Expired by Evie Rhodes Read Free Book Online

posture of one trained in the military. She could see his biceps bulging beneath the army jacket he wore.
    The strangest thing about him was, he stood silent, not speaking a word. But, Anita could hear voices emanating from him. A symphony of voices was swelling from within him, but he never moved his lips or spoke a word.
    A clammy wetness broke out on Anita’s palms. She rubbed her hands together. Suddenly the voices turned raucous. She recognized the tone. She had heard them before. She had heard those same voices emanate from Tracie Burlingame, the patchwork quilt.
    Astounded, she took a step back without even realizing she had moved. She stared at him. She couldn’t see through him the way she would have liked. For some reason, her sight had been blocked, and she couldn’t dig beneath the layers of this huge thing that stood before her.
    â€œWhat are you doing in my house?” she finally asked.
    The bald mountain stared back at her without answering. Anita swallowed past the lump in her throat as she tried to design the next question. “Who are you?” she asked.
    His deep baritone voice shook the room. “I am Me,” he answered.
    â€œWho is ‘me’?”
    â€œMe is Me,” he said.
    Anita sighed. She could see they were getting nowhere with this line of questioning. She decided to get straight to the point, although a part of her fearfully tried to hold back.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she asked, all the while fearing the answer.
    A voice spoke, but his lips didn’t move. The voice was clear and distinct. “I have come for the gifts. The gifts in Harlem.” His eyes roamed the walls, scanning the pictures of the precious, famed African-Americans.
    Anita gasped, “No.”
    Another, very high-pitched voice spoke, different in tone this time. “We must all be gathered together.” The bald mountain looked into her eyes. His gaze didn’t waver.
    Anita saw a slight movement in his biceps beneath his jacket. Someone sneezed, but it wasn’t either him or her.
    â€œOkay.” Anita had had enough. “Don’t you be coming in here uninvited, playing no games with me. I’m an old woman and I don’t have time for games. State your business clearly.” The Louisiana spunk she was so well known for found its way to the surface, and although she sensed imminent danger, she decided to face it down.
    It was the only way. People who were too scared could be had. “Gone ahead.” She slipped into her dialect. “State your business, I said.”
    â€œI came to collect the gifts. You have the sight.” He removed the block to her second sight, allowing her to see. What she saw rocked her world. It rendered her speechless. She shivered in the cozy warmth of the room.
    â€œI am Me. Do you understand?” he asked.
    Anita nodded.
    â€œGood. Now you know my name. You will see a great many things come to pass in the time to come.”
    He closed the shutters on the kitchen windows. He walked through the small alcove to the front door, opened it, and was gone. The door shut softly behind him.
    Anita bowed her head in horror. He was the collector.

8
    T he night of the funeral, Rashod Burlingame sat next to the grave that held the remains of his brother Randi. He noticed they had covered the grave since earlier in the day, when Tracie had thrown the first dirt on the casket.
    He dropped the cheap flowers he had gotten from a street vendor on top of the grave. Then he sat cross-legged on the ground with a sketch pad in his hand. He sketched the cemetery and the look of the grave, which held his brother.
    It was hard for him to believe that Randi was lying all by himself in the dark, black hole covered with dirt.
    But encased in the ground in the metallic blue box he was. Sometimes you never knew how things would work out.
    He took a blunt from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply. There. He felt better after taking a toke.