by Clara Kensie
Kill Me Once, Kill Me Twice
Clara Kensie
Kill Me Once, Kill Me Twice by Clara Kensie
© 2019 by Kara Schein Critzer. All rights reserved.
First edition.
Published by Snowy Wings Publishing, PO Box 1035, Turner, OR 97392
Cover designed by RebecaCovers.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including written, electronic, recording, or photocopying, without written permission of the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Existing brands and businesses are used in a fictitious manner, and the author claims no ownership of or affiliation with trademarked properties. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-1-948661-48-5
Created with Vellum
Contents
More YA Books by Clara Kensie
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Deception So Series
Aftermath
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All the Tales We Tell
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Alexandra’s Riddle
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Deception So Series:
Deception So Deadly
Deception So Dark
Aftermath
For M:
I.D.I.M.W.
Chapter One
Ever ~ Present Day
Seventy-three percent: that’s my probability of dying today.
As a healthy American seventeen-year-old female who makes a point of avoiding risky and dangerous behavior, my chance of dying on any other day is only 0.02 percent. But today, as I sit in my high school’s overheated conference room for an interview with the scholarship committee, I estimate that my racing heart has a seventy-three percent chance of exploding.
My fingers tremble as they fiddle with the plastic daisy charm on my necklace, so I drop my hands to my lap. I have no reason to be nervous. The Lily Summerhays Memorial Scholarship is mine. It has to be.
With solemn faces, the committee sits in a row behind the long, glossy table at the front of the room. Propped on a sturdy wooden easel is an oversized framed poster of Lily Summerhays’s senior yearbook portrait, taken eighteen years ago, a few weeks before she died. With her demure smile, shy blue-eyed gaze, and copper hair falling straight down her back, it feels like she’s here too.
In a way, Lily really is here. But I’m the only one who knows that.
A tapping noise echoes around the room. I’ve gained control of my hands, but my nerves have made their way down my body all the way to my feet, making me jitter-tap the heels of my black ballet flats on the tile floor. I force my legs to remain still.
I smile with what I hope is confidence at the committee. One by one, I meet the gazes of the five people who will determine my future:
1. Mrs. Summerhays: Head of the Ryland Beautification Committee, a former Miss Teen Indiana, co-founder of the Lily Summerhays Memorial Scholarship, and Lily’s mother. She smiles back, polite but detached, and runs her manicured fingertips over her auburn French twist.
2. Mr. Summerhays: Lily’s father and founder and CEO of Agri-So, Ryland’s largest employer. His hair and suit are the color of a storm cloud. He’s busy reading my scholarship application and doesn’t look up at me at all.
3. Principal Duston: the no-nonsense principal of Ryland High, hair so blond it’s almost white. In his mid-thirties, he replaced the previous principal when she retired two years ago. My former principal loved me and would have definitely voted for me to get the scholarship, but I don’t think Principal Duston even knows who I am. We’ve spoken only once, when he congratulated me at last year’s National Honor Society induction ceremony. He doesn’t look up at me now. Instead, he gives Mr. Summerhays the side-eye and chomps the toothpick in his mouth.
4. Diana Buckley: The principal’s administrative assistant, the other co-founder of the Lily Summerhays Memorial Scholarship, and Lily’s best friend. Miss Buckley’s glossy pink lipstick sparkles under the florescent lights, but her smile is strained, and she meets my gaze for only a moment before turning away.
5. Coach Nolan: Beloved, legendary baseball coach of the Ryland High Warriors, human teddy bear, and the father of Courtney Nolan, who is my best friend. He usually wears a Warriors baseball jersey and hat, but today he’s wearing a sport jacket and tie, and nothing on his balding head. He gives me an encouraging wink.
“Hi, I’m—” I say, then clear my throat and start again. “Hi, I’m Ever Abrams. Thank you so much for this opportunity. It’s an honor to be a finalist for the Lily Summerhays Scholarship. I promise you if I win the scholarship, I’ll make you proud.” I rehearsed this opening a dozen times last night and this morning, but my voice is still shaky.
“It says here you applied to only one college.” Mr. Summerhays looks at me over his glasses. “Griffin University. Do you think that was a wise decision?”
“Griffin is the only college I can go to,” I say. “I’ve already been accepted.”
“Why is it the only one?” Coach Nolan prompts. He’s a big guy, massive actually, but his tone is gentle, encouraging.
“It’s only a half hour away,” I say. “I need to stay here in Ryland so I can take care of my little brother.”
I point through the open door. Joey’s kneeling in the hallway, playing with his Matchbox cars. Our dad’s old Warriors baseball cap hangs sideways on his head.
As if on cue, he lifts his head and smiles, showing his missing front teeth. He shouts, “I’m being very quiet, Ever!”
The committee bursts into laughter. Mrs. Summerhays goes, “Awww.” Thank goodness.
“Yes, you are, buddy,” I say. “Just a few more minutes, okay?” I hold my finger up to my lips.
“Okay!” he shouts, even louder than before.
The committee is still chuckling when I turn back to them. “I promised I’d buy him a new Matchbox if he’s quiet during the interview. Sorry. He’s trying.”
“He’s adorable,” Mrs. Summerhays coos. “Why are you taking care of him?”
I bring my fingers back to the daisy charm. “Our mom died three years ago. Ovarian cancer. I was fourteen. Joey was two.” Mrs. Summerhays clucks sympathetically.
“And your father?” Mr. Summerhays asks.
“He’s a truck driver for Siegel Freight and Transport,” I say. “He’s gone a lot.”
Coach Nolan gives the committee a pitying, confirming nod. “Despite her hardships, Ever is one of the school’s brightest and most responsible students.”
My cheeks heat at the compliment, and I send him a silent thank-you for his support. Even without my other, secret reason for wanting this scholarship, my excellent grades and poor financial status should be enough to win it. But it’s not a guarantee. Coach told me that the other finalist is Michael Granz. Michael’s family has more money than mine does, but he’s founder of the environmental club, president of the 4-H club, and a two-time finalist in the Science Olympiads. The scholarship decision all comes down to this interview. That’s why I need to be perfect.
“What do you plan to major in?” Miss Buckley asks me, tossing back her chestnut hair and crossing her thin ankles under the table. Her red high heels make the bows on my ballet flats look silly and childish.
“Business,” I say. “Accounting, specifically.” A safe career, a career I can have in Ryland, rated one of the safest towns in Indiana and maybe the entire country. With friendly neighbors, an old-fashioned Main Street, and acres of lush farmland, we haven’t had a single major crime here since Lily Summerhays was murdered in a home invasion almost eighteen years ago. Her killer, a drug-dealing thief named Vinnie Morrison, was apprehended immediately after. He’s now on death row at Indiana State Prison, scheduled for execution in April, exactly five weeks from today.
Yes, Ryland is safe. And no one has ever died doing accounting. Once I get my degree, I’m going to be the accountant for my boyfriend’s family’s diner, The Batter’s Box.
Mrs. Summerhays turns her wrinkle-free face to stare longingly at Lily’s poster. “That’s exactly what Lily was going to do,” she says wistfully. “Major in business at Griffin University.” Her gaze ping-pongs between Lily and me. A thin crease appears between her eyebrows.
I touch my daisy charm again. Does she… Does she see something? I look nothing like Lily did—she was tall and slender with porcelain skin, blue eyes, and long, copper hair, and I’m short and curvy with a light olive complexion, brown eyes, and dark blonde hair to my shoulders. But does Mrs. Summerhays recognize something in me? A hint of Lily? Did Lily play with her necklace when she was nervous too? I drop my hands back to my lap.
“Jacquelyn.” Mr. Summerhays slides my application to her and gives it two rapid taps with his index finger. “Look at her birthday.”
Mrs. Summerhays gasps. “Oh! Oh my. April 5th, eighteen years ago. You were born on the day Lily died.”
Now everyone’s gaze shoots up at me. Principal Duston stops chewing his toothpick. I swallow, shuffle my feet. Resist the urge to touch my daisy charm again.
The scholarship application didn’t ask for my time of birth, but if it did, it would have shown that I was born at 9:48 p.m. on April 5th, almost exactly eighteen years ago. A few moments after Lily took her last breath, I took my first.
I don’t remember anything about being Lily Summerhays, just the last few moments of her life as she lay sprawled on the floor of her living room, hurt and bloody and terrified. The last thing she saw was a tattoo of two crossed hatchets on Vinnie Morrison’s wrist as he raised a sparkly pink paperweight high above her. “You left me no choice,” he growled, just before slamming the paperweight into her skull.
Red hot terror shoots through my veins as sharp pain explodes in my head above my right eyebrow. I bite my lips to keep from crying out and fight the urge to check for blood—there is no blood, it’s just a memory, a death-memory—and I breathe the pain away.
One…
Two…
Three.
When the deathpain clears, Miss Buckley is smoothing her already smooth hair with her slender, pale fingers. “Every year in Lily’s memory, we give one Ryland High senior a full, four-year scholarship to the college of their choice. Previous winners of the scholarship have gone on to become leaders in business, technology, journalism, medicine, and politics. We work all year long to raise funds, and we have the financial support of Brandon Lennox, star of the New York Yankees and graduate of Ryland High. What can you say that will convince us to give the scholarship to you this year?”
What should I say? What could I say? I can’t tell them that I was Lily Summerhays in my most recent past life. I can’t tell them that I’ve lived hundreds of times before, in different countries and as different races and ethnicities, and that moments after one death, I’m reborn into the nearest new body. I can’t tell them that I remember nothing of my past lives, that I remember only my deaths. I’ve died both male and female, young and old, by accident and injury, by illness and old age. I can’t tell them that with every memory of a past death, I re-experience the terror, the loss, the pain.
I can’t tell them that by giving the Lily Summerhays Memorial Scholarship to me, they’ll be giving it to Lily as well.
Chapter Two
Lily ~ Eighteen Years Ago
Four weeks. That’s when I’d know if I would live or if I would die.
My decision letter from Carroll-Freywood Global University was supposed to come in four weeks. If I got in, I would live. If I didn’t, I would die. Simple as that. Just
keel
over
and
die.
I flipped open the hollowed-out wooden globe that I kept in the corner of my bedroom and pulled out the course catalog from CFGU. The multi-ethnic students on the cover smiled brightly in the foreground with the Parthenon and the Sahara and the Great Wall of China in the background. Every semester in a different country. I wanted it so bad it hurt.
With a sigh, I hid the catalog back inside the globe and closed it again, then dug through the jumble of clothes on my floor to find my black lace-up boots.
“Lily. You’re late.” My mother appeared in my doorway. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet, and she was already dressed in a skirt and heels, her hair up in a perfect twist. And her look wouldn’t be complete without her crossed arms and her lips in an angry frown, directed at me.
Nope, eight hours of sleep hadn’t done a thing to lessen her anger at me for driving my car into Mr. Kammer’s tree last night. It was more of a tap than a crash, and my car was hardly dented, but now I had four weeks to prove to my parents that I was not, as they said, irresponsible and reckless. They’d never let me go to college overseas if they still thought I was irresponsible.
Of course, even if I were accepted to CFGU, my parents would probably kill me when they found out I’d applied against their wishes. They wanted me to go to Griffin University, a small, snobby, private college that was only a half hour away from Ryland. I’d already been accepted to Griffin, along with my best friend, Diana. We were going to room together in the dorms. But if I got into CFGU, she’d understand why I had to go there instead of Griffin. Diana wanted me to be happy, unlike my parents, who only wanted me to behave.
/> “Almost done,” I told Mom. “I’m just looking for my boots.” There they were—easy to spot under my pile of purses because yesterday during math class I used Diana’s nail polish to paint pink hieroglyphics all over them.
“You didn’t do your hair,” Mom said.
“Ran out of time.” Doing my hair meant blow-drying it straight, something that would take me the better part of an hour. I inherited my wild red hair from her. Well, she could waste every day of her life straightening her hair, but I didn’t have the patience for that, or the desire. My curls would bounce back by noon anyway.
I checked the clock. 7:46. Already? I really was late. As punishment for my little car accident last night, my parents had taken away my car for a month. They were also making me work at my dad’s enriched-soil manufacturing plant until I paid for my reckless driving ticket, the repairs to my car, and the damage I’d done to Mr. Kammer’s lawn. And to his mailbox.