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

shoes,” she says.
    “No time.” I’m already walking to the edge of the brick patio stretching like a giant doormat away from the kitchen entrance. I’m searching the yard for Julia.
    I find her colorful blur twirling again and I know it is her, because something isn’t quite right with her “thermal” reading. A menacing black blur mars her color. She’s out by the fence and I can’t see anything around her that’s of danger. But I know better than to let that assumption stop me. Something can fall from the sky at any second. Some insane driver could crash through that white fence. Hell, little Julia could be having a heart attack from all that twirling.
    I run through the soggy grass, my socks soaking up the cold rainwater curling my toes. I run and Ally follows, but not too close, yelling, “Everyone back up, please!” She knows to do crowd control and create as much distance between me and the others as possible. I have no idea if it works. I can’t afford to focus on anything but Julia.
    At this point I am running across the yard, arms out to grab her. Julia must see me coming and stops twirling for long enough to scream and run in the other direction. It isn’t until I hear her screaming “Mommy the clown! Mommy!” that I realize I am the one terrifying her, a clown with a manically determined expression, rushing her at full speed.
    “Come here!” I yell, unable to pretend like this was anything but urgent. “We don’t have time for this.”
    And of course I’m right.
    I hear Ally yelling. Something unclear, directed at Regina. People always want to rush in and save their loved ones from dying, but it only gets in the way and causes more causalities. After all, I can only replace one person at a time.
    Death is different for everyone. And I see it differently for everyone.
    Sometimes I see death as a tiny black hole created inside a person, an empty swirling vortex sucking all the warm, living colors out of a person, leaving nothing behind that can survive.
    Sometimes a hot-cold chill settles into the muscles in my back and coils around my navel before yanking me down into oblivion.
    Then there are deaths like Julia Lovett’s.
    A death where I just have to throw myself out there and hope it works out. No vision guidance. No conscious effort on my part. Just faith that being who I am, what I am, the exchange will happen.
    Julia has almost reached the fence when I grab ahold of her. I hold her against my scratchy polka-dotted jumper while she screams and flails. I try to say soothing things: “I’m not going to hurt you. Gee- zus . Calm down!” My best efforts fall short as I look up and see my worst nightmare.
    A tall, stupidly beautiful man dressed in a three piece suit, strides across Julia’s yard toward us. With determined, dedicated steps, he unfurls his black wings on either side of him as he closes the distance between us. I haven’t seen that shaggy dark hair or those animalistic green eyes in a year. And now here he is, walking straight toward me again .
    “Awww, shit ,” I say.
    Julia quits squirming in my arms and turns her wide eyes up to mine. Her mouth is open in horror as if my profanity is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.
    But before I can apologize or even comprehend what’s happening, something hard and heavy slams us from behind. And Gabriel, Ally, and the whole world is gone.

Ally
     
    J esse’s legs protrude from under the tree as if pantomiming a bizarre Wicked Witch of the West scene. It’s the shrill cry piercing my ears that sharpens my focus and it breaks the spell of the polka dotted legs lying so still in the mud.
    I whirl to find several mothers clutching their children. Regina is closest to me. She stares at the tree in horror. Her hands are cupped over her mouth and her eyes are rimmed with tears.
    “Regina,” I say softly. I get very close to her so she is forced to look away from the tree. “Will you help me?”
    She doesn’t