DEATH (The Justice Cycle Book 1) J Kiefer (ebook reader .txt) 📖

the tightness from sitting in one place for too long. He was not really uncomfortable, but his mind felt like he should be. It was still responding to the echoes of his former life. “Tzedakah, how long will it take for me to... decay?”

The ring was quiet a moment. “The length of time is different for each bearer. So I cannot say.”

“What happens when I do? Do I die? I mean, for real this time.”

“He will come for you when it is time.”

Jared screwed his face up in confusion. “Who will come?”

The ring was silent again. Jared was beginning to get impatient, but before he could lash out, the ring said, “We will talk of this another time. For now, you should rest.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to know...”

Before Jared could finish his sentence, his consciousness simply shut down and he was thrust into a state of oblivion.

Thirty-Two

Dana lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from crying and she was completely disheveled. It had been a week since Jared had died and the tears were still flowing. She wondered if she would ever stop crying. Everyone told her that in time the pain would lessen, and she would be able to move on with her life. The hole in her heart told her differently.

She covered her eyes with her arm and sighed heavily. Sleep had eluded her this past week. She had slept a total of five hours, maybe. Her brain screamed at her to sleep, but she ignored it. Thankfully the captain had given her the week off to recover, but she did not care if she ever went back. In fact, she had been contemplating resigning from the force altogether. She could not imagine going back there without Jared. As soon as the thought of quitting hit her brain, she shut it down and scolded herself for even entertaining it. She was a good cop and she loved her job and she was not going to let this tragedy define the rest of her life.

Her nose was running again so she reached for a tissue from her nightstand. She still had one arm over her eyes, so she had to use muscle memory to find the box. It was still where she left it, but it was empty. Groaning, she batted it to the floor and decided to wipe her nose on her pajama sleeve instead. It was crusty from all the previous times she had done so, but she did not care.

She had been wearing the same set of pajamas since she had returned from the funeral and they were very ripe. She was ripe as well, but she could not bring herself to take a shower. All she wanted to do was lay there and die. She realized she was being dramatic again, and mentally chastised herself. Her stomach grumbled at the hollow pit inside. Ignoring it, she hugged her pillow harder.

Her eyes fell on the alarm clock next to her bed. 11 p.m.

What day is it? she wondered.

Who cares?

She was not going to go anywhere anyway. As she lay there, a thought managed to make its way through the pain.

Is this what Jared would want?

Of course this was not what Jared would have wanted. No, he would want her to go on, to live her life.

But Jared was not there. He was dead.

He had left her, and she was furious at him for it. The vehemence of the thought startled her. Was she really angry? How could she be angry at him? After all, it was not his fault that he had been murdered. No, she was angry but not at Jared. She was angry at the whole goddamned world, but not him. She was angry at herself for being too late to stop it. She was angry at the NYC police who were obviously too inept to find out who did it, and she was angry at Steve.

Yes, but why?

Something in the back of her mind was screaming at her. Something was wrong, but she could not put her finger on it. What was it about Steve that made her skin crawl? She slammed her palm against her forehead to knock free whatever was hiding there. All she received for her efforts was a headache.

She gritted her teeth in frustration and screamed, “What are you trying to tell me?”

With a suddenness that took her breath away, the memory of her last moments with Jared flooded to the forefront of her mind. He had been trying to tell her something, but what was it? She had convinced herself that he was trying to tell her he loved her, but now she realized that she had missed something important.

The shock and grief of the moment had caused her mind to shut down, but somewhere deep in her subconscious the detective in her had been present and it had observed something. It was that ever-rational part of her that was trying to warn her, but about what?

Think! she told herself. Get yourself together and think like the detective you are.

She quieted her mind and went through all the details of that night. She recalled holding Jared and shouting for someone to call for help. She remembered him reaching up and pulling her close to tell her something, but his lung had been punctured by the killer’s knife. He was unable to get enough breath to speak.

Frustrated, she closed her eyes and focused hard on that memory. No words had come out as his lips trembled, but something she had said… had struck a chord in him and made him frantic. What was it?

Retracing her movements from that night, the only thing she could remember saying to him was that he would be all right and that Steve had gone for help. It was then that it hit her. It was the mention of Steve’s name that had gotten the reaction out of