I Would Know Him In Death Novels & Stories

Her fingers hammered against the phone, the sharp tapping echoing her irritation. [Say something. Don't act like you're dead.] [If you don't want it, then return it.] Those cold, cutting words dragged me back to that bone-chilling night in the snow. I wanted to tell her that I was already dead—that I had frozen to death in the cheap down jacket she bought me. Winter in the north is brutally cold. So cold that, after failing to secure a hospital bed, I merely closed my eyes for a moment—and never opened them again.

There, right beside my husband Brandon in the photo, was my so-called best friend, Melissa. … Snapping out of it, I stared at Melissa's two-faced expression. She must have known about the lottery win by then. They had probably plotted the whole thing, faking his death to pocket the cash. "Noelle, don't take it so hard. You're already unwell. What if Brandon's death makes you worse?" I shrugged off Melissa's hand and asked with eerie calm, "Where's Brandon's body? I want to see him." Melissa blinked, thrown off by my composure. "In the ward," she stammered.

The electricity was barely noticeable because the heat and sparks in my chest was way worse as it burst between the two of us. "Aaaw! This is sweet. Haydon, I didn't think you'd find her so soon!" I jumped out of Haydon's grip and turned around to see Death standing near my door and grinning at us. I looked at him in confusion. "How did you know his name?" I asked. Twice in one night, Death proved he knew Haydon. His eyes beamed in shock and he looked at Haydon. I swear they looked related to each other. Same blonde hair, same colour of eyes, but different all the same.

Brenda took a glance at the screen and tossed her phone aside. Sitting in the front passenger's seat, I could see on the screen the chat window with my name on it. There were two messages displayed on the screen. "Mom, I already went back to school since I had something to do. "I probably won't be able to drop by home since I'll be busy for quite some time." I wondered who it was that had used my phone to send these messages after I died. I tried my best to recall what happened after I entered the basement. However, I could not remember anything else other than the sound of something heavy dropping onto the floor.

I could not even remember how. At the very least, I should thank him for serving as our first lab rat and providing such valuable data. … That night, the hospital informed me that he had killed himself shortly after I left by drinking a bottle of sanitizer. They pronounced him dead soon after. I gave a noncommittal "mm-hmm" and told the hospital to handle the body. His funeral was simple: no ceremony, no pomp, no ritual, not even a single guest. I watched as they lowered him into the grave.

He declared to the world that I was his wife, the only legal family he had without blood ties. He didn't entertain the guests or drink a single drop of alcohol. When they lowered my casket into the ground, he reserved a space beside me—a place for himself. "Mia, I love you." A bitter smile touched my heart as the world dissolved around me. In death, you finally learned to love me.

Like someone dying horribly. He doesn’t want to know; he’s gone and I’m sure I’ll die END OF BOOK 1 ------------------------------------------

I finalized. “Do you know his face? Can you identify him if you see him?” He asked, and the tone of his voice sent a straight shiver down my spine. “I can.” I nodded. “I am going to kill him.”

So he had to die with my strength. "Albus Wesley, son of Alejandro Wesley. As one of the angels of death. I am reaping your soul, today. You may now perish in the hellish fire of hell." When my hand finally caught fire Wesley was screaming in pain. And as it finally disappeared his body sank to the floor due to my heavy presence and determination. I have to get to hell, this is my only way to know the truth. Things that creatures in the ministry of death cannot say.

Kaelan was detained by a Swiss banker he knew. Walking back alone through the plush, silent hallway, I turned a corner and came face-to-face with another wheelchair. Its occupant wore a finely tailored but loose-fitting overcoat, a blanket over his knees. His hair was fully white. His face was a landscape of deep lines and profound weariness. Only the eyes were familiar—deepset, dark, but now filled with a still, oceanic calm. William. I stopped. He saw me. Our eyes met. There was no earthquake. No tidal wave. Not even a ripple.