Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two

by Robyn Peterman

  Right now, he was also a beautiful, deadly winged beast. The Grim Reaper was a sight to behold.

  “What are you wearing?” he demanded, eyeing me curiously.

  “My uniform,” I whispered, horrified that it was the first thing he noticed.

  “And how exactly did you get here,” he questioned coldly, crossing his arms over his chest as a ring of red fire exploded around him and framed him in a deadly glow.

  “I walked,” I replied, getting clumsily to my feet, trying to save a tiny shred of my dignity.

  “Preposterous,” he snapped. “State your name and your business and be gone.”

  His gaze held no recognition. Nothing. It was far more devastating than his anger or hurt, which I deserved. But this…

  “I repeat,” the Grim Reaper ground out. “State your name and your business and be gone. You do not want me to have to say it again, Messenger.”

  My eyes filled with tears and my body felt as if it had turned to ice underneath my ugly uniform. I’d considered many different ways this reunion could go. This was not one of them.

  “You don’t recognize me?” I asked in a voice that sounded annoyingly small and pathetic to my own ears. My lady balls needed to show up. I was about to drown.

  “I don’t,” Gideon replied in a cool tone. “Should I?”

  “Umm… no,” I said, taking a deep breath. I wasn’t here to get back together with the man I’d sent away. I was here to bring the Grim Reaper back to the human plane so a tribunal could be held to condemn the Angel of Mercy.

  I was not here for me. That ship had sailed and if I needed proof, it was in the eyes of the man I still loved.

  “Why do you bleed?” he demanded, pointing to my hands.

  “The door was locked so I punched the wall down,” I replied.

  His laugh warmed me all over. I’d craved his laughter. Even now, when it was clear he’d forgotten me, his laughter was still something I longed for.

  “A violent Messenger,” he said with sarcasm dripping from his voice. “How cliché. Who sent you and what do you want?”

  I want you to recognize me, I screamed inside my head. I want you to still love me. I want your anger and your hurt. I want to be able to apologize.

  Instead, I said, “John Travolta has requested you come back to the earthly plane.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gideon said, looking at me like I had screws loose. “Who?”

  “Shit,” I muttered and closed my eyes. Heather had warned me that I’d call Clarence Smith by the wrong name at an inopportune moment. I didn’t think it would be this inopportune, though. However, I suppose I could change my motto to go big or go home. I’d definitely gone big. I just couldn’t go home quite yet. “I meant, Clarence Smith, the Archangel Michael.”

  “I know his title,” Gideon said, appearing to grow bored. “What does the man want and why on earth did he send you? Someone like you should not be here.”

  His assholeyness was rude. However, I needed him and pointing out he was a jerk surely wouldn’t help my case.

  “Well, someone like me is here,” I said, trying my damnedest to sound polite and reasonable. Being Southern was saving my ass right now. “There’s going to be a tribunal. Your presence is required.”

  This piqued his interest. “How fascinating. Who is being accused? If it’s me, I can assure you, I shall not be returning.”

  “Have you done something that would require a tribunal?” I asked before I could stop the words from leaving my lips.

  The explosion was enormous and I regretted my curiosity immediately.

  “If I had,” he snarled, “do you really think I would tell you? Trust is earned.”

  I winced at the trust comment. “Umm… nope. My bad.”

  “Say that again,” he demanded.

  “Say what?” I asked, wondering if he was playing some kind of sick game where if I repeated something enough, he could legally fry me where I stood.

  “Say, my bad,” he requested, staring at me with a strange expression.

  “My bad,” I repeated and waited to be incinerated to ash. “Better?”

  “Indifferent,” he replied. “I will need more information from you in order to decide if I will abide by John Travolta’s wishes, Messenger.”

  “You mean the Archangel Michael,” I corrected him.

  “Right. My bad,” he replied, and then waited for the information he’d requested.

  I took a deep breath and bit back all the things I truly wanted to say. They were unnecessary. They would never be necessary. I took a little solace in that he was still a funny man. He might not recall our time together, but if his sense of humor was intact, he could still be happy.

  “The tribunal is against the Angel of Mercy. She wrongly damned someone to the darkness. It was done out of spite and jealousy. The decision must be reversed.”

  “Is this personal for you, Messenger?” he inquired, studying me with interest.

  I nodded. “It is.”

  “I see. So, you walked willingly into the darkness for the accused?”

  “I did.”

  “Any other reason?” he asked emotionlessly.

  I stared at the man I had loved, and sadly still loved, and I shook my head. “No. No other reason.”

  The Grim Reaper digested my request and glared at me the entire time. His eyes held no recognition, simply boredom and disdain.

  “And will I be permitted to dole out the punishment to the Angel of Mercy?” Gideon inquired with a murderous look in his sparkling red eyes.

  “Umm… I was kind of hoping I could do that, but I suppose it’s up to Clarence Smith.”

  “John Travolta,” Gideon corrected me with a grin replacing his angry frown.

  His flirting was a knife to my heart. He didn’t remember me—didn’t remember our relationship. Didn’t remember our love. It meant nothing to him. I meant nothing to him.

  “Right,” I said with a forced smile. “John Travolta.”

  “I will come. However, there is a price,” he said smoothly.

  Shit. No one told me about a payment. I didn’t have much money. I suppose I could take out a loan against my house when we got back. I did finally receive Steve’s life insurance settlement. But Gideon was the Grim freaking Reaper. A hundred thousand dollars was probably nothing to someone like him.

  I nodded stiffly. “Name your price.”

  “You,” he said coldly.

  “I’m sorry,” I snapped. “I’m not for sale.”

  “Everyone has a price, Messenger,” he said with a wicked grin that I was drawn to even though I wanted to slap it off his beautiful face.

  Steve’s afterlife was on the line. Lindsay’s safety and afterlife were on the line. Tim was at my house hunting vibrators to rehome. I wasn’t a casual sex kind of girl—especially with someone I was madly in love with. On the other hand, Birdie had already called me a hooker. Maybe I’d make it come true. Meaningless sex between two consulting adults was no big deal.

  Except it was to me.

  Hopefully, the Grim Reaper would negotiate.

  “I’m not a whore,” I said.

  “Messenger, everyone is a whore for the right price. However, I wasn’t proposing sex if that’s what you were thinking. Although, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

  My blush came up fast and furious. I felt it rise up from my neck and slap my face. Why in the hell did I think he wanted to have sex? I was a forty-year-old widow wearing a postal uniform and my hands were a bloody mess. I wasn’t really sex material. My embarrassment made me want to cry.

  I didn’t. I let my lady balls take over.

  “My bad,” I said in a tone that was as cold as his. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to understand how someone so inconsequential could break down my wall.”

  I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that, but it was far better than becoming a whore in the true sense of the word.

  “Fine.”

  “Do you need assi
stance getting back, Messenger?” he inquired casually.

  I really wanted to tell him to shove his assistance up his rude ass, but I hadn’t come this far to get lost in Hell.

  Sucking back my pride, I nodded. “Yes, please.”

  “So polite,” he muttered with a raised brow.

  “Occasionally,” I shot back.

  His laugh was the last thing I remembered before the world went dark.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Oh my God,” I screeched as I came to on my sofa and was greeted with every sex toy I owned laid out neatly on my coffee table. “Are you kidding me? This is not what friends do.”

  “I didn’t rehome them,” Tim said in his own defense. “I believe your exact words were do not hide, throw away or destroy my vibrators. You said nothing about displaying them on the coffee table.”

  Leaning forward and resting my throbbing head in my bandaged hands, I tried not to laugh. “Tim, this is why you have no friends. You can’t do shit like this.”

  “You should have been more specific,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, well, this particular scenario didn’t occur to me,” I said, wondering where Gideon had gone.

  He had a house here in town. Maybe he was there. Or possibly he went to have a chat with John Travolta. Whatever. The less I saw of him the better.

  I didn’t recall a thing about coming out of Lindsay’s mind. My body hurt and I was pretty sure my hands were broken, but I wasn’t bone tired this time. Considering what I’d been through, I was surprised.

  Still staring at the floor, I wondered if my friendship with Tim was going to last. Right now, I had my doubts.

  “Is Lindsay here?” I asked. “Is she okay?”

  “You’ve both been here the entire time,” Tim said.

  “Dude, you are going to have to stop being so literal. You know what I mean,” I snapped, massaging my temples.

  “So, was that a dick move I just made?” he inquired, truly curious.

  I sighed. It would be quite a while before Tim was allowed to commingle in a group. “Yes. That was a dick move.”

  “I see. So sorry. Lindsay is here and is fine,” he said, awkwardly patting the top of my head. “She’s presently helping the one with the active middle finger find her missing body parts.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t remove the head from the fridge,” I said.

  “I did not. I also didn’t eat it.”

  “Mmmkay,” I said, gagging. “Didn’t realize that was a possibility. You cannot eat my ghosts. Ever. I will kick your ass so hard you won’t sit for a year. You feel me?”

  “As you wish.”

  “And since you brought it up, can that actually be done? Eating a ghost?” I asked.

  “No. I was making a joke,” Tim replied. “It was funnier in my head than when I actually voiced it.”

  “We’re going to need to work on your sense of humor, dude.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Congratulations on not dying and bringing Gideon back to this plane.”

  “Thank you on the not dying part, and how in the heck do you know I was successful?” I asked, thinking I should go share the news with Steve.

  “Because I’m standing right here,” Gideon said.

  My adrenaline shot through the roof and I was sure I screamed. Someone screamed, and it wasn’t Tim or Gideon. Therefore, it had to be me. Diving onto the coffee table, I attempted to hide the six vibrators Tim had put out for display. Mortified didn’t begin to cover how I felt. Not only had I mistakenly thought the Grim Reaper wanted to have sex with me… now he knew no one wanted to have sex with me if my collection of battery-operated boyfriends was anything to go by.

  “Yes. Welcome to the umm… earthly plane,” I choked out, staring daggers at Tim. Friends did not let friends humiliate themselves. Tim had a very long road ahead of him in the friendship department. Thankfully, Gideon was not in my sightline. I didn’t need his pity or to see his amusement right now. “I’m grateful that the Grim Reaper agreed to return even though he has no clue who I am.”

  “What?” Tim asked, confused. “But—”

  “But,” I said, swiftly cutting him off. “If you would be so kind as to take the Grim Reaper to his house in town, that would be great. That’s what a friend would do for another friend.”

  Pinning Tim with a stare that threatened bodily harm if he contradicted me, he shrugged and nodded.

  “As you wish.”

  “I’ll be staying here,” Gideon said flatly. “The Messenger and I have things to discuss.”

  “Nope,” I said, still lying prone on the table, which wasn’t exactly a power position. “No can do.”

  “We have a deal, Messenger,” Gideon reminded me.

  “We do,” I agreed, debating if I should stand up. He’d already seen my stash. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about it. There was nothing wrong with a woman taking control of her own pleasure. I just wished Tim hadn’t found all of my pleasure devices. “However, you have a house in town. Staying at mine wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Terms change,” Gideon said coldly. “Take them or leave them. I have better things to do anyway.”

  Standing up, I whipped around and got up in his face. “Are you threatening me?” I demanded as Tim sat down on the couch and got comfortable.

  “What do you expect?” Gideon inquired. “I’m not exactly a nice guy.”

  “You used to be,” I muttered as I turned and walked away.

  His scent was intoxicating and my desire to touch him was out of control. He could not stay here. I’d already made a fool of myself. I wasn’t strong enough not to do it again.

  “What was that, Messenger?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I snapped, pressing the bridge of my nose and wanting to disappear.

  “Tim, you’re excused,” Gideon said in a curt tone. “Tell the others I’ve returned.”

  He remembered the others, yet he had no clue who I was? Shaking my head, I gave up.

  “You can stay,” I said emotionlessly. I was worn out. I could pretend until after the tribunal was over, and then I would do everything in my power to forget the man who had forgotten me. “You will not harm my squatters, and you will take the guest room on the first floor. Once you have the answers you want from me, you will leave.”

  Tim stood and walked to the front door. “Just so you know, you’ve been gone for a week. Very impressive. I didn’t think you’d wake up for months.”

  “I was gone a week?” I shouted as both Gideon and Tim stepped back. “I was only there for a few hours. Three at the most.”

  “Time runs differently on other planes,” Tim reminded me as he took his leave. “And please keep the uniform. It suits you well, friend.”

  The silence after Tim left was louder than the explosions in Hell.

  This was my house. I had lady balls and had just survived a visit to the darkness. The Grim Reaper might insist on staying, but I wasn’t going to make it pleasant. I was about to break every Southern rule in the book.

  “Kitchen’s over there,” I said with a dismissive nod as I walked up the stairs. “Eat whatever you can find, but don’t mess with the head in the fridge. That stays.”

  If he answered me, I didn’t hear him. I had no desire to hear anything he had to say. The only upside was that after a few days of this bullshit, I’d be over him. Yesterday I would have said that sending Gideon away was the single biggest regret in my life. Three days from now I would hate him.

  Win-win.

  “He doesn’t remember me,” I told Steve, playing off that all I wanted to do was sleep for about a year so I could forget about today. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked it. “Holy cow. I have forty messages. Hope the ringing didn’t bother you while I was gone.”

  “Naawwwooo,” Steve said, looking concerned. “Oooooaukayah?”

  Sitting down on the bed, I kicked off my shoes and cuddled up next to him. “No, I’m not okay,” I said, trying to figure out who I wa
s angrier at… me or Gideon. “I’m angry and sad. I’m embarrassed. The fact that he doesn’t remember me makes all my insecurities about myself rear up and eat away at my confidence,” I told Steve and took a moment to gather my chaotic thoughts. “I still see glimpses of the man I fell in love with, but his mean side is pretty intense. The asshole calls me Messenger.”

  “Dausseeeeee. Ssssoooorrry,” Steve said.

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” I said, caressing his cheek. “The important thing is that Gideon is on this plane and the tribunal can happen.”

  “Yausssss.”

  “Steve,” I said, realizing we hadn’t discussed his death much after he’d come back. “Do you remember the accident?”

  He was quiet for a long moment then sighed. It sounded like a death rattle, but I wasn’t disturbed. He was dead. That would never change.

  “Naawwwooo,” he whispered.

  I hoped like hell that wouldn’t be a problem when I had to go into his mind and relive it to prove his innocence. People could suppress a traumatic event, but it still had to be somewhere in his memory.

  “It’s okay,” I told him, praying I was correct. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  “Daisy?” Lindsay said, standing in the doorway of my room sounding terrified and excited at the same time.

  “Oh Lindsay,” I said, rolling off the bed and approaching her slowly.

  She was no longer a decaying corpse of a girl. However, she was still dead. An ethereal and somewhat blinding golden glow surrounded my friend, and her body was restored to what it had been before she’d passed. She was beautiful. Her eyes twinkled and her sweet smile would stay etched in my memories always.

  “It’s time for you to go,” I whispered.

  “I can stay if you need me,” she said. “I mean, I can take a rain check on this ride and call it back later.”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Not sure that’s the way it works. It’s not a taxi.”

  “I want to go, but I don’t want to leave you,” she said, sounding so very young.

  She shouldn’t have died. Lindsay should have had a whole life ahead of her. Instead it had been stolen by greed.