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

before, I was probably a couple inches over six foot and about two hundred pounds, but the outline of my body appeared more chiseled, with better definition.
    I’d been heavily freckled my entire life, but my complexion was now even and clear. The face was thinner, and more ruggedly handsome. The old me was thirty-four; the new Henry might be the same age, but he was less worn down by the years.
    This was not plastic surgery. Really and truly, I was in a new body.
    Another person’s body.
    A wave of revulsion washed over me.
    I laid the mirror on the table between us, glass down. “What the hell is going on, Joshua?”
    “You died on the fourth of January, Henry. I attended your funeral…they buried you right beside your father.” Joshua stopped for a minute, tears filling his eyes.
    It had never occurred to me that he and my dad might have been close; as a child, you fail to notice those sorts of things.
    He wiped his eyes and continued on. “When a person dies, their soul crosses over. That usually takes six to nine months, but can take years for some people. When they arrive on the other side, they’re given a choice: continue on to their faith-specific final destination or, as an Agent, return here to Earth. There’s a wide variety of very necessary jobs among the living filled by Agents from the afterlife.”
    “Like Reapers?” I asked doubtfully.
    Joshua nodded. “Yes, and angels, and demons, and so many others you’d never imagine. Most souls choose to continue on, but a lot want to come back; there’s a waiting list years long. When your turn comes up, you either accept the position you’re offered or go back to the end of the line to start waiting all over again.”
    I could feel the corners of my lips pull down and my forehead furrow. “But it’s always a choice?”
    He nodded again. “Yes, your choice to be on the waiting list, your choice to accept a position or not.”
    “So,” I took a long, deep breath, “why didn’t I get a choice?”
    Joshua frowned again, deeply. “Of course you got a choice, Henry. You just don’t remember it, right now.”
    I shook my head. “I was drifting upward—I remember that. I remember the sudden change in direction—the painful tumble back down. There was no one else until I woke up here, with you.”
    He looked shocked. “But they must have given you a choice. They couldn’t…” He trailed off, thinking for a moment. “Are you sure?”
    I locked eyes with Joshua. “No one gave me a choice—and I want to know what’s going on.”
    Joshua shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, and that…well, damn it, Henry, that worries me.”
    The ensuing silence was long and heavy, almost oppressive. It was all so much to process; I didn’t know where to begin. The idea of wearing another man’s body made my skin crawl—and then I realized it wasn’t my skin crawling, which only made the whole thing worse.
    “There’s clearly been a mistake, Joshua. I’m no Reaper.”
    “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “At the very least, there’s something damn unusual going on.” Joshua looked thoughtfully across the room. “But there is one quick way to get some answers now.” Using his cane to help him stand, he walked to a desk by the door. Bending down, he pulled a large bundle wrapped in brown paper from beneath it. “Try this on.” He tossed the package across the room.
    It was much too large for jeans and a t-shirt, landing heavily in my hands. I tore away the paper to reveal enough rough black canvas to cover an elephant.
    “You seriously want me to wear a tent?”
    Joshua shook his head. “Put it on.”
    “A damn morbid circus tent.” Shaking out the folds of canvas exposed a monstrous black robe with two arms and a hood. It might actually be fairly stylish, were I a twelve-foot-tall, penniless monk.
    In the Middle Ages.
    I glanced up, ready to object again.
    Joshua glowered at me, nervousness tightening the corners of his eyes.
    His tension was