then she finally started her car and pulled away from the hospital. Was she really that worried about pleasing me? I hadn’t been too demanding, had I? Granted, it had been a rough second day on the job.
“I spoke to your handler about security measures,” Ally said.
I harrumphed at the mention of Brinkley. The callous old cop had been grumpier than usual, but I figured he was sad for the same reasons I was sad: we’d left St. Louis and Rachel behind.
“I suggested that we find you a house,” she went on. “We can choose something slightly out of town with less traffic. Its location will be safer. We can get you a security system and maybe a big dog.”
“A dog!” I exclaimed with a mouth full of muffin. “You want me to try to keep something alive?”
She grinned. “You’re great at keeping things alive.”
“Har-har,” I said, getting her joke. “But I mean like care for it. I can show up and die, but like feed it? That’s just crazy.”
“I’ll help,” she said and gave a tentative smile. “That’s what you hired me for, right?”
I shrugged and a shadow passed over her eyes.
“I think it’s a great idea,” I said, trying to recover something I’d lost. “So what, we start shopping for houses and dogs?”
“Yes,” she said and parked on the street outside my apartment. “I’ve reviewed your accounts and estimated your budget and have already chosen several that I think you might like.”
“How do you know what I like?” I asked. “You just met me!”
She pressed her lips together and looked out over the steering wheel. “They’re just lovely houses. I think anyone would like them.”
She was being weird. Then again, I remember when I met Rachel and we’d first started working together. She was supposed to be my mentor, having already worked as a death replacement agent for seven years by the time Brinkley had recruited me.
We hated each other at first. Everything about her seemed overbearing. Her bright clothes and sassy bob. Her dark, assessing eyes. Her sarcasm. The way she acted like she knew everything about everything.
By the end of the month, she was calling me Jessup and I would’ve done anything for her.
Maybe it would be like that with Ally. She was competent and smart. She could do this job if she wanted to. And having her around comforted me. We would just have to get used to each other, right?
I realized she was speaking again.
“I thought since we have the next two days off, we could go look at houses and dogs. You have a consultation Thursday afternoon and the replacement the day after, but otherwise, you’re free,” she said.
She helped me from the car and into the apartment building. I let her fuss over me, secretly liking the attention. It was something Rachel would do, when the mood suited her. Ally used my key to get into the apartment on the second floor.
We navigated around the packed boxes stacked high on top of one another. All my rooms were full of brown boxes and furniture that came with the apartment. The furniture was old lady stuff with horrendous floral prints. I blamed Brinkley for picking out the apartment, but I had to admit it was in a great location—only one block from my office. Well, it was a great location until, you know, I got hit in the face with a brick.
“Getting a house and dog won’t change the fact that I work on Broadway,” I said, picking up the conversation where we’d left it. “Do you think it was the giant Jesse Sullivan Death Replacement Services sign that did it? Or maybe they saw my dog tags?” I touched the two tags around my neck that I wore at all times. They identified me as a death replacement agent and kept me out of the morgue or from being buried alive—should anyone find my corpse anywhere.
“Mr. Handel suspects it was your T-shirt,” she said and eased me into the bed.
“Oh, maybe,” I said, remembering what I’d been wearing: dark jeans, mismatched sneakers and a black T-shirt with a giant FBRD printed on the back in bright white letters. What a mistake that turned out to be. “They would’ve seen it as they drove up behind me.”
“I’ve been thinking about the office too,” she said. “Mr. Handel agreed to restore the back entrance to the building. It was sealed, but apparently, it can be reopened, and then we can move the sign back there. There’s already a parking lot for you to use. That way, you will only receive traffic from the people specifically looking for your services.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Tell him to get on that.”
“He’s already doing it,” she said. “In fact, he insisted.”
We woke up early the next day and started our house hunt. How Ally lined up six house showings in day was a mystery to me. Apparently there were four more lined up for the next morning, before my consultation, should I not like any of these.
The first house was too small, smaller than my apartment and pretty close to the city center, so after a polite thank you, we moved on.
The second and third houses had tiny yards, which Ally said was bad if I planned on getting a big dog. We want somewhere it can run around, and I agreed, because the idea that I was going to walk the beast was out of the question. He—or she—would definitely need a big yard to run around in.
The fourth house was large, but needed a lot of work—like a new HVAC system and plumbing—which moved the house out of my price range. I was sure I could get Brinkley to write it off or something, but I liked paying for my own stuff. I got a housing allowance each month as part of my contract, being a government minion and all, but Ally insisted we could do better, and I believed her.
The fifth house, a cape cod, had a serious black mold infestation in the basement. Not to mention a super creepy attic that I was pretty sure had been used in every horror movie ever. I just knew I was going to die if I lived in that house. Maybe I’d be ghost-murdered two or three times. No thank you.
So when Ally said but you’re allergic to mold, I jumped all over that excuse. No need for her to know what a chicken shit I was. One of the few good things about my job was that people assumed I was a total badass, and nothing scared me. After all, I couldn’t die all the time and endure the physical pain if I was wimpy, right? It wasn’t true of course. All kinds of things scared the hell out of me: large bugs in my ears, physical deformities, the idea that one day I was going to go batshit crazy like Rachel—but no one needed to know I had those chinks in my armor.
Just after 3:00 P.M. we reached the last house of the day. It was a little farther away from the city center. The houses in the subdivision were unique, yet they resembled each other, like a matching set. Despite my usual nonconformist stance in life, I kind of liked the similarities. It was like camouflage, you know, like if someone snuck into this suburb looking to brutally murder me, they might get confused. They might break into the wrong house and my life would be inadvertently saved. Not that I wanted someone else to be murdered on my behalf, of course.
The houses of Greenbrook were mostly two stories high with an attached garage. The exterior of the houses were either brick or stone. The garage doors were white and windowless.
This house in particular was all white-gray brick with black shutters. The front walkway was lined with decorative rocks and a landscaped flower bed full of daffodils and shrubs. The grass was thick and pretty. If I moved in, I would kill it by the end of next summer.
“And here is the last one of the day,” the realtor said and gestured toward the house. While I was trying to figure out if the squirrel chattering in the bush was a threat, Ally nodded and smiled on my behalf.
The realtor was a very polished lady, with a styled fluff of brunette hair and bright red nails. Her vest was a deep black and matched her A-line skirt. I had no idea how she managed to walk around in those black pumps—or why a woman would even want to. I also noticed that she had a tendency to touch each of her wrists, one sporting a gold watch, the other several gold bangles, as if to see if they were still there.
“How much is this one?” I asked, and the realtor’s cheeks twitched as if I had asked to see her panties.
Ally smiled. “They are asking an even 300K.”
I get paid $10,000 per replacement, and I had almost forty replacements under my belt. Because so many of my expenses were covered by my contract, I’d managed to pocket much of the $370,000 I’d made in the last five years, minus taxes. In theory, if I kept up this pace, I’d pay off this house in another five years. To be 27 with a paid off house sounded great.
“How many houses are in this neighborhood?” Ally asked, trying to turn the conversation away from money.
“48 presently,” the realtor said and touched the bottom of her bob. “But we have four more in development on the far west side.” The realtor pointed in a direction that I guessed was west. “And there is room for an additional twelve. The maximum capacity is 64. But your section is complete, so this is the full size of the lot.”
She gestured to each side of the house and waited for me to appreciate its roominess.
I caught on and nodded perhaps too enthusiastically. “Oooo, yes. Very nice.” I heard Ally swallow a laugh beside me.
The realtor looked disappointed. After relaxing the wrinkles on her nose, she tugged at the bottom of her vest and went on. “There is a two-mile nature loop surrounding the subdivision. You’ll have direct access through your backyard. As you can see, many trees were planted along the border of this lot to provide a natural fence. Alice tells me you’re getting a dog?”
I perked up when I realized she’d turned from the door and addressed me directly.
“I got hit in the face with a brick,” I said. “Ally thinks I should up my security measures.”
The realtor’s face blanched. I could tell she was trying to decide if she wanted to know about the brick or not. I guessed not.
“Dogs are lovely companions,” she said.
“Do you have one?” I asked as she pushed open the front door.
Her lips pursed. “No. I have two cats.”
I crossed the bare foyer into the large living room with its large windows lining the wall. Out the window, I could see an abundance of trees, just as the realtor said. I felt the sun on my face through the glass and closed my eyes for just a moment to enjoy it. Then I turned away to inspect the rest. To the right of the living room was a large archway leading to the kitchen. To the left waited some stairs.
“This is the one,” I murmured and Ally came to stand beside me and placed her arm against mine on the window sill.
“Are you sure? We should see the rest of it first, don’t you think?” she asked. She kept her voice low. “There could be a creepy attic.”
I gave her a look, accusing her of knowing the real reason I rejected the last house. She only smiled.
“The three bedrooms are upstairs,” the realtor said, as if trying to break up our whispering. “And here is the home office.”
The realtor pointed to the door that I walked right past when first entering.
“The kitchen is through here,” she said. When she made it clear she expected us to follow her, we did.
“All the Viking appliances will stay,” she went on. “Including the Kenmore washer and dryer in the basement.” The kitchen was pretty, with lots of light coming through the sliding glass doors. The realtor gave us just a moment to enjoy it before going to the doors. She opened them, ushering us through. On the back deck, she took a deep breath, probably for dramatic effect.
“Plenty of room for your dog,” the realtor said, gesturing out at the large backyard. She crept down the steps and started across the grass on tiptoe, so her heels wouldn’t sink into the ground. We followed her.
After passing through two tight-knit trees at the edge of the lot, we found ourselves on the dirt trail. “This trail is expertly maintained year-round. So if you decide upon a dog who needs lots of exercise, you can walk or run him here just fine. And about a mile down the path, you’ll find a cute little dog park.”
“That’s wonderful,” Ally said, probably aware I was being too quiet.
“Or if you are into walking or running yourself, this would be a wonderful outdoor trail for you. Just right outside your door!”
“I only run when my life depends on it,” I mumbled.
“Let’s look at the bedrooms,” Ally said, to cover my sarcasm.
I thought of Rachel. What would she think if she saw this house? It was a big house for just one person. She and I had shared a two-bedroom apartment once. She’d insisted to Brinkley, even though it took us over a month to grow on each other. My apartment has two bedrooms, why wouldn’t she stay with me? In my mind, I saw Rachel turning toward me and smiling.
My chest hurt, and I had a sudden desperate urge to stop thinking about Rachel and about what happened in St. Louis. I wanted to forget what she’d done—almost done—to me.
“I want to make an offer on the house,” I said, interrupting them. “Even if it does have three bedrooms.”
“That’s wonderful,” the realtor said, beaming. No doubt she was already spending her commission in her mind. Ally’s mouth snapped shut, biting down on whatever she was about to say.
“I don’t see what the big deal is?” I asked. “I like the house, I want to buy it. I’d write them a check for 300K if I knew I could move in this weekend.”
This was bravado on my part. I didn’t intend to empty my account so readily. I’d be willing to put half down now and finance the rest. Even so, I wouldn’t be moving this weekend. I’d probably be dead.
“Why are you rushing?” she asked. “We have plenty of time to find the perfect place for you.”
“Why am I rushing?” I said. “You’re the one who scheduled ten viewings right after I mentioned moving!”
“Because you can’t just buy a house. You have to get it inspected and make sure you’re getting the best deal. You have to make an offer and negotiate,” she insisted. “It takes time.”
I was pretty sure I could just buy a house, but instead of fighting with her, I looked out the window and tried not to sulk. Why should buying a house make me sad? I was supposed to be happy to finally have a place of my own, right?
“You don’t have to get a house,” she added. “We can look for apartments in other parts of the city, maybe one in a secured building with a doorman.”
“That’s not going to make me feel better.”
“What’s upsetting you?” she asks.
“Everything,” I admitted. “I hate that I’m even here.”
It was true. I wanted to go back to St. Louis. I wanted Rachel to be OK. I wanted to go home.
Her cheeks turned red and she bit her lip. I was getting the feeling that she would definitely quit by Monday.
“Can we stop at Starbucks again? I need a pick me up,” I said, trying to lessen the awkwardness in the car. “Then what are we doing? Going to the pet store?”
“We aren’t going to the pet store,” she said. Her voice was on the edge of mean. When I shot her a look she forced a smile. “Are we? I thought we’d check with the animal shelters and then maybe a couple of breeders. You can have a dog in your apartment, right? If you have your heart set on one today?”
Oh great, I thought. Now she thinks I’m impulsive and demanding.
“Yeah, I just have to pay a deposit,” I said. “Of course, if I’m moving soon, I may just keep it a secret and save the $300.”
She glanced at me again but said nothing.
“A shelter sounds good,” I said, trying to prove I could think things through. “Or a breeder. Whatever you think is best.”
At least that last part earned me a small smile.
First thing the next morning, we went to what Ally called a high-kill shelter. When she explained what this meant, I was horrified.
“They gas them?” I exclaimed. “Are you serious? Who does that?”
I flung the door open and marched into the shelter determined to find a dog and take it home today.
I didn’t know what I was expecting to find behind the counter, a mean Hilter-esque man choking a puppy maybe. But it was just a girl. She was maybe sixteen or so and clearly only working there as an after school job. Her fingers flew all over the screen of her phone as she texted someone. She didn’t even look up when we came in.
“We would like to see your dogs,” Ally said, catching up to me at the counter.
“No dogs,” she said.
“What do you mean no dogs?” I said. “This is a shelter right? Oh my god, did you put them all in the gas chambers?”
I moved to jump across the counter and slap the phone out of the girl’s hand, but Ally grabbed ahold of me before I could.
“They are at the Adopt-a-thon in Bristol,” the girl replied, without realizing how close to being assaulted she was.
“Oh,” Ally said and gave me an I’m going to let you go now, don’t kill her look.
“So, what, they take all the dogs?”
“Duh,” the girl said. “It’s a big convention. Usually most of the dogs get adopted. It’s a three day event.”
“Oh,” Ally said. “Well that’s nice.”
“It happens twice a year,” the girl replied, and finally glanced up. “So you can check back next week to see who’s left. Unless you want a cat?” the girl offered.
Ally smiled at me. “A guard cat?”
I shook my head no—unless I could train it to leap onto attackers from great heights or maybe go for the eyes. It was a possibility.
“Are you sure?” the girl urged and put her phone in her pocket. “Jingles is so fluffy.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, “but I need a dog who can eat people.”
“We’ll try the humane society,” Ally added.
“No dogs there either,” the girl said, disappointed in our refusal to see Jingles, the fluffiest cat ever. “They’re all at the Adopt-a-thon. You’ll have to drive out to Bristol if you can’t wait until Tuesday.”
“Why Tuesday?” I asked, suspicious that she was just going to kill all the dogs they didn’t get rid of.
“The Adopt-a-thon is Thursday through Saturday. They drive back on Sunday. Monday, we’re closed.”
“For the killing?” I asked, angry.
Ally grabbed ahold of me and forced a smile. “We’ll check back on Tuesday.”
The girl shrugged and pulled her phone from her pocket again. “If you can’t wait, there’s always Jingles! He’s litterbox trained. And you just won’t believe how fluffy he is.”
Ally dragged me away.
Just to be sure, Ally called around to confirm that in fact yes, all the dogs in the Metro area had gone to Bristol. Apparently the Adopt-a-thon was a big deal, sponsored by one of the country’s largest petstore chains. They got stipends and tax write-offs, and the added benefit of adopting out a lot of their animals. Apparently, it wasn’t just people from Bristol adopting. Would-be pet owners drove from all over to take their pick. That was good for the pups at least. But you’d best believe I was going to be there Tuesday morning, my adoption fee in hand.
In the meantime, I decided to do some research.
I spun in my desk chair, waiting for the webpage to load. Ally was at the sink across from me making coffee. I took a moment to appreciate how tidy the office was. That was certainly one thing the new assistant was doing right. I hated cleaning. I’d rather die.
She was doing a lot of other things right too. When the phone rang, she answered it. When I wanted a coffee, it just magically appeared in my hand. Same was true for food. When something needed to be done, it was. Bills were paid and went into the mailbox. Appointments confirmed. Email checked. Everything was just happening, and all I had to do was sit here and think about what kind of dog I wanted.
In fact, having an assistant was so nice, that I was really hoping that after this next death Ally wouldn’t take one look at my corpse and say peace out.
A web page popped up for Best Guard Dogs.
“OK,” I said. “According to this, I need a Bullmastiff, Doberman, Rottweiler, or a—what the hell is this? It looks like a mop!”
Ally came around behind my desk and placed an iced coffee on the coaster.
“Are you looking at the Puli or the Komondor?” she asked.
“They both look like mops,” I said. “Who is going to run scared from a mop?”
“Shelter dogs will probably be mixed. But you may find a Rottweiler there,” she said. “People often discriminate against black dogs.”
“What?” I said and iced coffee went up my nose. “People are racist about dogs? What is wrong with people?”
She gave my shoulder a squeeze, as if she agreed with me about how stupid people could be.
“Oh this looks interesting,” I said. “What Your Dog Breed Says About You.”
“They say people look like their dogs.” Ally rinsed out the coffee pot in the sink and washed the spoon she’d used to stir my cream and sugar. Then she refilled the ice tray and put it back in the mini-fridge.
“Really?” I asked. “What kind of dog do I look like?”
She considered me for a moment then smiled. “A Border Collie.”
“Hey!” I said, offended even though I had no idea what a Border Collie looked like.
“What do I look like?” she asked and arched an eyebrow, as if daring me to say something mean.
“A Golden Retriever.” It was true.
Before I could say anything more, the phone on my desk rang. Of course, Ally was the one who answered.
She handed over the receiver. “It’s for you.”
“We have a problem,” Brinkley said. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
“What do you mean three deaths?” I said, my jaw dropping. “I can only replace one person at a time!”
“I know,” Brinkley said, his hands on his hips. His shoulders arched under his leather jacket. With an exaggerated exhale, he eased them down away from his ears. “That’s what I’m saying. Cooper and Cindy will be there.”
“At my replacement?” I said. “You know I don’t play well with others!”
“You worked fine with Rachel,” he said.
Something changed at the mention of her name. Both Brinkley and I went very still as silence bubbled around us.
Brinkley was the first to speak. “When the child came up as positive, the family screened everyone.”
“Standard,” I interjected, happy to be talking again, though the image of Rachel holding a large knife and charging at my throat blazed against the backdrop of my mind. I saw Rachel sitting in her dark living room with bloody fingerprints on her face and a circle of smeared blood drying on the carpet around her, blood pouring from the slashes on her arms. I could still see the moment she looked up at me, realizing I was there, the way her eyes went wide just before she got up and charged me, knife in hand.
She’d just died too many times, too many replacements, the doctors had told us. Because that was what happened when death replacement agents worked too hard, for too long. And Rachel had over 200 replacements, a record by anyone’s count.
Someday that will be me—batshit crazy. After all, death replacement agents have a high institutionalization rate. 85% of us get killed or end up in a mental institution.
I know she wouldn’t have tried to hurt me if she had been in her right mind.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
“The father and mother also came up positive for the same day,” Brinkley said. “The whole family is going to die.”
“So what are we thinking?” I asked, and tried to shake Rachel from my thoughts. “Car crash? Bomb?” I could prevent or postpone their death, but if they had some horrendous injury, they would need medical attention. I tried to protect their bodies as much as possible from physical injury, often sacrificing my own in the process—but I couldn’t do everything.
“Just keep your eyes open for anything,” he said and turned away from me. I expected him to just go get into his Impala and drive away.
With the door open he looked back once more. “I saw Rachel.”
The mention of her made my throat go all tight.
“How is she?” I asked.
He looked out over the hood of his car, then down at his boots. “About the same.”
“OK, can we run through it one more time?” Ally asked.
“Sure. The first ten times don’t count anyway,” I said.
She sighed. “You’re right, never mind. You must be tired of explaining this to me.”
“It’s OK. It’s normal to be nervous,” I said and unfastened the seatbelt around me. I turned toward her from the passenger seat. “Let’s go over it one more time if it will make you feel better.”
She exhaled, visibly relieved. “So you will follow this person around and eventually something will happen.”
“They will start to die,” I said.
“How?” she asked.
“We won’t know how exactly, it will just start to happen, and I’ll have to stop it.”
“Right,” she said and then showed me her cell phone. “At that point, when you are dying, I’ll call the emergency services and give them the replacement information.”
“Perfect,” I said, and because I didn’t want her to freak out I had to ask. “You’re not weird about blood, are you? Because sometimes things can get pretty messy.”
Her mouth opened and closed until she actually managed to speak. “So you’re actually going to die die? Perhaps violently?”
I took a breath and considered how to answer. I didn’t want her to run away screaming now. I needed someone to handle the post-death cleanup and field any complications. Brinkley was my usual standby—since Rachel got sick—but I’d told him Ally could do this. I wouldn’t be able to convince him to hire her if she couldn’t handle a replacement. “Yeah, sometimes deaths are graphic. Like once I had a leg come off, and another time I was hit by a bus. I was all over the street.”
Her jaw hung open until she managed to pin it shut again. She looked at the dark house in front of us.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I know it’s crazy. It took me a minute to adjust to all of it too. If you want to just do something else—”
“No,” she blurted and her hand gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles blanched. “I can do this.”
I grinned. “Good! Let’s do it.”
I checked the clock on my phone once more and saw it was 11:59. Show time!
Before I reached the dark front door, it cracked open. A painted peacock greeted us. Well, not a peacock exactly, but a woman with platinum hair and a shimmery dress that only went as low as mid-thigh. A white fluffy plume shot out from behind her right ear. Who wears a headpiece to a death-replacement? This wasn’t the bar.
“Uh—” I began, suddenly at a loss for words. I felt like I was at the door of a cabaret rather than a family home.
“You’re late,” the woman said in a thick Texan accent. “Jesse, right?”
“And you are?”
She extended her hand to me, her acrylic nails sparkling in the porch light. “Cindy St. Clair. Why are you so late?”
“The day doesn’t start until midnight,” I said. Why should I come to work hours early?
“Oh,” Cindy said and opened the door wider just as Ally came up behind me. “I always come a few hours early, introduce myself to the client and settle in. It makes them more comfortable, I believe.”
“That’s nice,” Ally said and stepped inside. I shot her a look to discourage any crazy ideas that might be settling into her mind. Shadowing someone for 24 hours was bad enough. I was not adding a few more to each job just to make the client more comfortable.
“If you’re Cindy, then where is Cooper?” I asked.
Cindy motioned toward the living room and we followed her in. Cooper sat on the sofa, a beer bottle between his legs. When he caught me looking at it, he grinned and gave his pelvis a little thrust. Gee-zus.
“Want one?” he asked, grinning down at his crotch before meeting my eyes again.
“Uh, no, I don’t usually drink on the job,” I said.
“This is Jesse,” Cindy said, sneering at Cooper as if he were covered in filth. “The new agent.”
Cooper looked me up and down then huffed.
“Nice to meet you too,” I grumbled and suppressed the urge to give him the finger. I turned to Cindy. “Where’s the family?”
“Upstairs asleep,” she said.
“Shouldn’t you be upstairs with them?” Ally asked, making no effort to hide her disappointment in all of us. “What if they’re dying right now?”
Cooper flipped over his watch and read the time. Then he shrugged. “I’ll take the dad. Unless any of you want the job of carrying around his fat ass.”
No one said anything.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Cooper replied and finished off his beer in one final drawl. He sat the empty bottle on the coffee table and left the room.
Cindy forced a smile. “He’s tired. He’s just come off another replacement.”
“No need to make excuses for him,” I said.
She changed the subject. “Do you want the momma or the kid?” Before I could answer, she went on. “I’ll take the momma, shall I? If this gets physical, it will be easier for me to carry her. I’m taller.”
“I’m 5’3,” I grumbled.
Cindy wasn’t impressed. “And there’s a dog.”
“Oh a dog,” Ally smiled and nudged me as if I should be equally excited.
“Is it a nice dog?” I asked, suspicious. I wasn’t interested in being bitten.
She’d already disappeared toward the bedroom where Cooper presumably waited with the father.
“Let’s go find the kid,” I grumbled.
The parents slept on the main floor, but the girl was upstairs at the end of the hallway. I wondered how the girl felt sleeping so far away from her parents as I opened the door and crept inside. Ally slipped in behind me and in the momentary light from the hallway, I could see the little girl’s bed tucked into the corner.
A little fawn colored head popped up and began to growl at me. I lifted my hands up in front of me in mock surrender, but this didn’t help my cause.
“Hush, Winston,” a small girl said from beneath a pile of blankets.
“Ah, good, you’re awake,” I said and went to the edge of the bed. “I’m Jesse.”
“I’m Emma,” she said.
“How old are you Emma?” Ally asked.
‘9 and a half,’ Emma said. “Are you a death agent?”
“Death replacement agent,” I said. “And yup, that’s me.”
“Am I really going to die?”
“Did your parents tell you that?” I asked. Because if her parents told her she was going to die, that was pretty morbid.
“Mom and Dad won’t tell me anything,” she said. “She says you guys are just here to look after us today, but I heard them talking. Mommy was crying about it. She’s really scared I think.”
“You seem pretty brave,” I told her.
“I don’t want to die.”
“I won’t let that happen,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty good at this.”
“Really?”
“This will be Jesse’s 38th replacement,” Ally said on my behalf. “And she’s never failed to save anyone.”
The girl looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. “What can I say? I’m awesome.”
She smiled and scratched Winston behind the ears.
“Why is he called Winston?” I asked
“Like Winston Churchill,” the girl said and grabbed the pug’s cheeks. “My dad says he’s got floppy cheeks like Winston.”
To demonstrate, the girl pulled each of the fuzzy cheeks out, stretching them to an impressive distance.
“Only my dad called them jow—jow—”
“Jowls?” Ally asked.
“Yeah,” the girl smiled. “He’s got big jowls.”
Winston snorted as if he was offended by this assessment of his face.
“Well it is very nice to meet you, Emma and Winston,” Ally said and tucked the girl in a little tighter. Then she gave Winston a scratch behind his ear.
“You need to go to sleep now, OK?” I told her. “I’ll be right here.”
“I’m nervous,” she said.
“I know it is hard,” Ally said, rolling Winston over and scratching his belly. The pug went all soft on her and his left hind leg started twitching in time with her scratches. “But you need to be perfectly normal today, OK? It will make it easier for Jesse if you just do everything you usually do.”
The girl dutifully closed her eyes.
When we heard her breath slide in to a slow steady rhythm, we went to the bedroom wall and rested our weight against it.
“How am I doing?” Ally asked.
“Great,” I told her as the pug snored.
“Now what?” Ally asked.
“Now we wait.”
I fell asleep. It’s a big no-no on the job, but it happened. I jerked awake at the sound of Winston barking. My heart hammered in my chest as I saw Winston drop down from the bed and then yak on the carpet.
“Gee-zuz,” I said and pushed myself onto my feet. The room spun and I was light-headed. I thought I’d just stood up too quickly. Despite the room spinning, I made it to the bed to check on Emma.
Something was wrong. Her breath was shallow and rapid. When I started to shake her, she didn’t respond. I was pretty sure she was unconscious.
“Shit,” I said and feel her labored breath. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Winston threw up again.
“Ally,” I said. Ally was still sleeping, her head hung to one side. “Ally wake up. I need your help.”
Ally woke up but had trouble standing.
“Shit, not you too,” I said.
“What’s happening?” she asked. “I feel sick.”
“Emma is sick too and the dog apparently.”
“Carbon monoxide,” she said.
I remember the long list of possible whole-family deaths from the FBRD manual. Carbon monoxide was one of them. Carbon monoxide is an odorless gas that causes thousands of deaths each year. It is the leading cause of poisoning death in the United States.
“Shit,” I said. “Get up. We have to get everyone outside.”
Ally managed to stand and pick up the heaving Winston. I grabbed Emma and stumbled downstairs with her toward the front door I entered hours before. My heart was pounding from the exertion and my head felt like it was splitting in half. I fell into the wall several times, and probably crushed Emma’s arm once or twice, but somehow the four of us, Winston included, made it outside. I placed the girl on the damp grass beside Ally. Ally sat down, trying to catch her breath.
I pressed my hands to Emma’s chest and didn’t feel the tug of death. “Come on, come on.”
“What’s happening?” Ally asked. “Is something wrong?”
“She isn’t dying yet,” I said. Then I looked around and realized we were the only ones out here. “Where’s Cooper and Cindy?”
“They’re probably inside,” she said.
“Shit,” I said and felt like I’d already said it too many times tonight.
“What are you doing?” she asked after I checked Emma once more to make sure I had time, then started back toward the house.
“They’ll all die if I don’t,” I told her. “Call for help.”
It was true. They couldn’t stay in the house. Unless Cindy and Cooper were touching the parents, they were dead. And even if they’d all passed out holding hands, the parents could still die if they weren’t moved to safety, away from the gas.
I took several lungfuls of clean air then covered my face. I didn’t think it would help, but just breathing it in seemed like a stupider idea. After finding a bathroom and an office, I finally found the bedroom.
“Help me,” Cindy said. She sat in the floor holding the mother in her lap. “I feel so weak.”
“This is what you get for calling me short,” I said and bent down to help Cindy carry out the mother. We made it outside more easily than I had with Emma. Probably because the bedroom was more of a straight shot to the front yard. As soon as we laid the mother down beside Emma, who I checked again, I stood one last time.
“What are you doing?” Cindy asked, the sleeping mother in her night shirt draped over her lap.
“I’m going back for the dad,” I said.
“You’ll never be able to carry him.”
“Then come with me,” I said, but I’d asked too late. Cindy fell down dead on top of the woman, who had just jerked awake, coughing and gagging violently.
“Oh no,” Ally said. “What—”
I reached over and grabbed Cindy’s phone, then handed it to Ally. “Make sure they know where we are and that we’ll need oxygen.”
I was about to go back inside and help Cooper when I felt Emma’s death—the pull reached up from her little body and grabbed ahold of me, yanking me down into its current.
I placed a hand on Emma’s chest.
I needed to give Ally more instructions. Someone needed to go inside for the dad and Cooper, but none of this came out.
I was falling down, down, down into the damp earth. The last thing I saw was Emma’s eyes opening, her mouth forming the O of an impending cough. The last thing I felt was a little wet pug nose pressing against my skin.
Then the whole world went black.
I woke up in the hospital with one of those little masks over my face to help me breathe. The bright lights were horrible. I managed to sit up without vomiting on myself, so yay for small successes.
Ally was there by the bed.
“Oh thank God,” she exclaimed, as if she’d just won the lottery. Her hand clutched her chest as if she was afraid her heart might fall out of it. “I thought you were dead.”
I snorted. “I was dead.”
“But seeing it,” she said. “Jesus, I didn’t realize you’d be so—dead.”
“How is Emma?”
“She’s fine. They’re all fine. They were treated with oxygen.”
“How did the dad get out?” I asked.
“Cooper got him out to the backyard.”
“Cooper seems like the real team player,” I grumbled. “How about the pug?”
“They treated him with oxygen too. He’ll be just fine.”
It was my turn to give an audible exhale of relief. “Good. I’d be super sad if anything happened to those jowls.”
“I’ll get better,” she blurted then. “I promise I’ll get better.”
“Better at what?” I asked.
“At everything. Now that I know what to expect, next time I won’t make any mistakes. I won’t fall asleep. I won’t forget to call people or provide the right information or—”
“Whoa,” I said, surprised. “Calm down.”
“I just wasn’t sure what to expect, so,” she tried to go on.
I laughed. “You’ll never know what to do. There will never be a way to completely prepare for a replacement. That’s just the nature of the job. Now that you know how crazy it is, are you sure you want to do it?”
She looked down at her hands in her lap, and I realized maybe I’d asked too much of her.
“You really don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.
The air in my chest left me and I considered putting the oxygen mask back on. “No.”
“I’ve heard that’s normal for people like you,” she said. “Once you die, you sort of forget about everything from before.”
It was true. Most of my life before my first death was long forgotten. I remembered some things—not the best things, and more than enough, if you asked me—but most of it was gone.
“We were friends,” she said. “We were friends for a long time.”
“Really?” I asked.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a handful of small squares—photographs on glossy paper. In the very first picture, my face was pressed against Ally’s cheek. We were maybe twelve or thirteen and giving each other bunny ears. I flipped to the next photo and we were a little older. Ally was in the driver’s seat of a red Buick, a mom car for sure, and I was in the passenger seat, obviously holding the camera. The selfie angle was easily identifiable. I was making a dumb face while Ally laughed beside me.
“We were friends,” I repeated.
“I can tell you all about your mom and where we went to school, and I have references,” she said. “In case you think I’m just some creeper who photoshopped this and is stalking you.”
I snorted. “You don’t seem like the type.”
“I want this job,” she said. “I know you don’t know me—anymore—but I’m still your friend. And I want to help you.”
“So you aren’t freaked out by what I do?” I asked. I couldn’t bring myself to give her back the photos just yet.
She laughed. “It’s weird, I won’t lie. But I can handle it. I’ll figure it out. I’m just happy you’re alive.”
What else could I say? “OK, it’s all good then. I’ll tell Brinkley.”
Someone knocked on the door and I looked up to find three smiling faces.
“Come on in,” Ally said. “You guys look great.”
The mom and dad still had dark circles under their eyes, but Emma looked great. Maybe Ally was just being nice.
“You did it!” Emma cried and skipped to the side of my bed giggling. I awkwardly returned her hug while her mother reprimanded her.
“Come on, Emma,” her mother said. “Give her room to breathe.”
“How’s Winston?” I asked.
“He’s good. The veterinarian gave him oxygen just like the doctors gave us,” Emma said.
“They won’t let us have him or any of the other pugs until we fix the water heater,” the father said.
“Is that what caused the CO leak?” Ally asked. I caught myself staring at her, trying to remember her from before. A sadness hardened my chest when I realized I couldn’t.
“The water heater wasn’t properly ventilated,” the dad confirmed.
“I wish they’d give Winston back,” Emma whined.
“Who has him?” I asked. Thoughts of the high-kill shelter raced through my head.
“The pug rescue took him back,” the mother said.
“Winston is a foster dog?” Ally said with quite a bit of enthusiasm. When I gave her a puzzled look, she added. “So he is available for adoption?”
The mother smiled. “Yes. We love to foster the dogs, but we sure hope Winston will find his forever home.”
Emma didn’t look like she wanted that at all.
“Emma,” I said. “I want to ask you for a big favor.”
“Sure,” Emma said. “You saved my life.”
Ally laughed at the kid’s gusto.
“Are you sure? It’s a pretty big favor,” I said.
She placed a hand on her heart. “I promise.”
I took a deep breath. “Can I have Winston?”
For just an instant, her face crumpled. Then her dad squeezed her shoulder. “Remember what I said?”
Emma nodded. “Sometimes we’ve got to let people go, especially if we love them because we want them to be happy. They aren’t meant to be with us forever.”
When she said this, I couldn’t help but think of Rachel.
I fed Winston a celebratory potato chip. We were celebrating a couple of things. First of all, that he was officially mine. After a few weeks of interviews, house visits and talks, the Metro pug rescue agreed to give Winston over to me permanently. I had the signed papers to prove it.
And Winston seemed pretty happy about our new arrangement. Or maybe it was just the potato chips.
We were also celebrating the fact that I’d finally unpacked the last box from my apartment and was officially settled into my new house.
As if Winston and I needed any excuse to share a bowl of chips.
Ally came through the front door and called out to announce her arrival. I heard her keys hit the table by the front door before she appeared in the living room.
“You two look cozy,” she said and handed me a stack of mail before plucking a chip from the bowl. “And I see the last of the furniture has arrived. It looks good in here.”
“You’ve got good taste,” I said and she did a little bow for show.
Winston pawed at my hand and I gave him another chip. I caught Ally’s glare and knew she wanted to reprimand me for feeding him junk. Instead she only smiled.
“I suppose he deserves to be spoiled a little,” she said.
“His barking did wake us up and save our lives,” I said. I don’t point out that I would’ve survived anyway, but I would’ve also been all alone again. I wasn’t ready for that.
I pinched Winston’s jowls and shook them. “Who says you have to be a big beefy badass in order to save the day?”
Ally laughed at us.
“What?”
“I think you made a good choice,” she said.
“With the house?”
“And with Mr. Churchill here. You guys are a lot alike.”
“Are you saying I have jowls?” I asked.
“No, but you share many other amiable traits. You’re both a lot of gusto in a little space. You’re both protective.”
We both have mysterious pasts, I thought. Neither Winston nor I knew where we came from. Well, maybe he knew but he wasn’t telling anyone, and that was OK. Because we had each other now—me, Ally, and Winston.
I didn’t know how long now would last. Maybe I’d have to let them go someday, like I had to let Rachel go. I’d worry about that later.
For now, life was good.