The Many Lives of Hadley Monroe Read online

  The Many Lives Of Hadley Monroe

  Bec McMaster

  Lochaber Press

  Contents

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  BEFORE YOU LEAVE…

  Also by Bec McMaster

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  'Because I could not stop for Death,

  He kindly stopped for me;

  The carriage held but just ourselves

  And Immortality.'

  * * *

  - The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson,

  Emily Dickinson

  Chapter 1

  The storm came in low and boiling; purple-black thunderclouds that cast an eerie light across the cane fields. The kind of storm that had sprung up when her granddaddy got taken, rest his soul. Hadley grabbed the bag of groceries off the passenger seat of the Chevy, and kicked the door shut behind her, as she ran toward the porch of her grandmother's house. Fat raindrops spattered down, a blast of wind sending the cane rippling in the paddocks on either side of the house, like waves on the ocean.

  Or what she imagined the ocean to look like.

  Though she'd spent the first few years of her life out West, and shifted from town to town with her mama, she'd rarely been further than a day from Copeland, GA, since she arrived at the age of six. All she had were faint memories of her mama taking her on up to Nashville as a little girl to see Garth Brooks. Sitting in the front of her mother's old powder blue Cadillac, with her heels on the dashboard as a popsicle melted down her arm, faster than her attempts to eat it. Hot sun. Songs on the radio. And her mama, long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, as she grinned down at Hadley, and clapped a hand against her thigh, as though she were playing the tambourine. Faded memories, now, like looking at old photos that had been left too long in the sun.

  That was before her mama up, and left her here in Copeland with Gramma Monroe. The last she'd seen of Lily June Monroe, Hadley had been standing on this porch, with her tiny hand wrapped in her Gramma's, watching the dust trail of that old caddy dissipate over the lane.

  Three steps from the porch the downpour hit. "God damn–" Hadley bit her tongue instinctively. Gramma Monroe didn't approve of that kind of language from young ladies.

  The run left her breathless and perspiring, her ribs squeezing tight in her chest. She'd been working too hard lately to keep her fitness up, and it showed. Too many long hours working double shifts at the library in town, and then the diner.

  A black streak shot out of nowhere, sending her heart tripping along 'til she realised it was grams' cat, Jethro. Hadley nearly tripped on him, as he tore through the door the second it was open an inch. The screen door banged shut behind her, rain thundering on the tin roof as she made it to safety.

  No sign of the darned cat.

  "Hadley? Is that you?" Gramma called, from her sitting room.

  Of course it was. Nobody else ever visited them anymore. Hadley scraped her wet hair out of her face, as her grandmother shuffled into the old worn-torn kitchen, leaning heavily on the timber dresser where the Strasbourg silver service was kept. A faded nightgown hung around her gramma's narrow shoulders, and Hadley's heart fell a little. As a young girl, she'd never seen her grandmother not get dressed. Each morning became a ritual of sweet-scented powders, heated rollers, matching dress and shoes, and the ever-present pink lipstick. Gramma didn't go anywhere without putting her face on.

  Or hadn't.

  "Did you lie in?" Hadley asked, pressing a kiss against her grandmother's parchment cheek. That squeeze in her chest grew, and she turned away, rubbing at it, hating the thought of her grandmother's decline.

  "No. No, of course not."

  But Hadley knew she lied.

  It's just a matter of time for her, the doctor had said, in that gentle voice she hated so much. The shock of Mr. Monroe' death... Sometimes it takes older people that way. They just stop... livin'.

  "Looks like the angels are weepin', Hadley May," Gramma said. She made the sign of the cross then coughed, her thin frame jerking as though an invisible hand slammed her between the shoulder blades.

  Hadley put the groceries down, and caught her grandmother by the shoulders. "Why don't you go sit on down? I'll fetch you some tea, and fix up some fried chicken."

  "I ain't that hungry."

  "You need to eat," she replied. The sink was clean enough for her to suspect her gramma hadn't touched the plate she'd left for her that morning before work. A glance in the fridge confirmed it.

  Once she got her grandmother settled with her sweet tea, Hadley returned to unload the groceries. The storm was coming in thick and fast, rattling the roof. A real frog strangler, as grandpa would have said.

  Black skies, thunder like a brass band. That was when I saw him comin' for me, Miss Hadley. The silky-soft pitch of her granddaddy's voice whispered through her memories. His story-tellin' voice, she liked to think it.

  Saw who, grandpa?

  His eyes would get that faraway look. A young man. Like me. Tall and pale, with a shock of black hair. Solemn and grim. Ain't like no man I ever seen before. Somethin' otherworldly about him. Then I realised. He ain't got no shadow.

  Hardly the sort of stories the girls in her class listened to, but Hadley would lean forward, her breath catching. No shadow?

  No shadow, her granddaddy confirmed. He came for me, Hadley May. A shudder. An' I cheated him then, but knew he'd come back for me one day.

  Hadley stared out through the window, as she washed the greens in the sink. A whole lot of foolishness, as her grandmother would say, but it had been Hadley's favourite story. The time old Lewis Monroe cheated Death.

  For another forty years at least. The faint smile on her face died, clouding over. What was she going to do? Her two jobs didn't afford them any health insurance, and gramma was fading every day, like a tablecloth hanging on the line too long.

  The lights chose that moment to flicker and die, with a mighty crash of thunder. The sudden surge of darkness made her heart race, and she dropped the colander.

  "Hadley?" her gramma called. "Hadley?"

  "I got it, grams." Wiping her hands dry on her jean cut-offs, she started for the door to fetch the generator. The faded light through the window was just enough to see by.

  Stillness weighed heavily in the air in the hallway. The old long case clock had fallen silent, its brass pendulum quivering. Hadley frowned as she passed it by, sweat springing up along the back of her neck.

  No clock would tick. No electrics would work.

  Lightning flashed. For a second she thought she saw a man-shape in the glass of the door, and clapped a hand to her chest. When she blinked, there was no one there.

  "It's just a story," she muttered to herself, as she fetched the shed key's down from their hook by the door.

  The clock started ticking again; like a bomb.

  "Shit." Hadley dropped the keys, scrambling for them on the floor in the darkened hallway.

  Timber floorboards creaked, and she looked up. There was nothing there. But suddenly she didn't want to leave the house.

  Clutching the fist of keys, Hadley peered into the kitchen. "Grams, you okay?"

  There was no answer, only a weird, throat-curdling sound from beneath the dresser. Jethro. His back arched, and his green eyes locked on something behind her.

  Hadley snatched the broom out of the corner, and spun. Nothing. Her heartbeat thundered in he
r ears. Thick spears of yellow lightning lashed through the indigo skies through the window, outlining a figure in the reflection.

  "I know you're there." She clutched at the charm around her throat - her grandfather's. "You might as well show yourself." Swallowing hard, she tipped up her chin. "It'd be rude not to."

  The answering stillness seemed like the aftermath of the enormous church bell of St. Mary of the Angels; the air quivering, sound hovering just on the edge of hearing... Movement shifting through the particles of air until she was almost cross-eyed.

  Between one blink, and the next, he was there.

  Jethro tore away through the house, leaving her alone to face the intruder. Hadley staggered backward, her grip firming around the broom handle, though her mouth parted in shock.

  He couldn't have been much older than she. The hood of his black coat hid most of his face. All she could see were a pair of firm lips, and the faintest of clefts in his chin. As he lifted his head... those eyes... they weren't human. The blue of his irises was the only colour about him, the rest of him seemingly made of shadows; or like an old black-and-white movie. Faint curiosity gleamed there, though his expression held only resignation.

  He lifted scarred hands, and dragged the hood of his coat back, revealing thick black hair that raked over his forehead, and a whorl of tattoos vanishing up the side of his neck and into his hairline. No. Not tattoos, she realised. More like scars that had been rubbed with ash. Something vaguely primitive.

  No shadow. Her breath came hard, and fast. This wasn't happening. Just a story, the way her granddaddy always told it, but the grip of the broom felt heavy in her hands. If she pinched herself she had no misgivings that she'd feel it.

  "You're n-not having her." Hadley sidestepped between him, and the door behind her. Grams was the only thing tying her to this godforsaken town, but the idea of losing her... She was all that Hadley had left.

  Death glanced sidelong beneath his lashes, surveying the kitchen. 'If I wished to take her, you could not stop me.'

  Truth. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't."

  'I do not have a choice. Death is claiming the body, and I must do my duty.'

  Hadley shot a nervous glance toward the living room. "She'll hear you."

  'No, she won't.' He cocked his head. 'Can't you feel it?'

  There was no lightning, no thunder, just an ominous silence, thick with brewing intensity. The clock had stopped ticking again, the world weighted with heavy expectation. Perhaps it was the darkness, but she almost thought the world had grayed out, colour leaching from the edges of her vision.

  Not her world. Hadley shivered. "What did you do?"

  'This is the Between, where I exist. No time here. No sound.'

  "It's awful," she blurted.

  His gaze sharpened. 'Some say it is peaceful.'

  "What did you do to me?" Panic tripped over her tongue. "Can you take me back? Am I trapped here? Why can I see you when I couldn't before?"

  'You are not trapped here forever. And only those caught between worlds - such as mediums - or those on the verge of death can see me. Or if I allow it.' His gaze dropped to the charm at her throat, and sudden intensity tightened his expression. 'That is your grandfather's, yes?'

  Hadley clutched the charm. "Yes."

  Death cast it a wary glance, and Hadley's heart fluttered. Something about the charm disconcerted him. Damn her grandfather, for never telling her how he'd tricked this man.

  Black shadows slithered through the corners of her vision. Hadley tilted her head, but they were gone again.

  Focus. Everybody wants something. Even Death.

  "Perhaps we can reach some kind of compromise? What d-do you want?" Hadley backed away, holding the broom in front of her.

  'It is not a matter of want, so much as what I must do.'

  "You can't have her. It's not fair! She's not ready to go–" And I'm not ready to let her.

  Death's eyes slowly narrowed. 'They always say this. What makes you any different to the others? Why should I grant you this boon, when I do not for others?'

  "You did it once," she replied.

  That made his face harden. 'So he told you then.'

  Not the how of it. Hadley squeezed the broom desperately. Her granddaddy would never speak of how, just trail off, staring into the distance, his eyes growing a little sad. If he told her the truth, then Death would come for her instead, he'd said.

  "It doesn't have to be forever. Just... a little more time."

  'No.'

  "Even Death must want something."

  There... a flicker in his eyes. His face tightened. 'Only to perform my duty.'

  Yet he didn't make a move toward her. Hadley let the broom lower, a certain suspicion filling her. If this were about duty, then he'd have reaped his soul, and moved on. Instead, he was letting her speak.

  Hadley leaned the broom against the wall. Not like it was going to stop him. "One more year," she said, knowing she gambled with her grandmother's life.

  'You're bartering with me?'

  "Is that not how it works? We play a round of poker or two–"

  'No.' The sudden echo of his voice in her ears made her wince. 'I do not play games.'

  "Then tell me what you want."

  'Nothing,' he repeated.

  "If you didn't want anything, then you wouldn't have shown yourself to me," she shot back.

  That made him pause. Hadley's breath caught; she was right.

  Standing silently in her kitchen with his hands clasped behind his back, he examined the silver service, lovingly polished by her grandmother. 'I do not understand why you are all so desperate to stay here,' he said.

  Here? "To remain amongst the living?"

  'Those that see me always beg for more time.' His eyes grew distant. 'Why?'

  What kind of question was that? But her grandfather had always taught her not to give away the goose for free. "And if I can answer it? Will you leave her be?"

  This time he turned to face her, his eyes focusing sharply. Dangerous eyes. She had the feeling that if she stared too long into them, she'd see something she wasn't certain she was ready for. 'A week,' he said.

  "A year," she repeated promptly, though her palms were damp.

  'Two weeks.'

  "Six months..."

  It went on, Hadley's nerves giving way to the surge of desperation. Death wasn't quite so terrifying now. His eyes were bluer by the moment, the stark grey world of the Between seeming just a little brighter. Even those lingering shadows that haunted the edges of her vision seemed to fade away a little.

  Finally Hadley tipped her chin up, and stared him in the eyes. "Two months. That's my final offer."

  'You act as though you have something I desperately want,' he snapped.

  The only question was: what was it? What could she - of all people - have that Death could crave. An answer didn't seem enough. "You gave grandfather longer."

  'Your grandfather cheated.'

  "I cannot imagine you the type to allow that."

  His gaze dropped. There was something not quite right here. 'You have a month with her,' he said finally. 'A month to make me understand. Get the question right at the end of that time, and you may have another month.'

  "And if I can't make you understand?" Once again she caught a flicker of shadow, melting down the wall like some slithering Dali clock.

  'What is it?'

  "Nothing." She focused on him again, forcing herself not to see the shadows. "What happens if I can't make you understand?"

  His voice lowered. 'You say your goodbyes.'

  The bravado left her. She'd done what she could, though she could feel the sting of heat lash her eyes. It had been so long since she'd cried; only the once since her mother left her behind, and that had been over her grandfather's death.

  Hadley took a deep breath. "Very well. Do we shake hands or something?"

  Death reached out toward her, and she flinched. His hand froze, and she could see an
cient scars on his fingers. A certain, dreadful kind of stillness masked his face, and he tried again. It reminded her of the expression she'd worn during school, when all the other little girls wanted to know where her mama was, and who her daddy had been. For a second, she felt a strange kind of kinship.

  Only that thought forced her spine to stiffen, to allow him to press his fingertips between her breasts. Beneath the cool touch, her heart thumped hard, and she sucked in a sharp breath. "What are you doing?"

  'Two months, so I vow it,' he replied in stilted language. 'One for the bargain, and two for an answer.'

  A hollow pain radiated in her chest. "Stop." She caught his wrist, and he withdrew his fingers. The pain vanished, leaving her gasping as she held onto him. He'd grasped her arm with his other hand, those strong fingers digging into her biceps. Hadley looked up at him helplessly. He smelled like burned cinnamon; something inhuman, but not entirely unpleasant.

  'Tomorrow.' His voice softened just the slightest fraction. 'I shall come again, to see if you yet have an answer for me.'

  With that he was gone. The world erupted back into vibrant colour and noise, the light above her suddenly flickering to life, and gramma's TV blaring. God, she felt heavy, as if she'd stepped from zero gravity back to a world where flesh and bone mattered. The sensation of his fingers still gripped her arm, sending little shivers down her spine.

  "Hadley?" her gramma called.

  Hadley collapsed against the dresser in relief. One month. Then she would lose the only thing she had left in the world. Unless... Unless she could provide Death with an answer to an impossible question.

  Chapter 2

  Why do the living always want to stay? Why do they fear death so much? Why do they grieve when their loved ones are taken?

  Hadley gnawed on her knuckle as she idly wiped the counter top at the diner. How did you answer that question? Because they fear death, fear the unknown. Because without their loved ones, it leaves a little hollow in a person's heart, the way it had done when Grandpa passed on.