King for a Day by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
The rattle of the gate outside the room broke our attention. King’s color instantly shifted back to purple, and his expression returned, cold and callous. He rushed to the door, slammed it shut, and leaned in with both hands. “Fucking hell.”
We were out of time.
I stood there staring at his broad back; his head hung low between his arms. It was now or never.
“I just saw what I needed, King. So do it.” Knowing that a part of the man he once was still lived validated my hope that I wasn’t crazy for caring about him. And King had been wrong. It wasn’t the dark part of me that wanted him; it was the good part of me. It saw that he wasn’t completely lost to his curse.
“Do it. Quickly. Before he puts you to sleep.” I placed my hands on his back, but he didn’t move. “King, it’s okay, I promise. I want to come back.” The ring will work.
“Where are my little pets?” Vaughn called out for us. “I have a treat for you.”
King let out a breath and turned toward me, pressing his back against the door. He looked at me with those beautiful gray eyes, and I saw genuine fear in them.
I smiled and placed my hand on his cheek. “Now is not the time for doubts.” I stood up on my tippy toes and reached my lips up to his mouth.
King tensed at first, but then, like a switch had been thrown, he kissed me back, cupping my face between his hands. His lips moved over mine, needy and desperate. Our tongues slid against the other’s in frantic, delicious swirls. He pulled away, and I saw nothing but purple inside his pupils. Pain and sorrow.
“I will see you on the other side, Mia.”
I blinked and felt the horrific sensation of King slipping inside my body. The agony, the hell living inside him, was now inside me. I felt the unsettling sensation of him wrapping around my heart.
I gasped. Buried somewhere beyond the pain was the sensation of King embracing me gently from within, stroking my heart and telling me not to be afraid.
The door flew open, and Vaughn’s sickening smile greeted me. His dress shirt was covered with blood, and his pants were unbuttoned. “There you are, Miss Turner. Ready for a little fun?”
I opened my mouth and screamed as a jabbing pain hit my chest. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt my body trying desperately to fight back against what was happening to it, but it was useless.
“No!” Vaughn screamed like a child who’d been robbed of his favorite toy. “You can’t do this! You owe me screaming. You owe me a special night!”
I smiled and closed my eyes, allowing the life to drain from my body.
“You fucking bitch! I’ll find your little brother, Miss Turner. He will take your place!”
The room turned dark.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Honestly, I was hoping for more—an out-of-body experience, the ability to travel anywhere I liked, a glimpse of the infamous light. Didn’t happen. When I opened my eyes again, I was surrounded by darkness, my body wet, sticky, and encased in some sort of plastic. The only experience I got was two lungs screaming for air.
I pushed my hands through a small opening near my face and spread it wider, gasping for clean air. There was none available.
I reached to find cool, smooth steel. Same as what was underneath. Where am I?
My fingertips continued to explore the sides and right angles of the tightly confined space.
Fuck. I’m in a meat locker! In a goddamned body bag! These were King’s instructions to the body disposal service?
I screamed in horror and pounded my fists against the metal walls. “Let me out! Help!” I searched with my hands for a latch or hinge or anything near my head. Nothing. Maybe it was down by my feet, but there was no way to turn my body. “Let me out!” I shimmied down and kicked hard.
Then it struck me. Where was I? Who would be there to open the door? Was I still in Vaughn’s house? Had he even called the disposal service? My heart pounded like a drum of doom inside my chest as I tried to calm myself.
The door swung open at my feet. A man jumped back, cursing in a language I didn’t recognize but sounding just as terrified as me. That was a great sign because it couldn’t be Vaughn or anyone in his crew. They wouldn’t be freaked out.
“He-hello? Can you please let me out?”
More foreign words that sounded like cursing.
I pushed against the surface near my head and propelled the platform out. I sat up and savored the air filling my lungs.
The man in blue scrubs, who looked to be in his thirties, held a shiny scalpel in his shaking hand.
“It’s okay. Just…calm down.” Fuck, I’m the one who just came back from the dead. I should be freaking out. The smell of death and ocean coated my skin as did sand and salt. More than anything, I wanted to shower and get into some clean, comfortable clothes. And to get the hell out of there. First, I needed to call Mack. But there was something else I was forgetting. Something important…My memory clicked into place.
Fuck…Justin! Justin! Oh no. Vaughn was going to go after my brother as punishment. And God only knew what Vaughn might do to King, too. Or try to do, anyway. The man had been furious—furious!—about being robbed of his special night with me.
The mortician spoke, but I didn’t understand a word.
“I’m Mia.” I pointed to myself. “Do you have a phone?” I gestured a phone with my hand to show him what I meant. “Phone call?”
He hesitantly nodded yes and pointed to a desk in the corner. He said something else, but I didn’t understand. I wiggled out of the horribly disturbing body bag—ohmyGod—and hopped up from the table.
Eyes bulging with disbelief, he held out the hand piece.
“Thank you.” I nodded and smiled tensely.
I immediately called Justin, but it went into his voice mail as usual. “Dammit, Justin. Answer your goddamned phone! Vaughn is coming for you. And…shit. If you get this, don’t tell anyone—anyone—that you got a message from me.”
Fuck. I hung up, thinking that Mack might know what to do or how to track down my brother.
I was about to dial, but then realized I didn’t know Mack’s number. I only knew King’s cell and the number for the office. I tried both, but no one answered either.
“Shit.” Who else could I call?
Becca. She was my best friend since I was little. If I could trust anyone, it would be her. But if I called, it could possibly drag her into all this.
I had an idea.
I dialed her number, and it rang several times. I almost gave up hope, but the heavenly sound of her groggy voice blessed my eardrums. “Helloooo,” she yawned.
“Becca. It’s me, Mia.”
“Mia? Oh my God. Where the hell are you?”
“I don’t know, but I need your help. I need you to hire a courier and deliver this phone number. Can you see it on your caller ID?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Write it down and have the courier go to the address I’m going to give you. But whatever you do, don’t go anywhere near the place. Do you understand?”
“Mia, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I heard the distress creeping into her throat, making her words come out all shaky.
“It’s okay, Becca. Everything will be okay. Just tell the courier to ask for a man named Mack. He has a scar over his right brow. Make sure they give this phone number to him. Tell the courier to wait all day if he has to. Okay?”
I only hoped that Mack was still keeping an eye out on the warehouse. It was worth a shot.
“Uh, okay,” she said.
I repeated the instructions and address; all the while the freaked-out mortician stared at me from the corner of the room. I told Becca I loved her and hung up.
The man said something again, and I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t understand. No English?”
He shook his head.
“Spanish? Un poco español?” I asked. It was worth a shot.
He nodded. “Un poco.”
Th
“Grecia,” he said, but it came out as “Grethia.”
Grecia. Grecia…“Greece! We’re in Greece.” I rubbed my hands over my face.
I wonder where they found me.
“Okay. Ummm…donde yo,” I couldn’t remember the Spanish word for “find.” Encontrar! “Donde encontrarme?”
My Spanish was horrible.
The man shook his head from side to side. He didn’t understand. The morgue door burst open, and an officer pointed a huge frigging gun at me. With his thick build, black eyes, and dark, wavy hair, he reminded me of someone.
The officer yelled in Greek, jerking the gun, but I didn’t know what he said. I assumed the obvious.
I held up my hands, but not too high. My dress was so damned short and growing shorter by the moment as it dried. And every time I moved, the sand sticking to my skin rubbed me raw. “I don’t understand.”
The policeman quickly switched to English—thank goodness—and instructed me to turn around slowly.
I did as he asked, but…Crap! I had to stay here. Mack would be calling. And I certainly didn’t want to be running around where I might bump into someone.
“Can you ask him where I was found? Please?” The policeman handcuffed me and spoke to the mortician, who answered promptly.
With a thick accent the officer said, “You were found on the beach a few hours ago. He says you were dead. He is certain you are a ghost.”
“Pfff…Yeah, right. Ghosts. Do I look like a ghost to you?”
“No. You look like a suspicious person playing sick games. That is why you are coming with me.”
Shit. I had to tell these guys something. I didn’t want word getting out that a dead woman had been found on the beach and then turned out not to be dead.
“Why am I being arrested? I was kidnapped, and…I jumped off the boat. ” I stared with my best traumatized expression—not difficult to do given the situation.
“Who kidnapped you?” he asked in the world’s most condescending tone ever.
“I don’t know. I was on vacation with my friends, and we met some guys in a club. I think one of them put something in my drink.” I am such a horrible liar.
“Where were you?”
My mind scrambled, trying to think of somewhere within this hemisphere where I’d been on business. “I was in Venice.” I’d been there on a photo shoot once. I at least knew the name of a hotel and one bar.
“You are a long way from Venice, Miss…?”
“Mia. Mia King.” I don’t know why I lied about my last name. It was a stupid thing to do.
“Well, Miss King, I will take you down to the station. We can sort all of this out there.” He nodded at the mortician.
“But what did I do? I’m the victim here,” again I lied.
“If that man,” he pointed to the terrified mortician, “says you were dead. You were dead.”
I huffed. “So what are you saying? I was dead and just woke up? As if.” I shook my head. Crap. Crap. Crap. Can this get any worse?
“No. Of course not,” he replied. “But perhaps you and someone else took the real body. And you thought this little game would cover up its disappearance.”
Okay. I didn’t have a reply to that other than, “Who the hell would do such a thing?”
The officer looked at me with his large, brown eyes. “We will find out.” He ushered me toward the door.
My mind spun frantically, hoping to hell that Mack would get to me before anyone learned about me being alive. “I called my friend. I gave him this number. He’ll be worried sick about me.”
The policeman spoke to the mortician and then told me if anyone called, they’d be directed to the station. He walked me through a small administrative office and outside to his car. We looked to be downtown—the historic-looking, gray, brick buildings were stacked tightly together, and there was a large bank on the corner. It was also early morning. The sun wasn’t fully up, and there was a bit of traffic. I wondered how long I’d been gone.
A small chilly wind kicked up, triggering a shiver as the officer put me into the back of his car. I hoped the ring would prevent me from getting pneumonia because I swore I felt icy seawater sloshing around in my cold bones. It was unsettling. Why the hell had King arranged to throw me in the ocean? Landing me here of all places?
“If you are telling the truth,” said the officer with the deep accent, “I apologize for the harsh treatment. But it is not every day that our coroner calls, screaming that the dead have awoken and want to eat his brains.”
Normally, I would laugh at that, but the gravity of the situation had robbed me of my funny bone. I doubted I’d be able to even work up a genuine smile until King was free, Vaughn was dead, and Justin was safe.
“I don’t think I’ll be eating anyone’s brains,” I said. “But I would love a shower and some dry clothes. Or pants. I’d settle for pants.”
He looked at me through the rearview mirror. “We will see what we can do.”
“Thank you, Officer…I didn’t catch your name.”
“Officer Spiros,” he said with a thick accent.
I knew that last name. Spiros. Spiros. “Of Crete? Are we on Crete?”
He glanced at me again through the mirror. “Yes, you are in the city of Heraklion. Why?”
It would be too much of a coincidence. Completely insane, but…but…even that accent sounded familiar. “Do you know Arno? Or…” Crap. What was his full first name? Why was I so bad with names?
“Arsenius?” he said.
“Yes! Arsenius. Do you know him?”
He nodded slowly. “He is my brother. Why do you ask?”
A wave of relief flooded my body. This was why I’d been brought here. King had connections in Crete. But how had he known I’d end up in the right hands?
Does it matter?
No.
I dropped my head. “Thank you, Lord. Oh, thank you.”
Officer Spiros pulled to the side of the street. He turned and faced me. “Who are you?”
I showed him my mark, and his eyes lit up. He said something in Greek that I imagined was a curse or phrase that indicated disbelief. “Where is our king? Why is he not with you?”
“I don’t know where he is, but I know who has him.”
The officer made an unexpected U-turn.
~~
During the drive through the small city—very touristy with lots of hotels, cute restaurants, and nightclubs—I gave Officer Spiros the super-condensed, CliffsNotes version of what had happened and how we’d been taken to Vaughn’s basement. Spiros listened but didn’t say much other than he needed to get me out of sight as quickly as possible, which I assumed meant going to his home.
We made our way down the rocky coast along a winding road. Carved into the hillsides, small farms with neat rows of green overlooked the deep blue ocean shimmering off in the distance. Crete was breathtaking, and I could almost imagine King living here once upon a time when he was a man, a happy man.
The highway cut inland a bit, and then we turned down a long dirt road that headed back toward the ocean.
The car pulled up to a foreboding iron gate with spikes at the top, and Officer Spiros spoke into the intercom. The gate buzzed and hummed as it slid open and we passed. Security cameras atop tall iron posts followed the car until we arrived at a large, brick, circular driveway with an enormous fountain spouting water toward the sky.
“Where are we?” I asked, my teeth chattering.
“This is his home.”
His? “Whose?”
“King, as I believe you call him.”
The enormous home looked like a hotel, not a private residence. Giant white pillars soared to the three-story roof on either side of the home’s entrance—two hand-carved, oversized doors. Bright white plaster and square angles gave the home an ultramodern look.
Off to the right was a tropical g
And a big honking helicopter.
“King lives here?” I asked.
The officer nodded his head. “Yes. More or less.”
“And you know about…his condition?”
The officer shot me a look as he opened the door and called out for someone. “It is forbidden to speak of his secrets. Our family has sworn an oath to protect those as well as him.”
Okay. So they obviously knew King was a ghost.
I nodded. “So what are we going to do? That psycho Vaughn is after my brother. I need to warn him.” Then, of course, there was King. Thank goodness he was already dead because I had no doubt in my mind that Vaughn would skin him and kill him, too, if given the chance.
Spiros replied, “The family will be here within the hour to discuss it. In the meantime, we will get you fed and cleaned up.”
A plump, older woman in a black dress and headscarf appeared the moment my head nearly swiveled off its hinges in the entryway. The home was a palace—marble sculptures of Greek gods, a wide, circular indoor fountain that flowed into a six-foot pool, enormous indoor palm trees, and high ceilings with murals of celestial beings in white togas, reclining on white, fluffy clouds amid a backwash of blue sky. Light poured in from huge skylights, filling every corner and creating a shimmery effect on the white marble floors.
Officer Spiros spoke to the woman, who looked perfectly at ease until he said a word that sounded like “vasílissa” toward the very end.
“Oh. Oh!” the gray-haired woman covered her mouth and then started to rant.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked them both.
“Nothing,” he said calmly. “She was not expecting visitors.”
The frantic woman grabbed my hand, making gestures about my body or my horribly short, rapidly drying leather dress.
“Go with her. She will show you to a room and find you something to wear. I will be back in an hour.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To cover your tracks. We don’t want anyone wondering why I did not deliver ‘a suspicious woman’ from the morgue.”