Truth be told, the only call Rolando would be happy to make right now is to the woman who got away, Gloria Dario, though he prefers thinking of her by her maiden name, Medina. A funny story about her son, Paz, would remind him that life isn’t all about death. Unfortunately, his phone is in his locker so he can focus on the task at hand, and it’s too late to disturb her anyhow. Her husband, Frankie, would be upset if Rolando woke everyone up; that man’s temper is alarming, and Gloria would have to pay the price.

An even greater truth to be told is that Rolando wouldn’t mind seeing Frankie’s name appear on this computer, promising his death, but unfortunately Frankie’s not registered for the service. If he were, that would give Rolando more than enough reason to keep working at Death-Cast.

It would be the one End Day call that Rolando could make with a smile on his face.

Andrea Donahue

1:07 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Andrea Donahue because she is not dying today, but the same can’t be said for the nineteen Deckers she’s called in the past hour.

Well, maybe the same can be said for them.

Who’s to say if Death-Cast is even real?

Not Andrea. She doesn’t need to know the company’s big secret (though if someone bribed her with an offer worth risking her solid salary and ironically amazing life insurance, she could be persuaded to do some digging. The private school she’s hoping to send her daughter to won’t be cheap). She minds her business—mostly. She can’t help but notice her fellow herald Rolando is terrible at this job. How did he spend forty minutes on a single call? Andrea believes in kindness, but come on. Befriending someone who is about to die has no value; it’s like flushing cash down the toilet. This person will not become a lifelong friend who attends your wedding, or your funeral. They will not celebrate your triumphs, or comfort you during your failures. They won’t even move into tomorrow with you.

What’s the point?

After Rolando hangs up his call that was certainly shorter than his first but still not as timely as it could’ve been, Andrea knows she must intervene.

“Rolando,” she whispers. “Can I give you some advice?”

He nods with teary eyes and no backbone.

“Do yourself a favor and stop thinking of these Deckers as people,” she says, turning to her computer and dialing the next number because time is of the essence—the other important lesson her coworker needs to learn. “Just deliver the warning and move on. Getting someone’s life story isn’t something you should bring home at the end of the day.”