The entire novel is written in first-person past tense from the perspectives of multiple point-of-view (POV) characters. However, I have chosen to write a few chapters from the perspectives of secondary characters in the third person. This stylistic choice was made to present important events as seen by onlookers.

The events depicted in the following excerpt take place near the end of the first book. I do not always write in chronological order.

Dr. Violet Corby, the chief anesthesiologist of St. David’s Medical Center, Austin, Texas, was alone in the operating theater. Or, to be exact, she was the only person alive in the room. Her colleagues and the nurses had left a couple of minutes ago, leaving her with the thirteen-year-old girl who had died during the heart surgery. Soon someone would come to collect the body to prepare it for the family.

Dr. Corby reached for the sheet that covered the dead girl. She pulled it down just enough to see the girl’s face. She knew her name, of course. Lidia. As she looked at Lidia’s pale face, a pang of sadness and regret filled her heart. The girl on the table was so young. Her braided hair lay in neat coils against her shoulders, framing her face like delicate strands of jewelry. Her lips were parted slightly, the faintest hint of a smile lingering on them. They seemed to shimmer in the now dimmed surgical light. She was so beautiful. So innocent. And now—so dead.

Dr. Corby wouldn’t admit it to anybody, that she cherished this moment when the only sound in the room was the flat line of the life-support monitor. They turned it off when Dr. Olson declared the patient dead, but she switched it on again when everyone left. It was comforting to her. Even if it shouldn’t have been. After all, the sound meant someone was dying or was already dead. It should’ve been terrifying, especially for the anesthesiologist responsible for the patient’s well-being. And it had been that. Until it was too late to do anything. Then the sound became something else: the fanfare accompanying the soul on her way to the afterlife, the homing beacon that let the soul reach eternity.

If souls existed, that is. She wasn’t sure about that. She wished they did. But then, what about Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Where would the soul go after leaving the body? Another body? One that hadn’t been born yet?

As a doctor, she was a scientist, trained to rely exclusively on the empirical. Yet she couldn’t banish the image of a soul drifting into the vast unknown, the mournful sound of life monitor slowly fading into silence.

She had seen too many deaths—fewer than recoveries, but still enough to make her weary of her work. The ones that tormented her most were those of children.

She thought of her kids: Diana, still in kindergarten, playing doctor with her dolls; Patrick, trying his first steps in Little League, always cheered on by his loving father.

What if it were one of them on this table, eyes shut, apparently asleep, but never to wake up again?

Impossible. She pulled the sheet over the girl quickly. Her children would live forever, never to hurt or die. Even though a lie, it was still comforting.

She turned away from the table and reached to the monitor to turn off the no-longer-comforting sound that predicted a horrible future. But before she touched the switch, the sound changed. The continuous beep turned into a series of regular ones.

Beep... beep... beep... beep...

It had to be malfunctioning.

She turned to the girl and removed the sheet, pulling it down to her navel this time. The cut across the girl’s chest was neat—doctor Olson had a good hand. Yet something was wrong with it.

“What the hell?” Dr. Corby closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to banish the strange sight. The skin couldn’t seal itself together as if it had never been split. She’d been overworked and should've gone home hours ago.

But when she glanced at the girl again, not only was the cut gone, but her chest moved rhythmically up and down.

The doctor staggered away from the now-breathing girl. “My God, that’s impossible,” she whispered as if fearing to wake up the girl.

Before she could convince herself it was a nightmare, and she probably had fallen asleep exhausted as she was, the mouth of the girl moved, and her eyes snapped open.

“Where the hell am I?” The girl’s voice sounded different, as if more mature.

The girl pushed herself onto an elbow and looked around. “What is this place?” She moved her legs over the edge of the table and jumped to the floor, the sheet sliding off her naked body. “Operating theater? Did I have an accident?” The girl's eyes scanned the surroundings, finally focusing on Dr. Corby. “Who are you?”

The doctor froze. The no-longer-dead girl was talking to her! As if it wasn’t enough for her to be alive. Dr. Corby looked around in search of something sharp, like a scalpel. In this situation, she’d rather be armed.

“You speak English, don’t you?” the girl asked again. “Or am I in some fucking third world country, where—”

“You’re in Texas, USA. And… I’m a doctor. I took part in your surgery.” She barely uttered the words, her lips strangely unwilling to part.

“Fucked it up, haven't you? Or I wouldn’t be dead.”

“I’m just an anesthesiologist.”

“And that justifies your failure? Not that I mind. Entering a dead body is so much easier than a live one.”

“We tried to save you.” Dr. Corby rushed with explanation, just in case the no-longer-dead girl would want revenge. Then the full meaning of what the girl had said got to her. “Entering a…. Are you a demon or something? Animating this corpse?”

“A demon? Are you insane?" The girl padded closer on her bare feet, and being shorter than Dr. Corby, looked up. Her large green eyes grew wide. "At least you didn’t call me a zombie. And why are you so fucking tall? You a genetic aberration or something? Or is it me?” She examined her small hands. “Damn it. How old am I?”

“You’re thirteen.”

“A child? Bollocks!" The girl hung her head, peering down. "Where's my… Fuck me! I'm female? Again?"

"You're a beautiful girl."

"Are you kidding me? Menstruations, PMS, mood swings… What a shitty life ahead of me.”

“It isn’t so bad,” Dr. Corby said. “There are certain compensations.”

“Like what?”

“Um…” 

“That’s what I thought. Nobody in his right mind wants to be a woman.”

“That’s pretty biased and sexist. You shouldn’t be—”

“Give me a break. I’m a man, for goodness’ sake. At least I have been in most of my lives."

“So you’re not… Lidia?” She asked just to make sure.

“Lidia?” The girl frowned. “Is that the girl’s name? Wait. There aren’t parents waiting outside to take the body, are they?”

“Actually—”

“Damn it. I have to run.” The girl’s eyes scanned the doctor from top to bottom. “Strip.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take your damn clothes off.”

“My scrubs?”

“I can’t walk out of here naked.”

“I’m not your size.”

“It’ll have to do for now.” The girl glared at the doctor. “What are you waiting for?”

Dr. Corby backed away. “I can’t give you my clothes.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She tried to find a good reason—there had to be one. But she came up with nothing. So, she changed the subject. “How are you alive, anyway? Your heart shouldn’t work at all.”

“Magic.” The girl put out a mysterious expression.

"Magic?"

“Kidding. I’ve regenerated the heart. Easy-peasy. Though for you, it probably looked like magic.”

“Regenerated the heart? That’s impossible.”

“It’s so frustrating to deal with people like you. How stupid can you be not to believe in something you’ve just seen with your own eyes? And take off your clothes, for fuck’s sake. It’s cold.”

“How old are you, really?” 

The girl snorted. Then she moved closer, raised her head, and looked deep into the doctor’s eyes.

The being that looked through the girl’s eyes seemed ancient. Not a little girl. Not even a grown-up. Dr. Corby’s grandmother, who died a couple of years ago. felt similar when she looked into her eyes. The feeling of boredom and knowledge, as if she had seen it all.

“Who are you?” the doctor whispered, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

“Let’s just say, we’re not even from the same millennium. So, lose your goddamnit clothes, or I’ll make you.”

Her hands shaking, dr. Corby started to undress. She’d give the alien what it wanted, then go back to Diana and Patrick, cuddle them to her chest, and pray it was a bad dream. If the thing that presided in the no-longer-dead girl would ever let her go. “Are you going to kill me?” The words escaped her before she thought them over. Now, she had just given it a suggestion!

“Kill you? Whatever for? You’re cooperating.”

Dr. Corby exhaled, her body deflating like a pricked balloon. There was a chance she could get away.

The girl pulled on the pants which were obviously too long for her, but the top mostly fit. If she did something about the pants legs, she’d probably make it out from the hospital undisturbed.

“Besides…” The girl checked if the ID badge is still attached to her chest pocket. “You’re a doctor. You’re useful. Who knows, maybe you’ll save one of my children one day.”

“You have children? But… if they anything like you, they wouldn’t need a doctor. They would regenerate.”

“Finally, you started using your brain. You assume it’s genetic. Well, it helps I’m the father. But they’re not like me yet.” The girl added the final touches to her clothes. “Not immortal. But they can be trained. If they live long enough.”

“You’re immortal? But then—”

“You already know too much. I’ll have to wipe your memory before I leave.”

"My memory?" The doctor backed away, shivering in the underwear the girl      had graciously let her keep.

“It won’t hurt. And it will affect only the last thirty minutes. Or so one would hope. Speaking of which…” The girl took a deep breath and stood still. “Shut up now. I forgot to check what options I have. I need to concentrate.”

“But my memory…”

The girl hushed the doctor by raising her hand, then an expression of deep concentration filled her face.

At once, all the little hairs on the doctor’s body stood up, as if an electric current flew through her. She stepped back from the girl until she was flat against the wall. The temperature dropped in the room. Her breath created clouds of white vapor as she exhaled. The lights on all electronic equipment blinked off, followed by the overhead light in the room, which flickered once and died.

Despite the sudden darkness, the little girl was clearly visible. Her face and hands glowed with a faint light, as if she were painted with a fluorescent dye.

“It works!” The girl grinned. “The bastards thought if they cut me off, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. Amateurs.”

A barely visible ring formed in front of her, shining with a reddish light, about five feet in diameter. Then the ring solidified, and everything grew still and silent. It hung there, a foot above the floor, its reddish light giving everything in the room an eerie glow. A membrane-like substance filled the ring inside. It shivered slightly, as if breathing in and out.

The girl examined the glowing circle and nodded with apparent satisfaction. “Kind of small, but so am I. Looks like I won’t have to go through the hospital after all.” She looked at the doctor and frowned. “Are you OK? You look pale. I didn’t use you as a battery, did I?”

The doctor didn’t reply.

“You know… the life force. Well, you wouldn’t know, of course. Still, I need to save energy, so your memory correction will have to wait.”

A sigh of relief escaped the doctor's lips. She had no idea how the memory thing would’ve been performed, but she didn’t want anyone to tinker with her brain. She was very fond of it and rather proud of her reasoning abilities. She didn’t want to lose them. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The girl only yawned. She detached the ID badge from her blouse, glanced at the name, silently mouthing the words, then tossed it to the doctor. “I don’t need it anymore. I have my escape route now.”

The doctor caught the badge, then she gestured to the glowing circle. “What is this… thing?”

“An interdimensional gateway. Nothing too fancy.” The girl pursed her lips. “So, dr. Violet Corby. I bet even if I don’t wipe your memory, you won’t remember anything that has happened here, right? If anyone would ask?”

“I’ve forgotten already.”

“That's what I thought. After all, you don’t want to spend the rest of your days entertaining patients in a secure ward of this hospital. As one of them, that is.”

The doctor could see it, too. She’d have to come up with some explanation quickly before they found her here, almost naked, with the dead girl’s body missing. Perhaps some terrorists who collected bodies of young girls and had a fetish for women’s clothes? Anything but the truth would be more believable.

“Goodbye, Dr. Corby. Have an enjoyable life. As short as it may be, anyway.”

The girl cast a final look at the room, gave the doctor a reassuring smile, then stepped inside the glowing ring, disappearing behind the membrane. The membrane solidified, and the entire ring vanished.

Doctor Corby stood unmoving in the complete darkness. What did the girl mean by ‘as short as it may be’ while talking about her life? Did she know something about her incoming death? Or was it just relative to the girl’s immortality? 

The door to the room opened, the light from outside illuminating part of the room. Someone’s head peered inside.

Dr. Corby grabbed the abandoned sheet from the floor and wrapped it around herself, forming a nice-looking robe. If she was going to die soon, she needed at least a little dignity.

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Alan

Chapter 1

Now

Every time I see my student dying, I feel awe mingled with envy.

I adjust my position so I have a clear line of sight through the car's windshield. Then I raise the binoculars to my eyes and zoom in on James.

With his feet firmly planted on the roof's edge, he steals a look at the sidewalk forty floors below, as if testing his courage to make that last step.

"That's my boy," I say under my breath and smile. Students of death, I like to call them. And this moment is the graduation.

The weather is to die for. No clouds, so James can see the stars for the last time and feel his insignificance in our galaxy. No strong wind to upset his balance, so his decision will be his own, and not a whim of nature. Few people on the sidewalk below for his falling body to stop prematurely someone else's life. And cold enough for him to believe, his body trembles from the bitter night rather than fear of impending death.

I adjust the magnification for a clearer view.

James reaches inside his pocket, takes out his phone, taps the screen, and presses the handset to his ear.

The cheap burner phone I bought for this occasion chimes a merry tune. I could've changed the ringtone to something more appropriate for the occasion, but I didn't care. It's not like I'll keep the phone after this conversation. I switch it to the speaker with one hand, the other still on the binoculars. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"Must be a killer view from up there."

"Spectacular." James chuckles, recognizing the cheap joke. His voice quivers. It's alright. He hasn't quieted his mind the way I taught him.

"Having second thoughts?" I ask the obligatory question.

"No."

"Very well. Look up. See the stars?"

James's head turns up, and he stays silent for a while. "So many..." he finally says. "Have you ever thought if we're alone in the universe? You think someone up there is watching me at the moment?"

"Soon you'll get all the answers. I envy you."

"You can join me. We can jump together. I know you want it, too."

"My way differs from yours. Scared?"

He looks at the sidewalk again. "It's a long way down."

"Remember your training. Fear's natural. Self-preservation thing."

"I know."

"It's only one step. Takes but a moment. Then nothing will matter anymore."

He nods.

I don't push him, that's not my role. If he decided he didn't want to do it anymore, I wouldn't mind. But I know it's not going to be. Not in his case. Too many times I've had this conversation before. I know how my students react.

"I'm ready." His voice is stronger now. I detect no hesitation.

"You're sure?"

"I know what you're doing. And I'm grateful. But I've decided. I want to finish this tonight."

"Then I guess it's a goodbye. Remember about the phone."

"I will."

"See you on the other side."

"Thank you." After disconnecting, he tinkers with his phone, following our training to reset it to the factory setting, before dropping it onto the roof. He looks up at the stars one more time. And smiles.

I squeeze my binoculars harder and hold my breath. Even now, after so many times, this moment carries a heavy load to me.

Still smiling, he lifts his right foot, holding it in the air for a second, then with a one swift move, steps forward. His body plummets down, quickly gaining momentum.

I count seconds in my head. One, two, two and a half...

James crashes onto the sidewalk below.

I release my breath and put down the binoculars. My role here is finished.

I remove the SIM card and the battery from my phone and put it on the seat beside me, to be thrown away later. Then I start the car's engine and pull off.

When I'm driving past the place where James hit the ground, there is already a small group of people surrounding him, mouths gaping, fingers pointing, the backs of their phones directed at the place James fell, flashes illuminating the place like miniature lightnings.

I press harder on the accelerator and swear. Social fucking media. There is nothing more important than updating your profile nowadays.

For a moment, I fight the urge to turn around and direct my car straight into the overexcited mob.

But I'm not a murderer. I only help.

Life is overrated, anyway.

We may pretend not to see the door, but we're all heading to the final exit.

Share Peter Jolt’s Fiction

The first thing that hit me when I pushed open the door was the smell. It wasn't the overarching smell of grease and stale coffee as one would expect from such a dingy place, but the buttery aroma of pancakes, syrup and slightly scorched grill. It made my stomach growl in anticipation.

The diner looked straight out of the 1950's. It was dimly lit, the scattered lights overhead casting long, sullen shadows. The scuffed linoleum floors, Formica-topped tables and vinyl-cushioned booths evoked happy memories–a nostalgic echo of one of my favorite eras. The latest Michael Jackson's "Thriller" on the radio spoiled the setting.

The patrons were few, scattered around the near-empty room. A solitary trucker sat at the bar counter, his food the source of that delightful smell. He dug into a stack of pancakes, each bite followed by an appreciative nod, the enjoyment evident on his weary face. That sight and the aroma made my decision for me. Pancakes it was.

I sat beside a wall of dirt-smeared windows. They seemed more like forgotten aquariums, caked with years of dust and neglect. The world beyond was a blur of speeding colors, the streaks punctuated by the massive bodies of trucks that roared by. Each time one passed, the diner shuddered slightly, and for a moment, the world seemed to vibrate.

I had barely settled into the booth when a young waitress approached, a smile trying to push past her evident fatigue. Her uniform was as worn as the diner itself, a retro white apron stretched over a faded red dress. She must have been in her late twenties, but the weariness added a few extra years. Her chestnut hair was held back under a small cap, strands escaping from under it to cover her left eye.

"Morning." She handed me a laminated menu, her voice betraying a hint of warmth. The crooked name tag spelled out 'Jane'.

“Good morning, Jane.” I placed the menu down on the table. “I’ll have the pancakes. The aroma is irresistible. And a pot of tea, please.”

She looked slightly taken aback. "Tea? Not coffee?"

"That's right. Make it strong, please."

With a nod, Jane reached to pick up the disregarded menu. The motion caused her hair to shift, revealing a swollen eye. The deep hues of a fresh bruise stood stark against her pale skin.

So the rumors were true.

“Ten minutes.” Jane offered me a thin smile before turning on her heel. She moved briskly, disappearing into the back of the diner.

I closed my eyes, searching for her mind. After a moment, I located her back in the kitchen. It took a few more seconds to tune into her surface thoughts.

<He saw it... Damn it!... So what? He's just some guy, he'll be gone soon.> Her thoughts were as clear as if she said them aloud. And then, a wave of emotion surged forth, strong enough to nearly break my concentration. Fear. Followed by anger. But it subsided as quickly as it had risen, replaced by a forceful calm. Jane had it under control. 

I extended my perception, trying to see what she was seeing. A man, older than her, also clad in an apron, shared the kitchen space with her. Every movement Jane made was calculated, designed to maintain as much distance from him as possible. When she dared to glance his way, waves of fear and anger washed over her again. It had to be her husband, Bill. My first target.

A truck roared past on the highway outside. The whole diner shuddered, glasses tinkled on their shelves, and a dish clinked somewhere in the back. I took a moment to steady myself, then concentrated on my second target that day. Walter. I could feel him, behind the wheel of his truck, still some ten miles away. If I didn't locate him and make an initial connection, I wouldn't have been able to sense him from such a distance. There were limits to my abilities.

The last part of the puzzle was on the other side of the street. Instead of straining my eyes attempting to see through the dirty windows, I reached with my mind, locating Trevor inside the gas station. He stood behind the counter, browsing some porn mags hidden from the shoppers' view.

"Your pancakes," Jane materialized by my table, laying down the steaming stack and the pot of tea before she attempted to dart away.

"Wait," I called out.

She paused. "Anything else? We have—"

"Why don't you leave him?"

“I... What?” She looked at me, taken aback.

“Your husband. He beats you. It's obvious. Why don't you leave him?”

“I don't know what you're talking about." She started to back away.

"But you do." I reached out, touching her wrist.

She flinched, pulling away from me. "That's none of your business, mister." Her thoughts surged with embarrassment and anger.

"Why don't you report him to the police?"

She closed her eyes briefly, her anger ebbing away. She had mastered the trick of controlling her emotions at will. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed unnaturally calm. “What's it to you? You a lawyer or something?"

"A lawyer? Don’t insult me. I'm something like a... spiritual helper."

"A priest?"

"Not exactly. But I do have a close connection to the guy up there." I gestured to the ceiling. "I'm here to help."

She snorted. "And you suggest I report him to the cops? You don't know what you're talking about."

“Then leave him. Pack your bags and go. Never look back.”

Straightening, she plastered on a professional facade. “Anything else?”

I sighed and shook my head.

She turned and left. It was a long shot, but I had to try.

My gaze fell to the pancakes on my plate. I sliced off a piece and took a bite. They were just as delicious as they smelled, the rich flavors filling my mouth.

Jane was the bitter taste of reality behind the sweet allure of the pancakes, in a diner stuck somewhere between the past and the present.

***

I swallowed the last piece and poured more tea into my cup. Strong, but the taste was far from perfect.

It was the time to go back to work.

Trevor, the attendant at the nearby gas station, entered my awareness first. I felt him, the dull edge of boredom gnawing at him as he aimlessly flicked through some risqué magazines. He desperately needed a break. A smoke outside, perhaps? I latched onto this thought, intensifying the craving. I pushed, nurturing his desire until I felt him shift in his seat, grumble under his breath, and finally rise from his uncomfortable perch.

Trevor's thoughts were now on the cool morning air, the taste of a cigarette, and a brief respite from the mundane task of manning the gas station. I felt him leave the confines of the station's store, the faint chime of the doorbell fading into the background.

I sought out Walter, extending my senses to the semi-truck that barreled down the road a couple of miles out. Within moments, I peered through Walter’s eyes, the truck's cab becoming my temporary vantage point. A small bridge grew in the distance, as the truck thundered down the road towards it. Walter's speed was consistent, unyielding, the hum of the engine a steady soundtrack to his careless drive. He never slowed down, not even for the towns he passed through.

I checked the distance. Two minutes, maybe less. Walter's rig was a constant variable, a piece on this roadside chessboard I found myself playing on. I had to time it right.

I turned my attention to the kitchen now, focusing on Bill. I could feel the hard grip he had on a kitchen knife, his mind clouded with unsavory thoughts. No subtlety now. <Put the knife away. Move.> I gave him a mental command, overriding his will.

The sudden intrusion made him pause, a tingle of unease running through him. I intensified that feeling, morphing it into raw fear. He needed to understand what Jane felt when he struck her. Satisfied with his panicked state, I urged him to walk faster.

Looking through his eyes, I caught a glimpse of myself, sitting at the table with eyes shut. What an odd perspective.

<Now, Bill, to the door.>

“Bill, where are you going?” Jane's anxious voice cut through his panic.

For a moment, he tried to act logically. “I have a delivery,” he answered Jane.

“We don’t do deliveries.” She blocked his way, as if trying to stop her husband, but he pushed her away, far too rough in his haste.

Jane stumbled, falling to the floor. No time for subtleties, and she was used to this kind of treatment, anyway.

I split my concentration, checking on Walter—his truck was almost at the diner. <Just a little faster, my dear friend.>

And Trevor? Still having that smoke outside. Perfect.

Now, Bill, out the door and onto the road. <Run, Bill, run!> Run for your... death.

<Walter, don't you dare slow down now.>

Through Bill's eyes, I saw the headlights of the incoming truck. Through Walter's, I saw the man standing on the road. Brake! No, too late. Turn right. Yes, right. Towards the gas station.

No need to check Trevor's view, I knew what was coming. I disengaged my mental grasp just as the truck rammed into Bill and careened into the gas station.

The impact resonated through the diner, causing everything to vibrate. I opened my eyes to see a trail of destruction through the diner's dirty window and couldn't help but smile. Oddly enough, the fuel gushing from the damaged pumps hadn't ignited upon impact.

That changed moments later when a flame sparked, setting the fuel ablaze. It wasn't as explosive as I had imagined, but it did the job.

I tried to reach Bill and Trevor's minds once more, only to find a void where they once were. It meant they were no longer part of this world. Only Walter still hung in there, his mind echoing with pain from the flames. Perfect. He soon fell unconscious.

I played my part. It was over. For today.

"Is that coffee?" a deep voice echoed across the table, pulling me from my thoughts. A large man barely fit into the chair across from me. Handsome, with dark skin and a neat beard, he could just as easily be thirty or fifty. Under his dark coat concealed an expensive-looking suit, the color indistinct under the diner's dim light. With a playful grin on his face and his bushy eyebrows raised, he scanned the room, probably for Jane, but the diner was practically deserted. The whole town was likely outside, staring at the smoldering remains of the gas station.

"Who are you?" I asked, lifting my cup to take another sip of my tea, imagining it was a finer blend. Had Jane brewed this or had it been Bill?

"Hold on." He rose from his seat, and retrieved a cup from the counter. He filled it with tea from the pot, lifting it to his nose. "Damn it. It's tea. I'd have ordered coffee, but you've killed off the cook. And his wife...well, she's outside mourning him."

I glanced through the window. The police had arrived, and a crowd had gathered, including Jane. I could still sense her emotions—fear, shock, maybe relief, but definitely not mourning.

I tried to delve into the stranger's mind, but I hit a mental wall. No surprise there—the Messengers were always impervious to my telepathy. I had no doubt he was one of them—the way he had mentioned Bill.

"What do you want?" I broke the silence.

“A question for you…” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you really need to kill your father?”

“I didn't pull the trigger.”

“Technicality.” He seemed amused.

“He deserved it.”

“They always do, don't they?” His gaze drifted back towards the crowd outside the window. “It’s just you have this… predisposition for killing off the members of your family.”

“I wonder why.” I finished the last drops of my tea. “What does he want this time? Another target? Tell him I'm tired. I want out.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” A devilish smirk appeared on his lips.

“Really?”

“Fancy a holiday, Kane?”

“A holiday?”

“You deserve it.”

“If I want a break, I take it. I don’t need anyone's permission. Especially not his.”

“But I’m not offering an ordinary break. How about a lifetime's break?”

That caught my attention.

“Next time you're reborn, you can do whatever you wish. We won't contact you anymore,” he said.

“You think I'll rest? By the time I reach adulthood, I'll remember everything from my past lives.”

“Not this time, you won’t.”

I leaned forward, scrutinizing him. Up close, he looked much older. But then if he was the Messenger, thinking of his age was ridiculous. His eyes reflected a curious mixture of boredom and amusement, as if he'd seen this conversation play out countless times before.

“So what's the catch?” I asked.

“Catch?” He feigned surprise, then let out a chuckle as if he found this amusing. “There's no catch. You've earned this.”

“There's always a catch.” I didn't share his mirth.

His smile vanished. “There will be a few conditions. You'll learn about them in the interim period. Nothing you can't handle.”

I weighed his words. A lifetime's break? It sounded almost too good to be true. Could I really spend all these years without thinking about my past, without hunting down targets, without killing anyone?

Then suspicion rose in me. “Have you ever offered me this before?”

He grinned at that. “I like you, Kane. You're not a mindless killer. You have a brain.”

I sat back, pondering. I searched my memories, but they were hazy, obscured by time. Could there be centuries missing there? Still, there seemed to be only one logical choice. Even if I had made it before. “Fine. I accept. When do I start?”

“How about right now?” He aimed a large handgun at my head, which looked eerily familiar. Where did he get it so fast? The lack of weight in the holster under my left arm answered that question—it had to be my own Desert Eagle. The bastard was a practical joker!

 “Say hallelujah,” the Messenger said, grinning. And then, with a loud bang, the world vanished.