I flipped to the next page and titled it Harold. In charge of...reading papers? I'd leave him for later, I decided, and flipped to the next page.
“What are you doing?” Murphy asked as he sat down at my favorite table with me.
“Writing up a manual for transfers.”
“What's going to be in it?” He lifted his chin, trying to glimpse over my hand at what was written on the page.
I tilted up the edge of the book. “A description of all the positions.”
His eyes opened up just a smidge wider. “Is that allowed?” he asked, intrigued.
My lips parted in a smile I couldn’t seem to stop. “I haven't been told it isn't, exactly...yet. I'm sure that will come as soon as Harold finds out.”
Murphy dragged his seat a little closer to me, the glimmer of a coconspirator shining in his eyes. “Can I help?”
I didn't try and stop smiling now. “Sure.”
Turning to a fresh page, I put in big fat letters, Murphy's Law.
A car door shutting caught his easily distracted attention. Murphy had a rather bad case of ADD.
“Fate's here,” Murphy said, looking out the window we were seated by.
I ripped out his paper from the notebook. “Take this and just write down anything you think is pertinent to your position and don’t tell anyone.”
Then I ripped out another sheet and scrawled out a quick note.
Look at that, I managed to dodge you again. See? It is working.
I folded the paper and handed it to him as well. “Give this to Fate for me? I've got to run.”
He nodded and I thanked him. Slinging my purse onto my shoulder, I grabbed my notebook and high-tailed it out of there.
Chapter Four
A past that won’t stay dead.
The electronic doors of the local Wal-Mart swung open. It was the only place that carried this particular brand of polish, so it was here or pay for shipping.
This place was always so busy that it had taken me a while to build up enough karma stamina. Even now, a gentleman paused his cart at the opening of an aisle to allow me to pass first, and I had to focus on not throwing up from the stench of him. I used to think people who did that would always have good karma. Not even close.
The people with the worst karma often had a foul smell, which lingered around them. But the people with really good karma smelled like a spring day in a garden full of roses. In the beginning, I'd actually found myself following a few of them unintentionally.
Between the pretty glow and the sweet scent, I just sort of got sucked in. I'd follow a couple of people home by accident, but after a few calls to the police, I was more careful. Now, I made sure I concentrated when I walked down the aisles. It was really embarrassing to be called out as a stalker and the Universe didn't always shield me from things like that. Somebody in charge definitely had a warped sense of humor.
Surrounded by the overwhelming smell of cleaning supplies on either side, I wasn't prepared for what I suddenly sensed. I almost choked on the smell of a bad karma so strong that it radiated outward, even when the person wasn't in clear view. It wasn’t just the smell, either. There was a feeling of spiders crawling all over my skin.
I'd felt it a week ago, but I hadn't been able to find the source. I'd been driving down the road when it had hit. I'd tried to turn around, but it was gone by time I did. I'd driven up and down different streets for hours with no lead. I wasn't losing it again.
The smell and feeling were so strong, I feared I wouldn't be able to handle it up close, but that didn't stop me. I dashed down the aisle, and made a right. No, not that way. I backtracked toward the toys.
Then it was there at the end of the bike aisle. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. I stood there, frozen in my spot by the atrocity I saw before me. He wore shorts and a t-shirt, and everywhere I looked, his skin was blackened as if it had been burnt. Cracks ran up and down his exposed skin, oozing a constant drain of pus.
He turned and looked at me. At first I thought it was because he'd caught me staring, and it was retaliatory glare, but then he smiled like he knew me. He was human; he couldn’t possibly know me.
He was with two other friends and I heard him telling them he'd be right back. He walked toward me, dripping ooze as he came. Someone would trip on that ooze later and never have any idea why they fell.
Flashes of what he'd already done in this life hit me; animals mutilated, smaller children beaten. I wasn't surprised by anything I saw. You weren't oozing like that as a teenager unless you had some horrible acts on your resume already.
What shocked me and made my breath catch was when images from another century came slamming into me. How could this be? Was I sensing what he'd done in a past life? This had never happened before.
Bodies bloodied everywhere. Images of the worst part of war, people in agony, loss on a level rarely seen.
A swastika.
He kept walking toward me and I took a step back. I caught myself before I took another. It was hard; the pure evil of what was heading my way instinctively repelled every cell in my body.
He stopped a foot away from where I stood. “I was wondering when we'd meet.”
“You know me?” No way.
He smiled then nodded. “I know you and I know myself.”
He knew who he used to be. Maybe that was why I could pick up on it?
I'd heard of something similar to this recently, in the office. Death and Jockey were having a discussion about it last week. Jockey was saying how sometimes a person’s past life would leak into their dreams.
When I asked how this could happen, Death explained that when people crossed, strong emotions and images were harder to shed with their mortal skin. They leaked into their new body’s subconscious. Neither of them had any idea what happened after they crossed completely. Everything that happened after retirement was a mystery to everyone I’d spoken to.
But still? This wasn't just glimpses from a dream. He knew. No one would believe me, but here was living proof it could happen. He knew it, and reveled in the glory of what he'd been, and what he still was.
I wanted to kill him. It must have been there in my eyes, because he said as much in his next words.
His lips curled upward as he spat out the words. “Try it.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted to accept a challenge more in my life, or death. Right there, in the middle of Wal-Mart, I lifted my hands to snap his neck but stopped. If I killed him, he'd be reborn and I'd lose him into the Universe, maybe not find him again until it was too late. If I let him live, I could watch him and possibly contain him. My arms dropped but my fists were still clenched.
“Yeah, I thought so.” He made a half laugh that held no joy whatsoever.
“What's your name?” It was a dare of my own, and I hoped he had the balls to tell me.
“Henry Starcher.” He said it proudly without a flinch, goading me to do my worst.
“We'll see who wins this.” I'd have to skin this cat in a different way. But in the end, he'd be just as bald.
“Do your best.” He turned, heading back to his friends like just another cocky kid of fourteen and not the monster I knew him to be.
He was halfway down the aisle when the bike rack collapsed on him. His wails immediately filled the store. The two broken legs he’d have should put him out of commission for the next six weeks. After that, I'd figure something else out.
“I'm going to get you for this,” he yelled in my direction.
“If you can't handle this, you certainly can't handle my best. You shouldn't fuck with Karma.” I didn’t realize what I’d said until I stepped away. There was no denying it; every day I lost more of who I’d been, the human attorney, and became more of what they wanted. Karma. Now I just had to decide if it was a good thing or not.