His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) Read Free

my palms were coated with sweat.
    Michelle .
    “Joshua,” I called out. Panicked, my eyes darted about the morgue. “Where is she?” They settled on the wall of body drawers. Not there , I thought, frantically. Please not there.
    Joshua walked into view, leaning on his cane. “She who, exactly?”
    I stood slowly, staring at the drawers. The sheet slipped down to the floor, leaving me naked. I didn’t care. The debilitating pain of earlier was all but gone; my joints and muscles felt tight and fatigued, but grudgingly serviceable.
    “Michelle.” I spoke the name softly, almost a whisper, as I stepped forward.
    Joshua followed along, content for the moment to let me take the lead. “Michelle?”
    I spun, turning on him angrily. “Damn it, Joshua…Michelle!  Michelle Harris!  I met her at Steve’s party!  You were right there, for God’s sake!”
    He stood resolute in the heat of my anger, searching my face. The gears turned almost visibly as he processed my venomous words.
    And then his eyes went wide.
    “Henry?” he asked tentatively. “Henry Richards?”
    Something in my mind clicked.
    Yes, that was my name…Henry Michael Richards. A sudden spike of joy pushed its way roughly between the fear for Michelle and my own anger and confusion. The resulting mix of emotion was dizzying. I barely managed a single slight nod before turning back toward the drawers.
    Joshua grasped my shoulder with a surprisingly firm hand, halting my forward progress. “She’s not there,” he said. “It’s been six months.”
    I faced him slowly, my mouth growing dry. “Excuse me?”
    “It’s July, Henry; you’ve been gone since January.”
    Six months.
    It wasn’t possible.
    I’d been with Michelle just minutes ago. The scent of her perfume still lingered in my thoughts. The memory of her fingertips tickled at the back of my hand.
    Joshua led me again to the autopsy table, where I sank down without struggle or complaint, lost in my own thoughts.
    Had I been in a coma? That could explain losing six months. He might be lying, of course, but what would he stand to gain? And there was my new, strange reflection…
    Plastic surgery? Some sort of accident?
    But then, how did I end up in the morgue, and why hadn’t Joshua known who I was?
    And where was Michelle?
    I opened my mouth to start asking questions, but Joshua beat me to the punch.
    “It’s only been six months, Henry. How did you get back so damn fast?”
    I was caught off guard by his incomprehensible question; my mouth still hanging open. I finally managed an, “Uh, what?”
    He continued on as if I hadn’t said anything at all, speaking to himself more than me. “The waiting list was almost ten years last time I checked. Hell, you can barely cross over in six months.”
    The more Joshua said, the less I understood.
    “Cross over?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Into the afterlife.”
    A flood of ice water spilled through my veins, chilling me to the very core. “Afterlife…you mean I’m dead?”
    Joshua shrugged. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.”
    The flames of anger began to grow once again. “A matter of…are you kidding me?”
    I pinched a generous amount of arm skin in demonstration. “I’m here, flesh and blood, talking to you. How can I possibly be dead?”
    He sighed heavily, settling onto the autopsy table beside me. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you, son?”
    The fire inside died as quickly as it had flamed into life, leaving a void filled only with loss and hopelessness. I shook my head slowly.
    Joshua grabbed a small mirror from the tray of surgical instruments, handing it to me. “You’re here, flesh and blood, Henry…but’s it’s not your flesh and it’s not your blood.”
    I raised the mirror slowly.
    The stranger once again stared back from the reflection.
    My new hair, while still brown, was shorter and a little lighter; it stood in a cool, slightly spiky style that the old me could never pull off. As