Page 60 of Secondhand Soul

Chapter Seventeen: Back Where We Started

“Is that your way of saying you’re going to kill me? Because I get that I deserve it, but today was also the first day that I did every parts order right. It’d be a shame to waste my new skill just when I’ve mastered it,” I say as Lazarus hauls me up.

“I’m not going to kill you, but we can make it look like I did,” Lazarus says excitedly.

“Pizza!” The delivery guy is outside the RV.

If Lazarus intended to end me, I don’t think he’d look at me and go, “Good, you need to eat,” then whip open the door, shove money out of his own wallet at the startled delivery boy, and yank a pizza box inside. “Sit. Eat. Listen to this crazy-ass plan that might work.”

He’s talking to me.

The world suddenly seems less cold. “Crazy-ass plans have the best results sometimes,” I say, ripping a piece of delicious, piping hot pizza out of the box after Lazarus sets it on the little fold-down table.

“You have his number. Pazcuso’s. I could take your phone and text him pictures.”

“Of me sprawled out on the ground? Playing dead?” The pizza is so good that the words don’t dull the flavor.

Lazarus’ hesitation turns the melting goodness into something bitter, though. “I’m afraid it’d have to look really convincing. Like... Like really convincing.”

I swallow, and everything burns. The cheese-and-sauce burn is different from the whiskey burn, and I like it less. “So, am I a punching bag this evening?”

He looks horrified, and that warms my heart.

“Sorry. I don’t know how else you would convince him, that’s all. I know you don’t hurt people,” I say softly.

“We’ll have to reenact our first meeting. With a couple of changes.” Lazarus fidgets, tugs his jacket, twists his hands, messes up his permanently spiky, messy hair.

“Me, in an open grave. That’s a good idea, actually.”

“Wrapped in tarp.”

“That wasn’t my tarp. Mine was still in the trunk. I would have had it with me if I hadn’t been so rattled,” I confess.

It’s a mistake.

Lazarus’ face hardens. “Sorry the thought of killing me was so stressful.”

“That’s not... Never mind. You have a good idea. I’m the pro. Well, sort of.”

“What? I was trained for this. I was literally ‘trained’ and ‘programmed’ for like a year on how to be a good killer, like a siege weapon or an indestructible henchman. I can do stealthy if I want to.”

I shake my head and laugh. “I don’t know about that.”

“You have no training.”

“I have a high success rate. Never been caught.”

“You have so! People in the crime world know you did what you did. They just can’t turn you in without implicating themselves, which is why they’ll eventually want to kill you. It’s their own brand of justice,” Lazarus points out, far too smug, crossing his arms.

“Well. It’s my brand of justice, too, so I guess I shouldn’t complain,” I sigh and push the box towards him. “Eat?”

“Um. Okay. So, Miss Expert, what do you think?”

“I think it’s a good idea, if there’s still an open grave. But wouldn’t you, like... not dump me in a graveyard? Wouldn’t you put me in a ditch somewhere?”

Lazarus’ shoulders twitch. “I don’t know. I don’t like...”

“Your training didn’t stick, and I’m glad. I’m happy for you,” I whisper. “I hope it all fades away as you build up new memories.”