Author’s Note: A little longer than my usually story, what do you think? Also, small trigger warning for a brief mention of suicide.
I was just drifting off when a light knock jerked me back to the land of the living. I stayed curled up in my chair, praying that the knocker would go away. It was the first night in nearly a week I’d managed to fall asleep. Even if it was only a nap in a chair, I would take it.
The knock came again, this time firmer, more insistent. There was a distinct sense of urgency in the sound. With a sigh, I wrenched my eyes open and uncurled my legs. I pulled my robe tighter and made sure I had my pepper spray handy. It was a risky thing to answer the door these days, especially at - I glanced at the clock - 1 in the morning.
I shuffled my way to the door, where the knocking had started up again, rubbing the almost sleep out of my eyes as I went. When I reached the door, I yanked it open and saw a middle aged man standing on my front porch.
“My office hours are 8-4. Come back then,” I said, and moved to close the door on him.
“Wait! Are you Liz Moore? You’re the only one who can help me.” His voice and hand shook in equal measure as he held out a small piece of paper.
I recognized the business card instantly, and any lingering pretenses of sleep abandoned me for the night as I snatched it from him. The paper had yellowed and torn with age, but the old graveyard logo and our four names were still legible from way back when we were legally allowed to exist.
“Where did you get this? Who are you working with?” I demanded as I scanned the street for any sign of the authorities.
“I’ve had it for so long I can’t remember where I got it. I just need your help.”
That’s when I noticed the bags under his eyes. His rumpled and blood stained clothes. The way his hands shook from shock. I took a deep, steadying breath, pocketed the incriminating business card, and let him inside.
“Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee. We’re going to need some.”
Luckily for him, I always had hot coffee at the ready. When you never sleep, it becomes a necessity. I handed him a steaming cup, and waited until he’d taken a drink before I started in on my questions.
“How did you find me?”
“Your name is on the card. My friend looked you up and gave me your address.”
“And who exactly is this ‘friend’ of yours?” I asked, dread filling me.
“You don’t want to know,” he whispered apologetically.
I swore under my breath and took a long sip of burning hot coffee. It had been good living here, but now I’d have to move.
“So it’s true. You really are a PR,” he said, accurately deciphering my reaction.
I shuddered at his words. I’d never wanted to be a Personal Resurrectionist, but I didn’t get a say in the power I’d been born with.
“Maybe I was once. But I don’t do that kind of work anymore, especially not when cops are involved.” Even as I spoke, I was planning where to go next. What to pack. How quickly I would have to get out of here.
“He swore to me that no one would come after you if you helped me. You have to understand. My daughter-” his voice broke, and I steeled myself for what was coming next.
He took a breath and blurted the rest of his sentence, “she was murdered a few hours ago. I have to know who did this.”
I stared at the mug in my hands, not wanting to have to make this decision. It was beyond risky to do this. I left the business for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is that my skills are highly illegal. And yet, there was something inside of me that wanted to do this. This had been the problem all along. I got pulled into these situations because no matter how much I didn’t want to, I cared about people getting closure. Curse my beating, feeling heart.
“My powers aren’t strong enough to fully resurrect. I can only bring her back for a short time,” I started. “You should know that bringing her back can make everything worse for you. It’s harder to let go a second time.”
My thoughts flashed back to a young wife whose mind had broken after I’d brought back her husband. She’d jumped off a bridge a few days later.
“If you bring her back, will she be in pain?” he asked.
“No. I can keep any pain at bay, but only for so long. Depending on her injuries, you could only have a matter of minutes with her. A few hours at best.”
Now it was his turn to admire his mug and make the hardest choice of his life. I watched from afar, knowing all too well the thoughts running through his head. Would bringing her back cause more problems than solutions? Was it really worth it to lose her again? He raised his head and squared his shoulders and I knew what his decision was.
“Give me a minute to gather my things,” I said.
A change of clothes and a half hour car ride later, I was standing inside a small apartment. The scene was a mess of blood and in the middle was the body of a teen girl. I quietly examined her wounds. The punctures were deep, the line at her throat jagged. She hadn’t died cleanly, but it had probably been quick.
“You’ll only have a few minutes. Are you sure you want to do this?” I always gave the living one last chance to walk away, but once we were this far, they rarely took it.
“I have to. Do it,” he nodded.
I moved my hands over her abdomen, feeling for tiny remnants of life in her heart and lungs. It was there, buried deep inside the tissues and muscles. Since she’d died not long ago it was still easy to reach. I grasped onto the fragments and gently pulled them back to life. Then, with a swirl of my wrists, I moved upward to her mind. It was still quite active, and with a few quick words, I reconnected her mind to her body.
She began to breathe, and I focused intently until she was doing it on her own. Then came the hard part. I dug deep into my power and reached out toward the little light in her chest. It was dimming fast as her soul was working to depart. I tugged at the little edges of light that were left and carefully coaxed her back.
All at once her presence filled the room and her eyes fluttered open. They were a deep chocolate brown, laced with innocence taken too soon. I mumbled a few more words to keep the pain at bay, then motioned for her father to come over.
“You can touch her, but try not to jostle her too much. She’s ready to see you,” I said.
He knelt down at her other side and took her hand in his. She turned to look at him, and I closed my eyes and ears to their conversation, focusing instead on the power flowing through my arms. On my connection to the soul and the body. It was out of respect and self preservation that I didn’t listen in on people’s final words. They were heartbreaking, and a resurrectionist could only handle so many broken hearts at once.
The minutes ticked by, and I could feel her weakening beneath me. Her body was wearing out, and her soul was ready to move on.
“It’s time,” I whispered.
He held her hand and whispered to her as I slowly loosened my hold on her. Her heart beat one last time. Then she was still. I let go of the little light and sent it off with a blessing of peace to the afterlife that awaited it.
We sat there for another minute more in silence, then the man sniffed and slowly got to his feet. I stood alongside him, and as I did, I felt another presence in the room. I looked over my shoulder, and standing in the doorway was a man in uniform. My blood froze in my veins, and I turned a harsh glare toward the father I’d just helped.
“Don’t worry. He’s not here for you. He was just here to get the statement from Alice.”
I looked over my shoulder again and made eye contact with the cop. He stared at me, and I knew he was hotly debating what to do. It came as a little bit of a surprise to me when he looked away first.
“How much do I owe you?” the father, whose name I never learned, asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing. You kept your word, and I’m not going to jail or to my death. That’s payment enough.”
His eyes glistened with new tears as he reached out to shake my hand. “Thank you so much. I will never forget the gift you’ve given me.”
For the first time tonight I smiled. “It would probably be best if you did forget. Or at least didn’t mention it to anyone.”
He caught the light tone of my voice and smiled back at me. “Oh, right. I won’t get you arrested.”
I nodded my thanks and then took my leave of the crime scene, slightly laughing at the fact that I was joking about getting arrested. That hadn’t happened for a long time.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this longer form story from my archives. Let me know what you think in the comments down below, and have an awesome week!
Original Prompt from Reddit: You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal.
I haven't launched my newsletter yet, but wanted to relate something I mentioned in one of my podcasts about story length: size doesn't matter. Sort of. I discovered that I'm a novella-ist and not a novelist. You might consider writing something in the 18k-40k range (novella). It's much less burdensome that building a novel while still being a complete story. In any case, this story would be a great detective/noir/paranormal/fantasy/sci-fi...it's potentially genre-bending. ;)
This was fantastic, Claire! It was really original and a fun read 👍