Dying by the Hour (A Jesse Sullivan Novel Book 2) Read Free

or scared, I send a shock out and BAM , electronics fail. So far I’ve only managed to blow up my own shit—bye, bye the possibility of morning toast or midnight margaritas, which is fine except now I’m blowing up other people’s shit.
    This is a serious problem.
    But I can’t fall apart over fried electronics. I have to do what I came up here to do. I relax against the side of Mr. Lovett’s desk and steady my breath. Once I feel somewhat together, I pull out a small Phillips-head screwdriver from my rainbow wig. I hold my hand above Mr. Lovett’s computer listening for any kind of electric static crackling around my skin. When I feel none, I start to disable his computer.
    Three of the six tiny screws are out of the computer, the ones that would release the hard drive from its little plastic nest, when all hell breaks loose.
    A wave hits me. I rock back on my heels, topple, and hit the wall. My shoulder brushes something and I hear a crash. I quit moving, knowing because I can’t see, I’ll only knock more shit over if I continue flailing blindly.
    “No, no, no ,” I whine as if that will make Julia’s death turn on its heels and leave. Because that is what I feel—Death come calling.
    I work faster.
    First I reach out for the desk, find its edge and pull myself back to the computer. In my hurried panic, I start dropping the little screws on the office rug.
    I have the last screw loose, but not completely out, when my vision changes.
    The world dissolves from its usual solid self into a shifting world of color. The only equivalent I can think of is heat sensory, like the way they show it on TV or in the movies where someone puts on special goggles and then the world turns into an orange-yellow-red blob. This isn’t exactly right, what I see in the moments before a death. I see more color and nuances, but it’s close enough that you get the idea.
    The problem with it happening now is two-fold. Problem one—I can’t see the last freaking screw anymore. I can’t clearly define anything , now that the world has reduced itself to something less substantial than an acid trip.
    Problem two, Julia Lovett is about to die and I’m not close enough to save her.
    I can feel her out there, moving around in the yard, feel the pull surrounding her, centering and drawing close. If she dies and I am not near her, she can’t be saved. Proximity is required for a death replacement.
    The only thing I can do now is force myself to focus.
    And even after my best effort, the colors are still there. I have to rely on my fingers, the feel of grooves against the tips just to figure out what I’m doing, really hoping that it is the hard drive I’m removing.
    I’m not a computer expert. I only know how to do this because Brinkley, my ex-handler, showed me on an old garage sale computer making me practice until I practically wept for a break.
    Finally, it falls free of its case. Clutching the stolen hard drive in one hand, I rush back toward the stairs. I can’t afford to be casual. I can’t afford to take my time or even stop to turn off the bathroom light or open the door. In fact, I’m forced to crawl down the stairs the way a baby would, butt first so I don’t fall. I make slow progress, but I can’t save Julia’s life if I break my own neck before even getting to her.
    Somehow I manage to make it back to the sliding kitchen door and see Ally on the other side. Sure she is a blur of color like everything else, but I know Ally. I know what she looks like even in this form. Maybe it’s because I’d saved her life once, or because she’s been on a bagillion replacements with me, or even because she’s my best friend. I don’t know or care as I pry open the glass and croak her name.
    Nothing.
    Louder: “ Ally .”
    She turns around and it must be the way I look because she comes running.
    “Are you—”
    “Here,” I say. I shove what I hope is the hard drive at her and step fully into the back yard.
    “Jesse, your