by Susan Stumpf
Copyright ? Susan Stumpf 2016
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover photography by Rachel Cole
Editing by Silla Webb
Interior and Cover Design by
Alpha Queens Book Obsession
TABLE of CONTENTS
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Antecedent: Reborn Blurb
Antecedent: Reborn Chapter One
Meet Susan
Special thanks to Lesley.
I couldn't have done it without you.
This isn't a love story. This is the story of how I die. I guess I should start at the beginning. My name is Emina Marigold Polanski; horrible I know. I was named after my grandmother. My friends, the very few I have, just call me Em. My parents died in a car crash when I was thirteen. I spent the next six years living with and caring for my aunt before she died of cancer. That was seven years ago, and I've been on my own ever since.
Let's skip ahead to when my life really changed. My life was boring, mundane even. Things started changing last fall. It had been a horrible week. My boyfriend Charlie dumped me on Tuesday, and I had gotten fired on Thursday. Friday, I spent the whole day moping around the house. After feeling sorry for myself most of the day, I decided to go out and drink my cares away. I went to Outer Moon, a local dance club. I didn't want to go to a smoky old bar and listen to sappy country music. There are plenty of those kinds of places here in east Tennessee. I wanted something high energy.
I put on my black leather pants and a burgundy peasant shirt. I put on a little more makeup than usual then tied my long, brown hair into a loose messy bun. I definitely wasn't looking to pick up anyone, but I didn't want to look out of place either. I took a cab to the club because I had no intention of coming out of there able to drive. Thankfully there wasn't much of a line to get in. I paid the cover then fought my way through a sea of scantily clad girls who looked like they were still in high school and middle-aged men fighting for their attention. I'd been here a few times. It was your run of the mill dance club, black walls with stars, planets, and colorful swirls glowing in the black lights. The music was always upbeat, on the verge of techno. I made it to the bar and ordered vodka shots with a Pepsi chaser and told the bartender, a woman about my age with short spiky blonde hair, to just keep them coming.
I refused drinks from a few men. I don't know why guys always think you owe them something if they buy you a drink. Like a five-dollar beverage should pay the price for sex. Did that ever work? Is anybody really that cheap? After half a dozen drinks, I got up the courage and coordination to dance a few times. Drinks and dancing, dancing and drinks. This consumed my whole night, I'd almost forgotten about being dumped and fired in the same week. That job sucked anyway. What person my age works at a video game store? I definitely wouldn't miss all the pimply faced little teenage boys staring at my boobs the whole time I talked to them. Most guys felt intimidated that I knew more about their favorite games than they did. Yep, I was feeling good. Who needed Charlie or Game Junction. I was free now. Yeah, free?free and alone. No family, very few friends, no boyfriend, no social life. I spent most weekends eating junk food and playing video games. I'm really going to be in trouble if my metabolism ever slows down! Luckily I've always been skinny no matter how poor my diet.
Around 2 a.m. Mr. God's gift to women himself declared that I was far too pretty to be sitting there alone and if I played my cards right he'd honor me with his company. He didn't take "buzz off" too well and started mouthing off, wondering why I thought I was too good for him. Now in the fairy tales, this is where my prince charming would come swooping in and tell this guy that was no way to speak to a lady?.that didn't happen. After a few choice words for each other, the bartender told the guy if he didn't leave me alone she was going to call the bouncer over. After he left I thanked her and asked for the total on my tab. I'd decided it was time to leave. She told me it had already been taken care of.
"Really, by who?" I asked reluctantly.
"Mr. Tall, dark, and grouchy over there," she said and nodded her head toward the corner. "He insisted," she added apologetically. He was tall, dark, and grouchy looking. At least six-foot tall, dark hair, dark eyes, clean shaven. He was wearing a black button-down that looked smooth like satin or rayon and black dress pants. Somebody just hopped in his Volvo and drove on over here from Douche Bag Boulevard. He had a smoldering too cool for the atmosphere look going for him. Oh boy, here we go, it's the drink man. Any second now he's going to come over and lay on some cheesy line that he thinks is smooth and try to collect his payment for not only one drink but all my drinks. It had to have been around fifty bucks worth of alcohol. Yeah, he's really going to think I owe him something. Time to go!
"If he follows me out the door, send one of the bouncers to the parking lot please," I requested. I may be drunk but I'm not stupid.
"Will do. Be careful, hun," she said with a wink. I pushed my way to the door occasionally glancing back to make sure tall, dark, and grouchy was staying put there in the corner. He stayed there leaning against the wall watching me so precisely that it almost felt like he was a predator watching his prey. I felt relieved when I reached the parking lot. I hadn't realized how stuffy it was in there until I stepped out into the cool September air. I was headed for the street to get a cab when guess who stepped in front of me?yep, tall, dark, and grouchy. Crap! There must be a back door to the place.
"Look, dude," I started, but he cut me off.
"I can see you're drunk, so we won't discuss it now but, I have a proposition for you. Meet me at this address tomorrow night at eight p.m." Then he slipped a business card into my hand.
"Thanks, buddy, but I'm not into propositions," I answered.
"It's not what you think," he said. "I'd like to offer you a job."
"Yeah, well I don't do that kind of work," I said as I walked past him hoping he'd get the hint. "You may wanna try Julia Roberts over on Hollywood Boulevard," I added and laughed a little too hard at my own joke. I didn't look back as I hopped into a waiting cab. They were always waiting around here on the weekends to pick up anyone who had a few too many drinks.
Resting my head against the seat, I looked at the card he handed me. There was no name, but it said Forever Young Antiques and gave an address on Rieber Street. Some rich creep looking to buy a girlfriend was my guess. I'd almost fallen asleep in the cab when we pulled up to my two story brownstone. Aunt Eileen had left it to me when she died. It was a quiet neighborhood of mostly older people, and the houses weren
't too close together. When I got inside, I stumbled up the steps to my bedroom and managed to undress before falling into bed.
I woke up in the early afternoon feeling like something the cat dragged in. I showered and went downstairs to find something to eat to calm my stomach?there was nothing. There was no food in the house, I needed to go shopping. I found half a pack of saltines in the cabinet and settled for that. They were only a little stale, and of course, I was out of Pepsi. After a comatose afternoon in front of the TV watching Friends reruns and another nap I felt halfway decent, good enough to get dressed and go to the store at least. I drove down to the market across town to gather the essentials: Pepsi, chips, frozen pizza, and a few other tidbits. At the checkout, my total was sixty-three dollars. I looked in my wallet and only had fifty dollars cash. Crap, I was going to have to use my debit card. I'd exceeded my self-imposed allowance already. I reached for my card and it wasn't there. Double crap! I'd forgotten to put it back in my wallet. Whenever I went out like I did last night, I always left it at home to ensure no drunken spending sprees or in case I lost my purse in a drunken stupor. I was going to have to put some stuff back. Oh, how embarrassing!
I admitted to the cashier that I was a little short on the cash, and he shot me a look that made me want to just crawl under the counter and die. Before I could decide what to put back, an arm reached in front of me and handed the cashier a credit card. It was none other than tall, dark, and grouchy. Oh boy, now I'm really going to owe him. He probably thinks I owe him a whole night of sex and my first born child now.
"That's not necessary," I protested.
"Swipe it!" He told the cashier who did so, probably just to get rid of me and get through his line of customers.
"You were supposed to meet me thirty minutes ago," he said.
"And I told you, you've got the wrong girl!" I fired back.
"Will you not even let me tell you about the job I am offering?" he asked, grabbing my bagged groceries before I could. This guy just didn't know when to quit.
"I don't need a job," I lied.
"Clearly," he said and raised his arms full of groceries I couldn't pay for.
He turned and walked toward the exit. Maybe I could just let him walk out and steal my groceries?well?his groceries since he paid for them. No, I'd eaten all the saltines and there wasn't much else in the house.
"Come on," he said without looking back to see if I was following him. We walked to my car, an old, gray Honda civic so old you had to hand crank the windows down. I told you nothing in my life was interesting. He grabbed the keys from my hand then walked ahead of me and loaded the bags into my trunk.
"How did you know which car was mine?" I asked a little freaked out.
"I know a lot about you, Emina Polanski," he said as he shut the trunk.
"STALKER!" I shouted and jumped into the driver's seat and locked the door.
He walked up to my door swinging my car keys on his finger in front of the window.
"I'm not a stalker, I just wanted to know if you were right for the job before I approached you."
"What's the job?" I asked rolling down my window just a little.
"Personal assistant," he answered and dropped my keys in my lap through the slightly open window.
"Not interested," I replied. I rolled the window back up and put my key in the ignition, but the car wouldn't start. I rested my head on the steering wheel.
"?can't be happening," I breathed.
I rolled the window back down a little.
"So what would I have to do, like follow you around all day and take notes or what?"
"No, nothing like that. I'm a very busy man, and I need someone to take care of the day-to-day things. Run errands, ship and receive packages, etcetera."
"Yeah, not interested," I said.
"Pop your hood," he ordered and rolled up the sleeves of a button-down shirt. It looked to be the exact same style as the one he was wearing last night, except this one was a dark bluish green color. I popped the hood, and while he was doing God knows what under there I asked, "Do those errands involve anything creepy like having sex with you?" He laughed. He actually chuckled, Mr. Tall, dark, and grouchy was amused.
"Absolutely not, actually you won't see much of me at all," he answered from behind the hood.
"Why me?" I asked, shouting through the cracked window so he could hear me. He shut the hood and walked back to the window.
"I told you, I need someone right for the job. I've been watching you, and I think you'll work out fine."
"Yeah that's creepy and kinda stalkerish, so I'm gonna pass," I said and rolled up the window again.
"Your terminals are corroded," he said. "You need a new battery, but I think it should start now."
"A battery? How much will that cost?"
"About a hundred bucks," he said wiping his hands on a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. Who carries a handkerchief anymore? I sighed in defeat and rolled my window down again.
"How much does this job pay exactly?"
