“You didn't have to bring anything,” my father said as he patted him on the back.
“I wanted to.” The man turned and looked straight at me, in a way that made me want to run to my room and hide. My father seemed oblivious to my reaction, and the slimy feeling this guy gave off, and was still smiling away.
The man handed me the gift bag. I didn't want to take it but I saw my father's face behind him giving me the look. The “Camilla, you're being rude again” stare. I reached out a hand and took the unwanted gift.
“I hope you like it.” There was something in his eyes, the way he looked at me, that made me freeze up.
“Say ‘thank you,’ Camilla,” my mother said as she walked in the room.
“Thank you.”
“I bet you’ll turn into quite a little lady when you grow up.”
I nodded and then took off the first chance I got.
I shot up in bed, trying to catch my breath.
I'd lied. I did know Bad Guy.
He had looked exactly the same twenty-five years ago and, even then, I'd known something was off with him.
I jumped out of bed and looked around the house quickly. After I was certain I was alone, I powered up the laptop Fate always left sitting on the side table.
My mother was big on ancestry so I knew every site to hit, complete with passwords. It took me about fifteen minutes to find Robert Reynolds. He’d supposedly died one year after that dinner. My guess was he'd been dead long before then.
No wife or children listed. His parents didn’t exist. Robert Reynolds never actually existed.
I'd just cleared the history when Fate walked in. There was no way I was admitting I knew this guy now, not after his reaction to even a hint of recognition.
“Hope you don't mind, I borrowed your computer.”
“That’s fine,” He said as he moved around the kitchen.
“What happened to the Karma before me?”
I saw his movements falter for a hair of a second before he continued taking things out of the fridge.
“You want some French toast?”
“Sure,” I stood up and walked over to the breakfast bar that faced the kitchen, waiting for him to talk on his own. I had a feeling this was a touchy subject and I didn't want to press. Fate wasn't the type you could push into a response, anyway. He was either going to tell me on his own terms or not at all.
“A month before she died, she came to me and told me about a man she'd seen. She said she thought he was like us. From that day on, she had become obsessed with him.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing but a description of what he looked like.”
“Which was?”
“Exactly like Bad Guy.” He placed a plate in front of me, but I noticed he didn't make himself one now. “The day she died, she called me and said she'd spotted him again. I asked her to wait for me to get there, but she said she had to follow him or she'd lose him again.”
“And then what happened?”
“She disappeared. Harold said she retired, but it's a lie. She's dead.”
“How can you be sure?” I forced down a bite but had lost my appetite as well.
“She wasn't due for retirement and Harold knew that as well as I. She wouldn't have left without saying goodbye.”
“What about the rest of the office? No one else is suspicious?”
“I haven't spoken to them about it.” He leaned on the opposite counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Why not?”
“I don't want them involved.”
“I'm involved?”
“You have to be. You're also leaving. They aren't. It's better for them to stay out of it.”
I pushed the plate away after I forced down enough to not be rude.
“So he must have known she was searching for him. Whoever he is, he knows about us.” He certainly knows about me.
“Which means he’s somehow like us,” he said, finishing my thoughts. “But I'm fairly certain he wasn't ever with us.”
“Why?”
“Because I've been around a long time.” He walked out into the living area and I swiveled on my stool to follow him around the room.
“Is there anyway for this transition to happen accidentally?”
“It's never happened before, but I couldn't rule it out.” He paused for a moment. “I've got a job,” he said, and left.
With no other current leads, I decided to do a little office reconnaissance. I should probably be at work anyway, demonstrating my active participation.
An hour later, I was looking up at the black felt board that listed all the inhabitants and their office suites.
Then my eyes lit on “Custom Toys.” He was real? I'm coming, Santa! I did a little hop in place before I caught myself.
It wasn't even a question of where I was going first, straight to the big guy himself. Santa. I wondered if he had a north pole. If he did, maybe I could visit it before I left?
I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor, Unit #307. I wondered if he had some reindeer hidden somewhere. Maybe the roof?
I swung the door open, expecting candy canes and big boxes with bows. Maybe some milk and cookies?
I was a little disappointed that it looked the same as our reception area. I was hoping it would appear a bit more...I don't know, magical toy land?
With no one behind the desk, I went over to the door that would lead to the back offices, and hopefully Candy Cane Lane, and rapped quickly. All the fun was probably back there.
“Coming!” said a high-pitched voice. The door opened a minute later to what could only be described as an elf. The inner child in me was screaming “YES! YES! This is what I was hoping for!”
“You're the transfer?” he asked, his voice was high but with a strange raspy quality, like he alternated between sucking on helium and an unfiltered cigarette.
“Is your boss in?”
“No. He's on Spring Break. You know, it's our off-season? Even the big guy needs to get some rays in. He's down in Cancun, right now.”
“Okay, well, I just wanted to drop by and say hello.” I tried to look past him but all the lights were out and the blinds must have been down.
“Come back next month.”
“But I won't be here.”
He shut the door in my face.
I wasn't going to get to meet Santa? That just sucked.
I walked from the office, more disappointed than an adult woman might want to admit, and headed toward my next stop. Dr. Bright, the tooth fairy. It felt a little like the lame consolation prize.
I was trying to remember which suite he was in when it hit.
***
I leaned against the wall in the hallway, trying to catch my breath. It had come on so strong and suddenly, it had taken me aback. A vision of a woman lacing her elderly father's tea with cyanide hit me like a cinder block across the forehead.
They lived in a small house in a suburb right outside of Dallas, Texas. The clock on their kitchen wall struck twelve, as they were about to sit down to lunch. It would be the final lethal dose, but it wasn't his time to go.
The tooth fairy would have to wait. I ran down to the parking lot, the closest place that would be large enough. I reached into my pocket and dialed up a door. In spite of any animosity they might harbor for me, the guards appeared quickly right there in the middle of the pavement. The door showed too, what little of it there was. It only opened about ten inches wide.
“Oh, come on guys! I have to squeeze through that thing?”
The only response I received was the right guard raising a gloved hand. He pointed toward a different ding I hadn't seen on his armored chest plate.
“Okay, I get it. Still paying me back. I deserve it. I ruined your stuff.”
I squeezed through the small spot, trying to mask my struggle. “I understand. I dinged your suits. We started off on the wrong foot but I'm really not a bad sort.” Thirteen more days. “I just need to say, I'm a very nice person once you get to know me,” I continued to speak as I pulled my leg through the last little bit.