Death Becomes Me (Call Me Grim Book 2) (4 page)

I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at him. His black hair fans out over the pillow, framing his face. He studies me with a soft smile. Stubble shades his chin. I wish I had my sketch pad. He looks so beautiful like this. Peaceful. Content.

He closes his eyes as I lower my face to his and kiss him square on the lips. Soft and sweet. No tongue. No groping. It just needs to be a kiss. A real kiss. A kiss that says, “Yes, Aaron, I want to be with you. I want to be your girlfriend.”

I settle back into my position, curled up against him. He hugs me close and after a minute, a soft snore seeps from Aaron’s parted lips. I smile. It didn’t take him long. It’s a good thing, too. Not only am I worried about moving too fast with him, I’m exhausted down to the cellular level.

But there is one thing I need to ask him, and I don’t think it can wait until after we’ve slept.

“Aaron?” I nudge his side with my elbow.

“Hmmm.” His eyelids flutter, but remain closed.

“What do you think of this Bobby guy?”

“He’s all right.” His voice is thick with sleep. “Irresponsible, for sure—I wouldn’t have picked him to replace me—but he’s okay, I guess.”

“You don’t think he’s kind of a creep?” I clear my throat. “I mean, toward me?”

“Yeah, he pissed me off a bit there.” Aaron peeks at me, but his eyes drift closed before I can see his clear-blue irises. “I had to remind myself that he hasn’t spoken to a living girl since before World War Two. He’s probably lonely. I can relate. Until I met you, I had no one, too.” He hugs me closer for a moment. “And he apologized. I think he’s harmless.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I say, though I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not quite right with the guy. “But do you think we can trust him?”

“I think so.” He nuzzles his nose into my hair and inhales deeply. “Abaddon hates him, too. I mean, he’s got as much to lose by ratting us out as we do. Right?”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, hoping for a reaction, but his heart continues to beat steadily under my hand. “He could have everything to gain.”

Aaron’s silence worries me. I’m afraid he might have fallen asleep. I lift my head, preparing to shake him awake and make sure he heard me when he takes a deep breath and smooths my hair away from my forehead.

“We’ll only sleep for an hour, okay? Two hours, tops. Then we’ll go.” His shoulders lift as he readjusts himself. “Honestly, I don’t think I can run any more without some rest. I might collapse. If Bobby tells Abaddon we’re here, I’ll know it. I’ll feel him when he gets close. We’ll have time to run.”

That may be true, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

“But we’ll be asleep. Will that feeling wake you up?”

Aaron nods before I finish the question. “Ever since he tore me to shreds, I’m very aware of Abaddon.” He squeezes my arm gently. “Believe me, Libbi. I’ll wake up.”

Aaron’s muscles relax and his breathing slows, but I can’t fall asleep as quickly as he can. I’m not a hundred percent reassured that he’ll wake up if Abaddon comes creeping around. And the tock-tick-tock of the clock on the dresser isn’t helping at all. It sounds like the countdown on a time-bomb.

4

Libbi.

I shoot up from a restless sleep, dizzy and sweaty, heart pounding. The sweltering attic swims with waves of afternoon heat, which amplifies the reek of mothballs. I jump out of bed. Something woke me up, and it wasn’t the clock.

I heard my name.

No. I’m alone. Well, at least I think I am. Aaron’s side of the bed is empty.

A floorboard creaks and something slides across the wood floor. It wasn’t me. Ever since I leaped out of Bobby’s bed, I haven’t moved an inch. I’ve been frozen in place by my petrifying fear.

“Aaron?” My voice sounds small in the expanse of the attic. “Bobby? Is someone there?” I don’t dare whisper the name of the one I’m most terrified might be hiding in the attic.

“Oh, yeah.” Bobby’s voice drifts over the boxes. “I’m over here.”

I sigh heavily and allow my muscles to relax.

Down the winding middle aisle, I follow the sound of Bobby’s voice. My fingers catch on a multitude of knots as I comb them through my sweaty hair, trying to wrangle the frizz. I pass the attic stairs in the middle of the house and glance down at the tightly closed door at the bottom. I could crack the door a bit and let some of the heat out of this oven, but it probably wouldn’t help much.

Bobby sits in an ancient rocking chair at the opposite end of the attic with a dusty box of photographs on his lap. He pinches one black and white photo between two fingers as he gazes out the circular window next to him. A frown tugs at his features.

“What’s that?” I gesture to the photo in his hand.

“Oh, just an old photograph.” He holds it out so I can see it.

The corner of the sepia photo curls around his finger. The image is yellow with age, but there’s no mistaking at least one of the people in the picture. Bobby stands barefoot on a dirt road, a fishing rod in one hand and his pants rolled up to his knees. His arm is draped around the shoulders of another, younger boy. They share the same dark eyes, long faces, and mischievous grins. Heck, they even have the same part in their hair.

“Your brother?” I ask softly.

“Yeah. His name was Ralphie.” He snatches the picture back and his eyes soften as his gaze drops down to it. “He’s dead now, but this house was his, and now it’s his great-granddaughter’s house.” He glances back up at me and smiles. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

He probably did. It was probably Bobby who called my name, but I shake my head anyway and turn back to the attic door. I wonder where Aaron went off to. If I thought sleeping in Bobby’s bed was weird, being closed up alone in the sweltering attic with him is infinitely worse.

“Where’s Aaron?”

“Taking a shower,” Bobby says smoothly.

“Ah.” I turn to leave.

“Where did you say you’re from?” he says before I walk away.

“What?” I say, though I heard him just fine.

“I said, where are you from?” he repeats and gives me a small smile.

“Carroll Falls, Pennsylvania.” I say and turn away again.

“Do you miss it? Your family? Your friends?” His eyebrows lift with curiosity. “What was the kid’s name? The one that took over for Aaron? Was it Caleb?”

“Kyle.” I correct him. “And yes, of course I miss them.”

“I miss mine, too.” He shakes the picture in his hand like he’s putting out a match and slips it in the box with the rest. “I would love to see them again, you know? But they’re all gone. Either dead, or might as well be.” He places the box on the floor at his feet and sighs.

“I’m sorry.” My shoulders drop as sympathy swells in my chest. Poor Bobby. His career as a Reaper has been just as lonely as Aaron’s has been, and two times longer.

“Would you like to talk to him?” Bobby’s dark eyes meet mine. “Kyle, I mean.” He twists the silver ring on his right thumb—his Scythe, his shackle—and his eyes drift closed. “Hmm … Carroll Falls, Pennsylvania … Kyle,” he says and his eyes move back and forth under his lids like he’s searching for something in the darkness. “Ah-ha. There he is. He’s with a little boy. Some kid named Max. Redhead. Cute kid. They’re sitting on a porch swing. I smell lilacs.”

My breath catches. With the Scythe, Bobby can see Kyle and Max. He can see my house. He can smell the damned lilac bushes by the driveway. It’s not much of a stretch to think he could talk to Kyle, too.

And, God, I want to talk to him. We only left town last night, but I already miss them both. Plus, Aaron was worried that we might have to run home to Carroll Falls in a hurry. It seems important to know if I can find a Reaper with a Scythe and warn Kyle if something big is happening.

“You can do that? You can let me talk to him?”

“Certainly,” he says. “It takes a lot out of us to do it, but all Reapers can.” He glances down to my empty right thumb. “If they have a Scythe, that is.”

Bobby stands and the rocking chair rocks back. He catches it before it smacks into a stack of boxes. “But, you’ll have to hold my hands.” He opens his palms to me. I expect his eyes to wander down my body like they did in the diner, but they stay focused on mine.

This is not the Bobby I met at the diner this morning. That guy was a slime-ball with one thing in mind. This guy is different. He smiles at me with his eyebrows raised, like he knows he offended me before and he wants to make it right.

And maybe he does. Aaron’s only been a Reaper for forty years and sometimes he forgets how to interact with living people. How much worse must it be for Bobby? He’s been alone for more than eighty years. It might not be a good excuse to act like a scuzzbucket, but it is an excuse.

I stand in front of him and slip my hands into his. His fingers close around mine.

His Scythe sparks and then blazes with light. Snakelike tendrils of smoke drift from his fingertips and slide over my wrists. They crawl and twist up my arms and connect in the center of my body.

“Close your eyes, Libbi,” he says, but I give him a pointed stare.

“Fat chance.” I don’t trust him enough to close my eyes.

“To each his, or her, own.” He shrugs and closes his eyes.

Something stirs in my chest. Whatever it was that was near my heart—the deep, aching tug I felt the first time Aaron showed me how to use the Scythe to connect to the Death Plan—pulses and pulls inside of me. I’m yanked forward. The room blurs and whirls and I know I’m going to be sick. I squeeze my eyes closed and feel my soul moving out of my body, like I’m being sucked through a straw. Stretching. Spinning. Dizzy.

Then it stops.

Bright afternoon sunlight assaults my eyes and flickers in Max’s coppery hair. The sweet scent of lilacs drifts on the air as we rock back and forth on the porch swing.

I’m home. Holy crap, I’m home.

“Kyle? Are you okay?” Max passes his hands in front of my eyes. “Earth to Kyle.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My lips move, but I didn’t say anything. The voice coming from my throat is deep, smooth, and familiar. It belongs to Kyle. I’m inside Kyle’s body.

Kyle?
I say inside of my head.

“Libbi?” My lips move again, but it’s Kyle that speaks. My fingers brush the cool metal of the Scythe on my thumb. No, Kyle’s fingers. Kyle’s thumb. “Are you, like, inside my body?” he says.

I don’t know,
I think.
I think so.

Kyle’s surprise overwhelms me and I can’t tell where my feelings end and his start. He’s speechless, and because I can’t seem to separate my feelings from his, so am I.

“Let me help you two out here,” Bobby says impatiently. His voice comes from Kyle’s mouth now. “I’m Bobby, a Reaper in another territory, and I agreed to let Libbi use my Scythe to talk to you. So, talk.”

“Max?” I say tentatively, using Kyle’s mouth, but what comes out is my voice this time. It seems the voice coming from Kyle’s lips belongs to whoever has control of his vocal cords.

Max frowns and leans back, either amused or afraid.

I can only imagine how weird this looks. Kyle is a good-looking guy, for sure—toned drummer’s body, thick curly blond hair and dark brown eyes—but he is definitely not a pretty-boy. A girl’s voice coming from his lips must look insane.

“It’s me, Max. It’s Libbi.”

Max’s eyes grow to the size of golf balls and his jaw goes slack. “Libbi? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, buckaroo, it’s really me.” I use Kyle’s hand to ruffle Max’s hair, like I’ve done thousands of times over the years, but he pulls away and eyes me skeptically.

“Really, really? What happened to Kyle?” He leans in and examines my eyes. “You’re not Abaddon in disguise, are you?”

“No. It’s me. I promise.” I give him the most reassuring smile I can muster while using someone else’s face. “I can prove it. Ask me something only I would know.”

“Okay …” He frowns and the freckles between his eyes scrunch together. “Last week, you gave me something of yours. Something I’ve always wanted. Something really cool. What was it?”

“My Alaskan meteorite,” I say with no hesitation.

“Right,” he says, and his scowl relaxes slightly, but it’s still there. “You got hurt last week. Where did you get hurt and how many stitches did you get?”

“I slipped on the porch and glass sliced open my arm. I got seven stitches, which you thought was awesome.”

“It
is
you.” The kid falls into me. He throws his arms around me and hugs me like he hasn’t seen me in ages. I press my cheek to his head, hugging him back fiercely. If I had known how wonderful it would feel to hug my little brother, I would have done it more when I had the chance. “How did you get inside of Kyle?”

“Yeah.” Kyle speaks up. He reaches to his back pocket and pulls out one of his drumsticks. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” I hold up Kyle’s right hand and Aaron’s Scythe glints in the sunlight. “I think it has something to do with this.”

“Right. It’s the Scythe,” Bobby says. “It connects us to the Death Plan and to other Reapers. I’m surprised Aaron never told you.”

“I don’t think he knows.” I study the Scythe on Kyle’s thumb. It’s amazing how sharp and dangerous the thing looks, even in ring form.

“Whoa. This is really weird.” Kyle takes control of his hands. He beats a steady, nervous rhythm on his thigh with his drumstick as he touches his face with his free hand. It feels like he’s caressing my cheek. “So, you must have got out of Carroll Falls in one piece. I guess I don’t have to kill Aaron after all.”

“Yeah, we got out. No killing necessary.” I wish Kyle could see the scowl I’m putting on his face, because it’s a good one.

Kyle’s hand drops to his lap and I quickly move it to his side. It’s bad enough I kissed him when I didn’t really like him like that, but having our shared hand so close to his, umm … Well, I don’t want there to be any confusion.

“Sorry,” he says and our cheeks flush with heat.

His gaze drifts over the porch railing. My hunk of metal on wheels sits abandoned in the driveway, and next to it is the empty spot where Mom’s car belongs. “How’s Mom?”

“She’s freaking out.” Max’s face turns paper white and his freckles look like Dalmatian spots against his pale cheeks. He twists the end of his shirt in his fingers. It’s a habit he picked up from me. “She’s at the police station now, with Haley. She keeps crying. I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing you can do except be there for her.” I smooth his hair down. “Since I can’t be.”

It could be worse. I could be stuck in Carroll Falls, invisible, powerless, and forced to watch my mother meltdown by myself. Instead, my brother has to watch it. At least he has Kyle and Haley. Well, in a few days he’ll only have Haley, but that’s better than no one.

“I’ll write her another letter, soon,” I say. “Just tell her not to worry about me. I’m safe.”

“I already told her that. I don’t think she believes me.”

“Maybe I’ll call her and tell her myself.”

“That would be good.” Max gives me a soft smile and I almost pull him into another bear hug, but I hate to be too touchy feely with him when I’m using someone else’s body.

“Speaking of Haley …” I clear my throat. “How is she taking all of this?”

“She’s not.” Kyle’s drumstick assault on his thigh quickens and the skin under his jeans stings. I often wondered if Kyle hurt himself when he did this. Now, I know. It burns like hell. “She refuses to believe anything you and I told her. She thinks I’m a drunk and a druggie and that you lost your mind and ran away.” He seizes the drumstick in his hand and slams it down on the wooden seat of the porch swing. The seat vibrates with the force and I breathe a sigh of relief that he decided to do that to the wood and not his leg. “It just makes me so mad that she’d think I’d lie to her. You know? Like I could make something like this up. I’m her twin brother. She’s supposed to believe me. She’s always believed me. And now, she’s wasting the last week I have with her avoiding me.”

“I’m sorry, Kyle.” It sounds stupid and pointless, but what else can I say?

“The only good thing is she’s been helping your mom a lot.” He slips the drumstick back in his pocket, thank goodness. “Going with her to the police station. Putting up flyers. Your mom seems to appreciate it.”