Page 4 of Death and Do-Overs

“Obviously.” I forced myself to look away. I needed to leave. I wasn’t interested in purchasing taxidermied animals, or whatever else he was selling. The involuntary draw that kept me standing here had to be some sort of magical enchantment. There was no other reasonable explanation for me to still be here.

“But that’s not why I know he’s a doctor,” he said.

An obvious lead, a manipulative ploy to keep me engaged.

Don’t respond. Walk away.

I crossed my arms, a barrier between us. Yet I asked, “How do you know?”

“He has a benevolent soul.”

A benevolent soul? A taxidermied fox?

His strange proclamation forced my gaze to return to his face. It was impossible not to stare at this weirdo, with his striking eyes and sharp bone structure.

He was a hot weirdo. By the confidence pouring off of him, he was well aware of this fact.

“You can see it in his eye. Come look.” He cocked his head to the side, suggesting I follow.

Part of me wanted to bolt. Part of me wanted to follow. All of me wished I wasn’t amused and curious at what he’d say next.

He returned to the fox, knelt down, and pointed, as if completely certain I would follow him.

I followed.

“The eye is glass,” I told him.

“Look,” he said again, with that ridiculous smile.

Despite how nonsensical it was, I leaned down to get a better look at the fox. A touch of brown hid inside the fox’s otherwise black glass eye. A scuff left a white streak across the surface.

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “The glass eye truly is a window to the soul.”

“Pure benevolence.”

I shook my head. “This fox is most definitely depraved and filled with spite.”

Mr. Eyes chuckled. Warmth spread through my chest in response to the sound. It felt nice. I hated it.

“I see Dr. Red has caught your interest.” An exceptionally tall man with a top hat and hollow cheeks approached. “An excellent choice.”

Wait…was this man the stall’s vendor?

I turned to Mr. Eyes.

“You don’t work here,” I said, more statement than question.

He shook his head, causing a bit of his blond hair to sweep over his forehead. “Simply enjoying the market.”

Something shifted in his eyes. He claimed he was speaking with me for the sake of speaking with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Worse? That was probably worse.

Mr. Eyes pulled something out of nowhere and held it out. Had it been in his sleeve? I wasn’t sure.

“You dropped this,” he said.

I stared at the plain black wallet offered in his open palm.

It couldn’t be my wallet. My wallet was safely tucked away in the messenger bag at my side, beneath a set of snaps and inside a zipper. Yet….

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