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By S.M. Schmitz
Resurrected is my first published novel, and was inspired by the idea of having to share my body with another person. I needed a mechanism to make that possible, and settled on aliens rather than any kind of magic. When Lottie, the heroine of this trilogy, is killed in a car accident, her body is inhabited and healed by an alien life form, only Lottie’s memories and personality aren’t supposed to return. Told from the perspective of her fiancé Dietrich, I developed a love story around this idea, one that I enjoyed so much, I completed the first draft of the novel in a week.
Awakened from death. Herself but no longer alone in her own body. Two lives merged into one.
A mistake. An aberration. A miracle.
And a company that wants her dead because she exists.
When Dietrich’s fiancée, Lottie, is killed in a car accident, he descends into his own personal Hell until he runs into her in a café two years later. Claiming she isn’t really Lottie but only possesses some of her memories, the young woman offers him an unbelievable story then disappears.
Using his position as a CIA agent to track her down, Dietrich quickly discovers Lottie remembers far more about her past life than she’d originally let on. But his attempt to learn more about the planet she comes from or the woman she is now is disrupted by a group of men from the company that transports people from their home planet to Earth when they find out about her resurrection and attempt to murder her.
Because for Lottie, something went wrong, and her existence threatens their entire business on Earth. And Dietrich’s ultimate second chance with the only woman he’s ever loved will be threatened as well.
In the first book of The Resurrected Trilogy, a sci-fi thriller romance series, Dietrich will rediscover a love that not even death could erase. But he’ll also discover just how far this company is willing to go to protect their secrets.
How had this happened to her? What the hell had gone wrong? What had been going through Kyrieana’s mind when she woke up? Or was it Lottie’s mind? Did she know she was supposed to have died? That she was dead? Was she thinking about me? Her mother?
I wanted nothing more right then than to leave that room, drive the short distance down Essen Lane to her apartment, to beg her to just let me hold her again, to promise her—even though I had no idea how I could ever fulfill it—that nothing like this would ever happen to her again.
“Could she speak to her?” I finally asked. I already knew the answer. She hadn’t even known how to translate her own name. How would they have spoken to one another?
“No,” Eric said. “She understood what crying meant. She had seen so much of it at the funeral. But she couldn’t figure out why Kyrieana was crying, and she didn’t know how to talk to her. She couldn’t really move much. She wanted to make some sort of sound to let her know she was here with her because she thought Kyrieana was scared or that maybe she was hurting. That happens sometimes if a body is badly injured. They heal the worst of the problems but a broken arm is still going to hurt like hell. She couldn’t do anything though except lie there and watch her best friend cry in this strange body she didn’t even really recognize.
“Anyway, after a while, one of the guys who had been helping them came in to check on them, saw they were both awake, and saw Lottie crying. He figured she was in pain, so he started checking her out again,” Eric paused because he must have seen me flinch. “They weren’t like that, Dietrich. Nobody messed with them. He just checked for broken bones, visible bruises, listened to her heart and lungs, stuff like that. And he talked to her, in English, and of course Lydia couldn’t understand anything he was saying. But she said something weird kind of happened, but she didn’t really think anything of it at the time, because she was kinda dealing with a lot of shit of her own. But this guy, a doctor, I guess, was just talking, trying to be calming and soothing, I suppose, but Lydia was watching her the whole time and at one point, he said something and she swears it seemed like Lottie understood him. Which should have been impossible.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered. A hat trick of holy shits. This was one hell of a ride. “Did the doctor notice?”
“Lydia thinks so. He kinda looked at her funny but then just brushed it off, probably just assumed it was a coincidence because nobody wakes up being able to understand a language from a planet they’ve never been on.”
“So she woke up this way. From the beginning. She woke up as Lottie and Kyrieana.”
Eric just watched me. He had already reached that conclusion, but he didn’t want to agree or disagree with me. This wasn’t a detached interest in a remarkable discovery. This wasn’t even a good story you might tell over a few beers and a game of pool. This was a revelation that was threatening to kill me all over again, to drag me into a deeper part of Hell than I had ever known existed.
If we were right, then my Lottie, the love of my life, my only love, had spent the past two years trapped in her body as someone else. It would mean that she had always known who she was, and who she could never be again. She had awakened from death, resurrected, but no longer herself.
Had she wondered then, as she lay there crying in that room in Waco, Texas, if I had survived her death? If I would survive in this afterlife without her? Was she crying for me, knowing that even if she came to me, she wouldn’t be Lottie, not the same Lottie, and that I may not still love her? Is that why she had never tried to contact me?
“God,” I whispered.
Eric shook his head sadly. “God had nothing to do with this.”
I closed my eyes. No. This wasn’t God’s territory. This afterlife was not His.
S.M. Schmitz is a USA Today Bestselling Author and has an M.A. in modern European history. She is a former world history instructor who now writes novels filled with mythology and fantasy and, sometimes, aliens.
Her stories are infused with the same humorous sarcasm that she employed frequently in the classroom, and as a native of Louisiana, she sets many of her scenes here. Like Dietrich in Resurrected, she is convinced Louisiana has been cursed with mosquitoes much like Biblical Egypt with its locusts.