The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

by Kelly Martin

  "I just want to talk. He owes me that much." Shane thanked her and walked in. He never stopped before he got to Drake's room. Not even stopping to knock, he threw the door open, and locked it behind him.

  Drake didn't even have time to react before Shane took him by the shirt and slammed him against the dark blue wall. It hurt his stitches, but he didn't exactly care at the moment. So much for talking.

  "I didn't mean for it to happen," Drake said before Shane could say anything.

  "You didn't mean to kill Lizzie or stab me?"

  "Lizzie was already dead."

  "If it wasn't for modern technology, I would be too. You stabbed me, Drake. What in the world, man?"

  "I didn't mean to. It was an accident. You just ran into it." Drake tried to push Shane off, but he refused to budge. It would have been so easy to snap Drake's neck.

  "Lizzie had a life too, and you took it from her."

  "She gave you the ring. Her choice. And my mother's still dying. We all have issues." Drake didn't sound snarky. In fact, he looked sincere. "I'm sorry about her, Shane. I really am, but I needed the ring."

  Shane smiled darkly. "You going to try to sweet talk me into giving it to you?"

  "Don't suppose it'll work. It's not like you need it."

  Shane appreciated his honesty. So much so in fact, he slammed Drake's head back against the wall as hard as he could.

  "What do you want?" Drake winced. His head had to be killing him. Shane knew the feeling. The knife Drake jabbed through his intestines hadn't exactly been a walk in the park.

  "You have a lot of money, right?"

  "Yeah…" He dragged out.

  "I need some money. A few hundred… and a plane ticket. Do that for me and maybe I can talk to your father about our little… accident."

  Shane didn't waste much time with Drake. He said his peace and left before he punched him to death. It wasn't that Drake didn't deserve it. He hit his sister, attacked Lizzie, and stabbed Shane. The boy deserved everything he got — and much more.

  But…

  "Everything okay?" Drake's mother asked from the living room as Shane came down the hall.

  "It is now." He grinned and headed for the door.

  On his way out, he placed the envelope he had in his pocket on the table by the door. Outside it read, Mrs. Samson. Wear it always.

  ****

  A week later, Shane stood in the barn with the plane ticket in his hand. He couldn't take his eyes off the floor. It was gone. Every bit of blood he'd spilt had been cleaned up like it had never happened. The scar on his stomach told a different tale.

  He stood in the barn, Lizzie's barn. It had just opened and he was the first visitor of the day. No one was around, though. Just him and his thoughts of Lizzie.

  Out of his pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and positioned it over the 'Lonely Lizzie' rhyme that had been on that beam as long as he could remember. After placing a few nails he'd found in the barn and securing them with a hammer, he stood back and admired his handy work. Without a word, he walked out past a museum worker who was coming out to investigate what all the noise was about.

  He smiled and walked away as the lady stopped to read the new note.

  Lovely Lizzie, done with strife.

  In the barn, she saved my life.

  A hero, she died. You see.

  In Heaven with Daniel, now she'll be.

  Epilogue

  Shane got off the subway and followed the crowd up the stairs and out onto street level. He'd been in NYC a little over a week and so far, he liked it. It was nice to blend in. He wished he could share his experiences with Lizzie though.

  He strolled into a restaurant a nice old lady at the hotel recommended.

  Shane gave his name at the front desk and waited fifteen minutes to be seated. A man dressed all in black, as were all the waiters, showed him to his table. Seconds later, the waitress came up beside him. "Welcome to The Vine. I'm Elizabeth." A young lady said as she sat down a glass of water.

  For the first time in his life, Shane was too busy looking over the menu to stare at the girl. Nothing sounded really good.

  "May I take your order?" She had a southern drawl that appealed to him. He hadn't heard it much since he'd been out of Tennessee.

  "Thank you. I'll have—" His eyes flicked up to her face and his voice trailed off. She had long brown hair — and that face!

  "Lizzie?" He gasped and dropped his water to the floor.

  If you or anyone you know has considered suicide, remember it's a permanent solution to a normally temporary problem. Get help.

  You can contact a doctor or call 1-800-273-8255.

  And now a Sneak Peek at the Hindsight Series Book 1

  Out of the Blue

  (coming February 2014)

  Hindsight

  Book One: Out of the Blue

  Chapter One

  Start at the beginning…

  The first time I met Jordan Rivers she was standing with her arms crossed, her jaw set and her brows furrowed. You'd think by her stance — and the way she glared at me — that she was mad. You'd be right.

  It wasn't like I'd done anything to her. Not intentionally anyway. It just happened out of the blue. The right place at the right time, I suppose.

  Unfortunately for both of us, I had the gall to try to staple the tiny corner of my ad on top of hers on the 'wanted' board across from the university book store. How dare I?

  I turned around — back to the business at hand — and could hear her huffing behind me all annoyed, so I did what any guy would do — I moved a little slower and stapled my piece of paper right on top of hers. That brought a long huff out of her mouth. It made me laugh. Sure, it probably wasn't the nicest thing to do, but I couldn't help it. She sort of deserved it for being ticked off at me without reason.

  My laughing didn't amuse her, though. Not that I thought it would, and something about that amused me. Now you have to understand, I'm not the type of guy who goes around ticking off girls. Well, normally — but I couldn't seem to help it with J. She was just that sort of girl. Even from the beginning. Even before…

  "Can you not do that? Please." She ground the last word though her gritted teeth, like being nice pained her. Maybe it did. It wasn't like I'd done anything to give her a reason to be nice to me. I could feel her next to me. The top of her shoulder touched my elbow. A short little thing with a temper… and a pretty face.

  "Why? It's already so nice and stapled." I tried to hide the smile, but I couldn't. Not very well anyway.

  "I don't think it's funny." She crossed her arms. Her cheeks had reddened and her huge blue eyes — a little darker than mine are — let me know that she wanted to rip mine out.

  All over one stupid small piece of paper, mind you.

  One.

  "I can see that." The snicker that slipped out wasn't my finest moment.

  Without missing a beat, she punched my shoulder and grabbed for the little yellow ad from the board.

  I'd seen a temper like hers before. You couldn't live with my sister for any length of time and not see it, and my old body of eighteen years just couldn't move like it did when Ella and I were kids.

  Thankfully, she stopped herself before she pulled the paper off—

  I have to wonder what would happen if she didn't stop. If she'd grabbed my ad, crumbled it up and threw it in the trash as she strutted off. Things would have been different, that's for sure. I never would have met Oliver Weston for one thing. I could have done without that. Archenemies and all…

  And I never would have had to—

  The beginning, right? I keep trying to jump ahead. We are at the beginning. Not the end. The end will come. It always does.

  Fate — fate or God — is funny like that. So many what ifs in life. What if she had thrown the paper away? What if I had gotten there in time?

  One word changed my life forever. Changed the course of hers too.

  Wow. I sound like a bi
g deep doofus, don't I? I don't mean to, it's just… There are events that change our lives, and meeting her in the busy University Center hallway that morning was one of them. That's all.

  ROOMMATE

  The one word was roommate.

  "Wait." She pulled her hand from the board and placed one finger on her chin. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was better than the alternative. She could have poked me with it. From how ticked off she looked, I bet a poke from her finger would leave a bruise. "You're looking for a place to live?"

  I nodded with a suddenly very sick feeling in my stomach.

  She pointed to the ad below mine.

  ROOMMATE WANTED

  "Oh," I said as I scanned the white flyer — the "official" one with the Linley College stamp on top.

  ROOMMATE WANTED. QUIET HOURS A MUST. NO PETS. NO SMOKING. NO DRUGS. IF INTERESTED PLEASE CALL…

  But I didn't have to call. She was right there, staring at the board like if she did it long enough the letters would change. "I need a place to rent with a roommate and you need a… roommate."

  "Sadly."

  "Any prospects?"

  "Not in the five minutes since I hung my flyer." She did that a lot. Spoke with an edge. Took a while to get used to it.

  "You were stalking your flyer?"

  She rolled her baby blues. "I was curious to see if anybody read it. Lucky me. I got you."

  "Not really. I didn't read it."

  Yeah… if looks could kill…

  "Face it, Big Eyes. You need an ad that stands out if you want people to actually notice it. One that doesn't conform to rules and regulations."

  "Like your code-violating yellow one?"

  I smiled as brilliantly as I could. Every tooth in my head must have shown. "Got your attention, didn't it?" To my complete and total surprise, she actually smiled back at me. Not a fake smile either. Not a grimace or sneer. An actual, happy, smile.

  "You should do that more," I said before I could stop myself. It was true though. She was pretty when she smiled. Full of life. Beautiful.

  "Because you've known me all of a minute." She smirked and shook her head, causing her long black hair to spill over her shoulders. I wouldn't be a man if I said I didn't look — and I'd be lying if my first thought wasn't to run my hands through it, and other thoughts you don't need to know about. Use your imagination.

  Never mind.

  "What can I say? It's been an incredible minute." Yeah, that was my awesome cheesy comeback.

  She narrowed her eyes at me — her expected response. Okay, so I wasn't what you'd call a lady's man. Never been particularly good at talking to them.

  The thing about girls is you never know their mood. And you never know when they'll cry or when they'll haul off and kick you. I learned that from Ella back in Oklahoma too.

  "Yeah. Sorry. Anyway, it seems we both are looking for a roommate."

  "Looks that way," she said back.

  I thought about it, but—

  "Do you want to see the apartment first?" she asked surprising the heck out of me.

  I sputtered out some sort of surprised, indecipherable sound.

  "Roommate, idiot." She scoffed, all the while smiling bigger. I liked it. "I need one. You need an apartment. We could help each other out."

  I'm not sure coherent words were in my mind at that time. Never in a million years did I ever think of rooming with a girl. When I moved from Oklahoma to Linley, Tennessee, I thought I had a dorm room with, of course, a dude. When that fell through due to a clerical error from the LC housing office, I naturally assumed I'd get an apartment — with a dude. My parents — good church going folks that they are — would come up here and drag me back to Oklahoma so fast I'd leave a trail of blond hair behind me if they thought I was living with a girl.

  "I have a boyfriend," she said like I should have known. Like it would make a difference. "His name is Oliver Weston. He's a senior here at LC, and he's hot and rich, so no. This isn't a play for you and me to hook up."

  Then again…

  "If he's so hot and rich, why don't you stay with him?" An honest question.

  She hesitated just a second before she answered. "He wants to stay at his fraternity house, and I want to make it on my own without his help."

  "Trouble in paradise?" Not that it was any of my business. A fact she reminded me of soon enough.

  "Hardly." One word answer. Perfect. She was hiding something, and the inquisitive part of me wanted to know what it was. But I didn't press it. I'd already pried too much already. Her business was her business.

  "And he won't mind you living with another guy?"

  She shrugged. "It's not his decision. It's mine. Besides we won't be 'living together'." One side of her mouth quirked up. Obviously, I wasn't in on a joke.

  "But I thought you wanted to share an apartment?" I guess my feelings were sort of hurt. She changed her mind more than anyone I'd ever known.

  "Come and see the place with me. You'll understand."

  She made valid points, and I was definitely curious. "Okay, but don't try to take advantage of me. I'm fragile."

  She snickered. "I'll do my best."

  "Good." I pulled her ad down and handed it to her. "And I don't normally go to a girl's house when I don't know her name. Unless you count…"

  "Jordan. My name is Jordan." She took the ad in one hand and held out the other to shake. I immediately took it.

  "First or last?"

  She tilted her head quizzically.

  "I had this teacher once, Mr. James Jordan. His last name was..."

  "Jordan." She'd already started finishing my sentences for me. "I got it."

  No getting by her. "So. Jordan. First or last?"

  "First. My last name is Rivers."

  I nearly choked. "Jordan Rivers? Seriously? As in the Bible?"

  Still shaking my hand, she squeezed my fingers just a little bit tighter. Enough to actually hurt. "As in my sheriff brother will arrest you if you make fun of his last name."

  "What's his name? Nile?"

  She nearly broke my hand.

  "My bad." I grimaced. The woman had spunk. I liked that about her. Only I didn't know it then, but she didn't have the same spunk — the same attitude — around Oliver.

  It was when she saw the pain on my face that she eased up on her grip. My fingers appreciated it. "My preacher father thought it would be hilarious. He was a nerd for puns. But you can call me J."

  "Like the letter?"

  "You ask a lot of questions," she said.

  "You say a lot of vague things," I fired back.

  She sighed. "Yes. Just like the letter."

  We could have probably stopped shaking hands by now. In fact, we actually had stopped shaking. We were just sort of standing there. Holding hands. In the hall. People were walking by, but I never noticed them. J had a way of keeping your attention.

  "And you are?"

  "Oh." I realized I hadn't told her my name yet. I'm pretty sure my cheeks turned a little red. I was just standing there holding her hand like an idiot. It was sort of embarrassing. "Walker Scott. I'm new here."

  "Really?" J pulled her hair back over her shoulders and smirked. "I couldn't tell."

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  The idea for The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe came from a dream I had. A fire. A girl in white. And the man that saved her. I wanted to know what happened afterwards-- and what had caused the girl to be in the church to start with. And why hadn't she died... All of that turned into this. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope it made you think. I hope it entertained you. And I pray it might have helped you in some way. I love this book. It's very close to my heart, and it's hard to let it go 'into the wild'. I hope Lizzie's story is one that will stick with you… and I hope you follow Shane into his book — his world — and his new adventure.

  Thank you for taking to time to read this book. Don't forget to leave a review on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or any other site if you feel so inclined. Also, tell your friends and neighbor
s. Word of mouth is always appreciated.

  ~Kelly — 1/8/2014

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kelly Martin is a bestselling author of four young adult/Christian novels: Crossing the Deep, Saint Sloan, The Deception of Devin Miller, and Big is Beautiful. Saving Sloan, the Saint Sloan sequel, will come out in early 2014. The first of the Hindsight series, Out of the Blue, comes out in February 2014.

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