“Oh, I don’t think you really mean that,” Death mused with a shake of his head. He dropped his cigarette onto the ground and snubbed it out with the toe of his boot. “I think you’re interested in what I have to say.”
“I-I . . . I’m not—”
“Let’s take a little walk, shall we?”
Death had a sudden vise-like grip on my arm and began pulling me right into the middle of oncoming traffic.
“What, are you crazy?” I shrieked, trying to yank my arm out of his iron grasp. “You’re going to get us killed!”
Death let out an annoyed sigh, sinking his nails into my arm. “Oh, do be quiet, will you? I know when you’re going to die, and I can assure you, it’s not going to be tonight.”
Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring.
Death stepped up onto the sidewalk across the street and set off walking at a brisk pace, all but dragging me along behind him. I tried digging my heels into the ground, relentlessly tugging at my arm, but I was afraid that if I struggled any further I would end up breaking a bone. I thought about screaming at the top of my lungs, maybe making a grab at someone walking by, but not one person on the sidewalk would even meet my eyes. It was as if they were completely oblivious to the teenage girl being dragged down the street by some man who looked like an extra from Interview with the Vampire.
We made it two blocks before Death abruptly stopped and bent down to mutter in my ear, “You and I both know I’ll just catch you and drag you back by your hair if you try to make a run for it. So I suggest you play along for now, hmm?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back the bile rising in my throat. I did not consider myself a wimp. I was a New Yorker; I could look after myself. But right at that moment? I wasn’t sure if I had ever been so frightened in my entire life.
“Fine,” I said, my voice more like a squeak.
“Good girl.”
I stopped trying to bolt, even though the urge had now become overwhelming.
By the time Death finally stopped walking, my feet ached inside my heels. “Here we are,” Death said, pulling the door to a Starbucks open with a little flourish.
I stumbled my way into the coffee shop, holding my arms tightly around myself. This had to be some strange, terrifying nightmare; had a guy claiming to be Death really just shown up at my classmate’s funeral to escort me all the way to a Starbucks? Death’s hands descended on my shoulders and forcefully steered me up to the front counter. The girl at the register looked up with a cheery smile that was immediately wiped clean once she laid eyes on Death.
“Erh . . .”
“Good evening,” Death said, his tone suddenly formal. “We’d like two black coffees, please.”
The girl nodded robotically, fumbling around for the cups with shaking hands. Death slid a crisp ten-dollar bill across the counter, smiling kindly. “No change.”
“Erhm . . . thank you.”
From the way the girl stumbled around, not meeting our eyes, it was obvious my plan of mouthing help me was not going to work. I grabbed the two coffee cups when the girl handed them over, and Death steered me over to a table by the window that sat beneath a row of paper snowflakes. My stomach did a little flip-flop when Death took a seat, the fluorescent lighting above casting his face into brighter light.
It was like looking at someone terminally ill; his skin was the color of parchment, which stretched taut across his sharp cheekbones, and his eyes were sunken in. No wonder he went by Death. He looked like it. Even stranger were the black markings crisscrossing every inch of his hands, slipping up the sleeves of his jacket, and creeping under the collar of his shirt. It took me a second to realize that the markings were actually small, crudely shaped clocks.
Death’s lips twisted into a grim smile as he stared up at me, gesturing to the seat across the small table from him. As he moved his arm, I could’ve sworn I saw the tiny hands on each of the clocks moving. “Have a seat.”
I carefully lowered myself into the seat, clutching my cup of coffee. “Right.” I cleared my throat, hoping to muster up even the smallest amount of courage to get through whatever this was. “What is this about?”
Death set his coffee cup down and clasped his hands together, leaning across the table toward me. “I thought we could have little chat about Archer Morales.”
I downed a swallow of coffee, the hot liquid scalding my throat, and shuddered at the bitter taste. “I’m not . . .” I grasped the coffee cup compulsively. “I think you’re . . .” I wasn’t sure if I was tongue-tied because of this situation with Death, or because Death wanted to talk about Archer Morales. “I . . . I really think I should be—”
Death’s hand was on my shoulder, forcing me back into my chair before I’d even gotten to my feet.
“Listen closely, Hadley, because I’m only going to say this once. I am going to offer you the chance to go back in time twenty-seven days to prevent Archer Morales from ending his life.”
It was quite possible that my heart stopped beating in the silence that fell after Death’s words. He wanted me to do what?
“Sorry, what did you just say?”
“I told you I was only going to say it once.”
“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Somehow, I’d gotten up, and I was leaning across the table, getting right into Death’s face. “Do you think it’s funny that one of my classmates killed himself?”
Death stared at me with a blank look before suddenly bursting into laughter.
It was all I could do to keep from grabbing my coffee and throwing it in his face.
“On the contrary, Hadley,” he said after a moment, still chuckling. “I find this to be a very serious matter.”
He snapped his fingers.
What followed had to be the strangest thing I’d ever seen before. The effect was slow moving, like rolling fog, but one by one, every last person in Starbucks froze right in the middle of whatever they had been doing. The stream of liquid pouring from an espresso maker remained suspended in midair. A woman in the process of blowing her nose was stuck with her face screwed up in an awkward expression. A man and a woman stepping into the shop, wih a little boy in between them clutching at their hands, were stopped right in the middle of the doorway, and a cold breeze was wafting in from outside.
“What . . .”
“I assure you, I’m quite serious about this,” Death said, resting his chin on his clasped hands. “Now, would you mind sitting down so we can have a calm, rational discussion?”
I dropped into my chair, my legs unable to keep supporting me. Pinching myself seemed like a good idea, but I couldn’t get my arm and hand to cooperate.
“How . . .” I swallowed again, trying to think of what to say.
“How do I stop time?” Death finished for me. “Well, that’s just part of the job description.” He shrugged, sipping at his coffee. “It’s such a shame, isn’t it? Archer Morales was really a very good kid. Came from a nice family. Mama’s boy. Loved his little sister. And you, Hadley Jamison, don’t want him dead.”
“Of course I don’t,” I snapped.
“The gift of life is valuable, something to be treasured,” Death continued. “And it’s a travesty when something like that is snatched away too early. I’ve been around for thousands of years, seen thousands of things, but I have never seen something as terrible as a soul being taken away when it didn’t need to be. So, tell me, Hadley. If you had the chance to prevent something bad from happening, despite everything you were afraid of and what might happen . . . would you do it?”
I thought of Archer Morales and everything he’d lost. He was never going to get to go to prom or graduate high school or go to college, or to meet the love of his life, get married, maybe have kids, see the world or change the world.
I thought of Regina, Archer’s mother, and his little sister Rosie and how she didn’t yet understand her brother was gone. Just how badly he was going to be missed.
How could I not do this? Even if I was simpl
y playing along with some madman who had the power to freeze time.
“Okay.”
Death gave me a curious look. “Okay . . . what?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll do it. Whatever it is I need to do to . . . to save Archer.”
“Is that right?”
I nodded, not trusting my ability to speak.
Death kept his eyes fixed on me for several moments as I simply sat there, trying to convince myself that this was real, and that maybe, just maybe, I really was being given the opportunity to save Archer.
“I’m not going to promise you this is going to be easy.”
“I’m not stupid enough to think that.”
“Smart girl.”
He reached into his leather jacket and came up with a stack of tightly furled papers, which he dropped onto the table in front of me.
“A contract?” That small bit of movie cliché seemed so utterly ludicrous in the midst of this more-than-serious situation. “But I thought—”
“Humor me.”
I slid the stack of papers toward me and glanced down at the first page. “Just how, exactly, am I supposed to read this contract if I can’t even read what it’s written in?” I pointed out, tapping my finger on the paper. “All these weird black symbols weren’t something they taught us to read in kindergarten.”
“English isn’t the only language in the world. This whole contract is just a formality as it is,” Death assured me. “Trust me.”
“And why should I trust you?”
He reached a hand inside his jacket again and came up with a pen. he held it out for me to take. “Just another leap of faith.”
I was beginning to get the feeling I would be doing a fair few leaps of faith if I signed my name on the contract Death was offering.
“My father is a lawyer, you know,” I said. “I’m not stupid enough to just sign away on the dotted line without knowing what the catch is.”
“There is no catch,” Death said, eyebrows raised, a shocked expression on his face, like he couldn’t believe I would even think about suggesting he was messing with me. “I would never lie.”
That was obviously sarcasm, and I decided not to comment on it. And I knew nothing about Death, but it was obvious the man was anything but human. His attempt at trying to convince me he was one was laughable.
“The longer you drag this out, the more difficult it’ll be to send you back. Archer’s already been gone two days.”
The mention of Archer was enough to make me snatch the pen and flip to the last page. I spent a tense moment of hesitation before I scribbled my name down on the appropriate line, then shoved the stack of papers back across the table at Death.
“Now what’s supposed to happen?” I demanded. “And why do I only have twenty-seven days?”
Twenty-seven days didn’t seem like it would be enough time to convince someone they didn’t need to end their life. It didn’t seem like there would ever be enough time in the world to convince someone they didn’t need to end their life.
“The time allotted in each contract is never the same,” Death told me as he reached over to grab the papers and shove them back into his jacket. “In this case, twenty-seven days is the amount of time it took Archer Morales to first consider taking his own life and then to finally go through with it.”
My heart lurched in my chest, and it took a moment of deep breathing to not feel like I was about to burst into tears again. I didn’t want to think of what that must have felt like for Archer.
“But I should warn you,” Death said, drawing me away from my painful thoughts.
Of course there had to be that little afterthought, something he’d failed to mention until after I’d already signed the contract.
“Warn me about what?” I asked hesitantly.
“There are things in this world that have a . . . set order,” Death said carefully, as if choosing his words. “And sometimes there are . . . things that aren’t too happy when that order is disrupted. Sometimes they don’t like it.”
It was obvious that Death was barely scratching the surface of his warning, and it was not comforting. If Death was one of those things out there in the world, what else might there be? “You could’ve mentioned that before I signed the contract, you know.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it too much,” Death answered. “Good luck, kid.”
He snapped his fingers again before I could protest, and everything went black.
CHAPTER 4
Let the Games Begin—27 Days Until
Excuse me, Miss Jamison? Miss Jamison? Miss Jamison!”
I jerked awake with a shout, nearly tumbling out of my seat and onto the floor.
Mr. Monroe, my annoying, balding American Government teacher, was hovering over me, disapproval written all over his face.
“Thank you for choosing to wake up and join the rest of the class, Miss Jamison,” he said disparagingly
“I’m sorry, Mr. Monroe, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I—”
My voice broke off as I took in my surroundings, realizing that I was sitting in the middle of my American Government classroom, surrounded by my snickering classmates, the date on the whiteboard boldly displayed in green marker for all to see.
November 11.
Everything came to a screeching halt and began to crash down around me. November 11. What? The last time I’d checked, it had been December 9th. I had just gone to Archer Morales’s funeral because he had committed suicide, and then I’d—made a deal with Death.
I’d made a deal with Death. Archer Morales had killed himself, and I’d made a deal with Death in order to stop him. Was I truly sitting in my American Government class twenty-seven days in the past?
“E-Excuse me, Mr. Monroe? I need to . . .” I stood, grabbed at my coat and bag, and stumbled my way toward the door. “I’ve got to . . .”
Make a run for it? Throw up? Pass out? Anything sounded better than staying in this classroom any longer.
I dashed down an empty hallway lined with lockers and banged my way into the girls’ restroom. I checked the stalls to make sure that the place really was empty, then collapsed against the counter, my breath coming out in sharp gasps.
I twisted the faucet on and splashed cold water in my face, thankful I wasn’t wearing makeup. Then, with another deep breath, I started at my reflection in the grimy mirror, hoping I would at least recognize myself.
It was a relief to see that I still looked like me; still a brunette with the same plain brown eyes and straight nose, but my cheeks were as pale as a sheet and the expression on my face was one of pure shock. I was even wearing a pair of jeans and a blouse I remembered wearing weeks ago and had last seen on the floor of my closet.
I distinctly remembered the air of depression hanging over the school the day we found out Archer killed himself, how empty and sad his funeral had been, and I definitely knew that I had met Archer’s mother, Regina, and his little sister, Rosie.
And there was no way, even in my worst nightmares, I could have imagined somebody like Death. I wouldn’t ever be able to forget his gaunt face or his unsettling smirk, the way he stared at me with those unnatural black eyes, or even those pages full of those weird, looping symbols that I’d been forced to sign—the contract.
“All right, Hadley,” I said to my reflection. “Either you just had some crazy dream, or this is all actually real and you’ve just time traveled.”
I felt ridiculous just saying those words aloud to myself. Good thing no one else was around to hear me talking to my reflection. I left the restroom and leaned against the wall outside, squeezing my eyes shut. I needed to come up with a plan, except my mind had gone spectacularly blank. I wasn’t a science fiction buff, and for all I knew there could be some set of time travel laws I was supposed to follow. I could’ve already broken a handful of them in the five minutes since I opened my eyes.
Was I supposed to go back to the church? Go back to that Starbucks, se
e if Death was still there, and try to contact him in some way?
And then the answer occurred to me so abruptly, I felt stupid for not having thought of it right away.
Look for Archer.
Even if this was all a dream—and I suddenly hoped it wasn’t and Archer was alive—I had to find him. Before I could really organize my thoughts into actions, I took off walking down the hallway, around a few corners, until I was breezing through into the library. Google had been invented for a reason, and I was going to take advantage of it.
I found an empty computer at one of the stations near the Nonfiction section and took a seat, using my school ID to log in.
Pulling up Google, I did a cursory glance to make sure no one was really paying attention to me, then typed in Manhattan, Archer Morales, obituary.
Hundreds of results popped up.
I scrolled through the first few links, but none of the articles or obituaries had any information I was looking for. No headlines saying Tragic Story of Local Teenager’s Suicide or Funeral Service Held for Young High School Student or anything. I spent a good ten minutes searching for any scrap of information that might prove useful, and when it turned out to be pointless, I logged off the computer.
What next, then? Wander the halls and peek into every classroom in the hope Archer might be in one of them? The bell rang loudly overhead, signaling the end of the class period. I checked the time on the wall clock beside me and realized that my lunch hour had just begun.
I left the library and followed the throng of students filing down the staircase and into the cafeteria. I jumped in the food line behind a gaggle of freshmen girls and snatched at the first batch of fries I could get my hands on.
“HADLEY! There you are!”
I turned at the voice and saw Taylor barreling her way through the line to my side.
“Where were you last night?” Taylor demanded, eyes narrowed at me. “I called your phone and texted you, like, a hundred times, and you didn’t answer! Did you forget we were supposed to go hang out at the Javabean?”
“You did?” I slipped my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages. I had three missed phone calls and nineteen unread text messages. “Oh. Sorry. I got caught up with my homework and I fell asleep early.”
In 27 Days Page 3
