Grave Intentions Read online

  Dr. Patel picked up his pen again, clicking it a few more times before setting it back down. “For the short term, I’d like to increase the dosage of her medication. With your permission, of course.”

  “What would it do to her?” Sarah asked, the memory of her mother in an antipsychotic stupor still fresh in her mind. The last thing she wanted was a repeat performance by her grandmother. “I don’t want her drugged senseless.”

  “She won’t be,” Patel said with a shake of his head. “I firmly believe in quality versus quantity of life, Ms. Griffith. The increased dosage would only serve to calm her down and make her less prone to episodes like the one we witnessed earlier today.”

  Sarah fell quiet for a moment, weighing her options. In the past six months, she’d come to respect Dr. Patel and valued his opinions. While he had the business acumen of a seasoned administrator, he was also a doctor, one deeply committed to the care of his patients. Which meant he didn’t strike her as the type to unnecessarily dope up little old ladies. Still, she bristled at the notion of drugging her grandmother into submission. While Pearl had her quirks, she was a warm, loving woman who deserved to live out the remainder of her life with some semblance of dignity.

  “Can I speak to her, please?” she asked. “Perhaps, if I talk to her, I can convince her to tone down the Miss Cleo routine.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” Patel asked, his expression doubtful.

  “If it doesn’t work, I’ll authorize the medication.” She flashed Patel a hopeful smile. “When can I see her?”

  “Can you believe this?” Pearl said when Sarah walked into her room. She set down the August edition of Reader’s Digest and slid off her reading glasses, letting them dangle from the silver chain around her neck. “The nerve of these people, sending me to my room like a petulant child!”

  “Grandma,” Sarah said, feeling awkward about lecturing the woman who’d raised her from the age of seven. At what point had the roles reversed? She honestly couldn’t say. The process had occurred so gradually over time, it almost seemed like a natural progression.

  She leaned over and gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. “You have to understand, you can’t go around telling people they’re about to die. You scared poor Dolores half to death.”

  “Nothing for her to be scared of,” Pearl said, her voice thin yet defiant. “Death is a natural part of life. I was just giving her the courtesy of an advance warning.”

  Sarah took the chair beside Pearl’s bed and set her purse on the floor. “And exactly how do you know Dolores is going to die tomorrow?”

  Pearl’s lips pressed into a pale, thin line. “Because, Gordon told me so.”

  Oh boy. She was pretty sure she knew where this was heading. “And who’s Gordon?”

  “Dolores’s husband. He died the end of last year. Poor fellow had a stroke, right after bingo,” Pearl replied, her fingers toying with the chain holding her glasses. “I saw a vision of him yesterday, out in the main hall. He told me he was happy because he and Dolores were going to be together again, real soon. I asked him when, and he said tomorrow afternoon.”

  Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered a barely audible, “Jesus Christ.” How come psychics never had any worthwhile visions, like next week’s Powerball numbers or the name of the winning horse in the Kentucky Derby?

  “You know I’m telling the truth!” Pearl spoke with such passion that for a moment Sarah understood why Dolores had taken her grandmother’s words so seriously.

  But she knew better.

  No, she knew there were no such things as ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. They were little more than the figments of an overactive imagination, an imagination now suffering from the ravages of mental decline. It made her heart ache.

  “Grandma,” she finally said, “You can’t go around telling people things like that.”

  “Why not?”

  She met her grandmother’s gaze then, hoping she could breach the divide and reach the sweet, rational woman buried beneath the psychosis. “Because Dr. Patel wants to sedate you if you keep causing trouble.”

  Pearl recoiled as if physically struck and Sarah felt like the biggest jerk on the planet.

  “Please, Grandma,” Sarah pleaded, desperate to keep her grandmother from a drug-induced haze. She knew it was impossible to convince Pearl that the visions were fabrications of her imagination, so she decided to try a different tact. “Can you just tone it down a bit? Just for a little while?”

  Pearl was silent for a long moment, studying her granddaughter with a critical eye. “I had a vision of you yesterday,” she finally said, a frown making the creases on her forehead more pronounced. “You’re going to meet a man soon.”

  Sarah fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew this trick all too well. “Meeting a man” meant anything from the man of her dreams to the guy who delivers her pizza. It could even mean her next-door neighbor, the blond with the steel gray eyes, the one who kept such odd hours she never knew when he was coming or going.

  As far as she was concerned, clairvoyants were nothing more than charlatans skilled in the art of reading people and telling them what they wanted to hear. As a child, she watched with awe while her grandmother practiced her trade with a confident flair, asking all the right questions and then using the information to her advantage, making grand predictions that could be interpreted a million different ways. And every time they ate it up and came back, begging for more.

  Back then she thought it was magical. Now she saw through the parlor tricks and sleight of hand.

  “Oh?” she said, doing a poor job at hiding her skepticism. “Any idea what this guy looks like? Does he have a name, so I don’t tell him to shove off when I meet him?”

  Judging by the pursed lips and narrowed eyes, Pearl was not amused. “You know it doesn’t work that way, Sarah. I just saw a vision of you with a young man, and you both looked very happy.”

  She was probably just happy to get her large pizza with extra pepperoni in thirty minutes or less.

  “Thanks, Grandma.” She leaned in and gave Pearl a hug. The warmth of the embrace brought her comfort, despite the frailness in her grandmother’s bones. “Now, will you please try to tone it down a little? Please? For me?”

  “Well, okay,” Pearl said reluctantly as she pulled back. She pressed a kiss to Sarah’s cheek then wiped away the smudge of pink lipstick left behind. “But I don’t know how long I can hold back my talents.”

  “That’s all I can ask for.”

  “Oh God,” Adam said after draining the rest of his beer, the despair thick in his throat. He stared down at the bottom of his mug with glassy eyes. “We have to do this every day?” His face twisted with horror. “Every fucking day?”

  “Pretty much,” David replied, his tone purposefully even. “Some days are harder than others.” With a nod, he signaled the bartender for another round. He didn’t have the heart to tell the poor bastard that today was one of the easier days. Better to save that little nugget of joy for a later occasion. “Think of it this way, kid. It beats the alternative.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “You want to find out?” David learned that particular lesson a long time ago. Back in his impetuous younger days, he’d challenged authority and asked the same question. And in return Samuel had sent him on a little field trip to the other side, the side he’d go to for eternity if judgment on his soul were rendered prematurely. The experience had enlightened him to the true nature of torment and degradation. He let loose an involuntary shudder at the memory of what he’d seen, of what he’d been subjected to.

  The bartender returned with a fresh round of drinks. Adam took a long pull from his beer, his focus fixed on the TV above the bar. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Sure you can.” Feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic, he clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. He’d never been any good with the comforting thing, but he figured it was wo
rth a try. “Look, we’ve all been in your shoes. I know you’re not going to believe me right now, but after a while, you get used to it.”

  Adam pulled the glass away from his mouth. He stared at David, his expression anything but convinced. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

  A faint smile creased the corners of David’s mouth. “Don’t blame you, kid. I didn’t believe my handler, either. But it’s the truth. Eventually, you’ll figure out your own way of coping.” He let out a sigh and raked a hand through his short blond hair. “We all do.” He raised his glass in a toast before tossing back the double shot of whiskey. The liquor blazed a trail down his throat, making his eyes water and reminding him for a brief moment that yes, he was indeed still alive.

  Technically.

  “How?” Adam caught David’s pale gaze in the mirror behind the bar. “How can anybody get used to what we did today?”

  “It’s different for everybody,” David replied with a shrug. He pointed to the opposite end of the bar. “You see the big guy over there by the dart boards?”

  Adam’s eyes squinted as he strained to see through the dim haze of smoke. “The one with the tattoo on the back of his neck?”

  “Yeah. That’s Dmitri. He copes by doing the extreme sports thing. You know, sky diving, bungee jumping, drag racing, shit like that.”

  “He’s a—” Not wanting to say “reaper” in a bar full of mortals, Adam paused to choose his words carefully. “He’s one of us?”

  “You got it.” David dug a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the bar and tossed them into his mouth. Still chewing, he gave Adam a little time to watch Dmitri close out his game with a double bull’s-eye. “And the guy playing eight ball with the floozy in the tube top?” He motioned toward the pool table. “That’s Martin. He specializes in bar fights and vigilantism. He’ll also fuck anything with a pulse and a port of entry, so I wouldn’t drop the soap around him, if you get my drift.” He let out a short snort of amusement at the deer-in-the-headlights look on Adam’s face.

  “Just how many of us are there?” Adam asked, looking more shell-shocked by the second.

  “Damn, Samuel didn’t tell you much during the orientation, did he?” David chuckled. Figures. Knowledge was power, and Samuel loved keeping his people in the dark. David leaned up against the bar and did a quick mental count. “I don’t know how many of us there are world-wide, but there’s seven of us in Metro Orlando.” It was the most they’d ever had in the area. But with the population boom in The City Beautiful, they’d had no choice but to increase their numbers.

  “And who do we have here?” a feminine voice said from behind.

  “Hello, Ruby,” David said, his voice taking on a tired tone.

  “Why hello there, Soldier Boy,” Ruby’s husky voice purred as she situated her willowy frame between the two barstools.

  Tonight, she was dressed to kill in black leather pants and a top so tight it fit her like a second skin. The choker around her neck was black lace, a bold contrast to her pale skin and vibrant auburn hair.

  She brushed up against David and he felt the warmth of her breast pressing against the fabric of his shirt. There was a time when her touch boiled his blood. But not anymore. No, it had been a long time since he’d felt much of anything. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, her breath warm against his ear.

  Here we go again. David signaled the bartender for the tab. “Ruby, this is Adam, the new kid. Adam, this is Ruby. She eats men for breakfast, so keep your distance.”

  “Don’t you listen to him,” Ruby said on the heels of a throaty laugh, shifting her weight so her body now leaned against Adam. Her green eyes glittered with amusement while she ran her fingers over the ridge of Adam’s ear. “He’s just mad because I won’t give him any loving.”

  David bit back the rebuttal perched on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “He’s had a rough day, Ruby. Give him a couple days to acclimate before sinking your claws in, okay?” He shot her a silent warning and she dropped her hand to her side.

  Applause erupted on the far end of the bar, where Martin had just pulled off some sort of intricate trick shot to win the game.

  “Well, I guess I’ll go see what Martin is up to,” Ruby drawled. She shot David a dark look before blowing a kiss to Adam. “See you later, boys.”

  Adam watched with expressed interest while Ruby sashayed across the bar, commanding the attention of every red-blooded male in the room. It didn’t take long before she had a drink in her hand and a man by her side. “Wow,” he murmured, “That’s one heck of a woman.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “So why did she call you Soldier Boy?” Adam asked a few minutes later when he swiveled back around to face the bar.

  “For the obvious reason.”

  “You were in the military?” Adam shifted in his seat and braced his forearms against the rail. “What branch?”

  “Army. 7th Infantry Division.”

  “When?”

  Damn, he was hoping to avoid this conversation until at least the end of the week. Talking about his past wasn’t anywhere on his list of favorite things. It always led to memories he had no interest in revisiting. “It’s not important.”

  “Oh, come on. Now I’m curious,” Adam persisted, perking up for the first time since their afternoon reaping. “Were you in Iraq?”

  “No, I served before then.”

  “Desert Storm?”

  “You’ll need to go back a bit further.”

  Adam’s brows furrowed. “Vietnam?”

  “Close, but no cigar.” David’s gaze slanted over to Adam, his lips fixed in a solemn line. “I was one of the Chosin Few.”

  It took the kid a few beats to catch the reference. Then his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Holy shit, you fought in fucking Korea?”

  “You got it.” A forgotten soldier from a forgotten war, who was later forgotten by everyone he’d ever known and loved, his lasting impression on the world a rectangular granite slab with his name and rank carved on it.

  David could almost hear the gears clicking in Adam’s brain while he mulled over this latest revelation. Then the full weight of the knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks and his features blanched.

  “You’ve been doing this shit for sixty years?” Adam’s eyes widened with horror, and he looked like he might hyperventilate. Or puke. At this point, it was hard to tell the difference. “Oh God. I can’t do this shit for sixty years.”

  “Yes you can,” David said, his voice clipped. “But I doubt you’ll have to.”

  Adam shot him a confused look. “Why?”

  “Because you only have the blood of one on your hands,” David said by way of explanation. “You won’t have to serve as long to clear your tab and move on to the next realm.”

  “Why?” Adam asked with unmasked curiosity. “What did you do?”

  David slammed back his drink, but it did little to quell the pain he felt inside. Images of the dead lingered in his mind, reminding him of times he’d rather forget. “Nothing I plan on talking about.” He pulled out his wallet and slapped two twenties on the bar. “It’s late, and you’re drunk. And we have an early start tomorrow.” He slid off the barstool and motioned toward the door. “Time to call it a night.”

  chapter 2

  “Rise and shine, Newbie,” David said as he walked past Adam’s rumpled form. “Time to face another fun-filled day of death and dismemberment.”

  He’d given the kid an extra half hour to sleep off the booze from the night before, but now they needed to get moving. When Adam mumbled something incoherent and burrowed deeper under the covers, David gave the end of the couch a solid kick. “Come on, get your ass in gear. We’re rolling out in twenty.”

  The covers shifted and Adam’s head popped out, squinting like a mole under a floodlight. He pushed himself up to a seated position and swung his legs over the side of the couch. Teeth gritted, he cradled his head in his hands and groaned. “Just kill
me now and get it over with.”

  “Too late. And you’re not getting off that easy.” David moved to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. In a rare act of mercy, he brought one over to Adam. “Here, it’s good and strong. It’ll help with the hangover.”

  “Thanks.” Adam accepted the mug and took a healthy swig. “You got any aspirin?”

  “Bathroom. Medicine cabinet, bottom shelf.” He watched while the kid gingerly eased up from the couch and lumbered toward the bathroom, coffee mug in hand. “And if you think you’re going to puke, do it now. I’ll kick your ass if you blow chunks in my ride.”

  Adam glanced back over his shoulder, his expression saying, “Drop dead,” but instead he uttered, “Thanks for the compassion.”

  David could have sworn he heard a muffled, “asshole” right before the bathroom door slammed shut.

  Fifteen minutes later the rookie emerged, clean-shaven and hair still wet from the shower but appearing slightly more human and a little less green around the gills. He set his empty coffee cup on the kitchen counter before moving back to the couch to lace up his shoes.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Define better.”

  “You still feel like heaving half your body weight?”

  Adam shook his head and winced. “Already did.”

  “Good, let’s move. We’ve got a busy day, four stiffs on the schedule.” David rinsed both mugs and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  “Four?” Adam paled.

  “Yeah, but between the two of us, it shouldn’t be too bad.” Besides, it wasn’t like they had much in the way of alternatives. Reap or damnation? When you boiled it down to the bare essentials, there was little left for debate. David stuffed his wallet in his back pocket and picked up his keys. “Two for me, and two for you. First stop’s at the railroad tracks down on Colonial. Give you three guesses how this one’s going to play out.”

  Here we go again.

  Sarah’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles turning white from the tension. It was bad enough she was twenty minutes late for work. Some idiot tried to beat the train near Colonial and the resulting wreck had shut down traffic in both directions. To make matters worse, now she had to contend with the Bambi Brigade, the latest, most rabid group of animal rights activists.