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I’m lucky Cathy and I fucked in the dark, so she didn’t notice the first one.

Not a great idea to go to the beach right after getting a tattoo, of course, but this is no ordinary mark.

It links me to my first client that’s all mine.

I had it done on my ass, just to be sure Hindley won’t ever see it, and I didn’t go to Bean or Morgana for it, just to be safe.

I hired a guy who doesn’t work out of a shop—he’ll meet anywhere to get the job done.

He did mine and my client’s tattoos on the same day.

The tattoo is pretty irritated from everything I’ve done lately. It’s swollen and tingling. I’m gonna lock my door and lie naked on the bed awhile, give it some air. Maybe tug one out while I’m enjoying my beer.

I got plenty of fodder for my fantasies, that’s for sure, after what Cathy did to me in the truck…and what I did to her.

But I make the mistake of picking up my phone first and checking my texts. Haven’t done that since last night. I got an old phone of Hindley’s with a cracked screen, and it’s slow sometimes, but it works.

The first text makes me sit straight up.

It’s from the man I met at Moretti’s. He’s the agent for this rich guy with cancer, Alan Wolcott.

Wolcott is in his forties, terminal, on hospice care.

Leaving behind a thriving business and a family with kids.

He’s been shelling out cash right and left, trying all these experimental things to save himself, and none of it has worked.

I found Alan Wolcott on TikTok, did some research on his situation, and messaged him through an anonymous account to offer my services.

He was desperate enough to believe me. I kept things anonymous until I was sure he was interested, that he’d keep quiet about me to everyone but his agent.

When he sent the agent to Moretti’s with the deposit, I knew he was serious.

His deposit paid for the hotel and the tattoos for me and Cathy.

Good thing I secured this client when I did because the text I just got confirms that he’s already dead.

My tattoo didn’t even alert me to his passing…

or maybe it did. The tingling I felt was probably the tattoo buzzing, but it was so swollen I didn’t realize what was going on.

Guess I’m gonna have to get used to carrying tether tattoos and paying attention to them.

The agent’s text is short, urgent. Wolcott passed. The family will be out of the house for six hours.

There’s a second text with an address.

Fuck. The agent texted me three hours ago, which means I got three hours left, and it’ll take an hour for me to get to Wolcott’s house in Summerville. Hindley’s not gonna let me borrow his truck again, that’s for damn sure.

I gotta buy my own vehicle. If I can complete this job, I’ll be able to afford it… I just need a way to get there.

Stealing a car isn’t tough when you know what you’re doing.

I know a truck stop down the road with parking that backs up to the woods, and the owner keeps his beat-up Chevy out there.

No sight lines to it from the windows. It’s probably sitting there now.

A thirty-minute walk, and I’ll be in that car, heading to Summerville.

I jump off the bed, pull my clothes on, and leave the beer on the nightstand.

I make it out the side door without attracting Hindley’s attention, and I jog up the road.

All I gotta do is steal the car, drive to the house, resurrect Wolcott quietly, grab the cash, and drop the car somewhere near the truck stop.

I’ll wipe it down good to get rid of my prints, and the police will think someone just took it for a joy ride.

Hell, it’s not a crime if I’m doing it to save a life.

This can work, and if it works, I can do it again. I didn’t just sell Wolcott resurrection. I sold him freedom from cancer. The whole package. He’ll come back from the dead good as new, ready for another few decades of life.

If there’s one prize people will sacrifice anything for, it’s life.

More days, more hours, more minutes. I can offer them years .

I can’t fix what ails living people, but as I’m bringing them back, I can restore them to perfect physical condition.

That’s my angle for building my own client list—targeting not just anyone but the really desperate folks.

The terminal patients who are right on the edge, looking into that abyss.

The ones willing to believe that I can reach beyond death and drag their souls back for another chance at life.

I feel guilty sometimes, looking for the folks with no other options, but they’re the only ones who won’t laugh at what I can do.

I’m not hurting them—I’m saving them. Rescuing them from death.

And in the meantime, I’m earning the money to rescue the woman I love.

Resurrecting Wolcott is going to take a lot of energy.

I’m risking plenty here, hoping I’ll have the chance to recover before Hindley needs me to resurrect one of his clients.

Fortunately for me, the resurrections he does are usually spaced pretty far apart.

If he’d take on more people, we’d be a lot richer.

I’ve asked Hindley a few times if he wants me to try to drum up more business for our necromancy business, but he always refuses. “Can’t be too careful,” he says. “Stick to folks we know, folks we can trust to stay quiet and pay up. Friends of friends. No strangers. No risks.”

Ironic that he’s a gambler at heart, yet the area where he won’t take risks is the one that could actually make us some money.

After all, he’s got me, which is an advantage.

The Coosaw Lockwoods have all but quit the resurrection business, since it takes three of them to manage a decent pull, and they can’t heal the person afterward.

Not much point in offering resurrection services if you’re just gonna plop the soul back into a ruined body.

I’ve always had the golden ticket to a better life. I just didn’t have the courage to use it until I met Catherine.

Witnessing someone’s agony for thirteen hours—it changes you.

I watched her suffer and sob, hobbling through the forest on bruised feet.

I carried her in my arms—slender and fragile and stronger than I’ve ever been.

Everything shifted, and she was the new sun, me in her orbit.

She lit a fire in me and got me going on the plan I’ve always thought about but never had the courage to try until now.

There’s the truck stop ahead, through the trees. If I can pull this off, I’ll be back around nightfall, and I can sleep off the post-resurrection lag in my own bed.