Fated (32 page)

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Authors: S. G. Browne

Tags: #Humorous, #Romance, #General, #Contemporary, #Fiction

BOOK: Fated
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And this gets me to thinking about Darren Stafford.
I’m thinking about what Destiny was doing hanging around outside of Darren’s apartment the other night when I showed up. Sure, she had every reason to be there. After all, Darren Stafford was technically on her path, even if it was illegitimate. But Destiny isn’t the sentimental type. Especially if she realized Darren Stafford was originally one of mine. Then I think about the way she transported out of there as soon as she saw me.
I wonder what happened to Darren Stafford between the time I called him and when he decided to hang himself.
I wonder if Destiny’s presence at his apartment was standard procedure.
I wonder if Destiny knows about all of the humans I’ve been sending her way.
When we get to my stop, I exit the station and call Dennis on my cell phone. I know he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s working, but this can’t wait.
“Yeah,” he says.
Dennis never was much on small talk.
“Do you remember anything out of the ordinary about the death of Darren Stafford?”
“Who’s Darren Stafford?” he says, sounding annoyed.
In the background I hear sirens.
“You know, the guy in Duluth who killed himself.”
“Do you have any idea how many people in Duluth commit suicide?” he says. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
So I get more specific.
“Oh, right,” he says. “That guy. Dumpy apartment. Brown carpeting. Hanged himself with a tie.”
“That’s the one.”
“So what do you want to know about him?” he asks.
In the background I hear gunfire.
“Did you notice anything strange?” I ask. “Anything at all?”
“You mean other than the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be dead yet?”
Obviously, Dennis is still a little bitter.
“I mean anything that would indicate he didn’t actually kill himself,” I say.
“You mean like it was an accident?”
“I mean like someone else helped him,” I say.
“As far as I could tell, the guy grabbed his red power tie and strung himself up,” says Dennis. “If anyone helped him, I couldn’t tell.”
In the background I hear something explode.
“Did you say a red power tie?” I ask
“That’s right,” he says. “JCPenney. Microfiber polyester. Made in China. Real quality craftsmanship.”
In the background I hear a woman screaming.
“Look,” says Dennis, “I gotta run. I’ll talk to you later.”
And then the line goes dead. Figures.
I hang up my cell phone with the image in my mind of Darren Stafford hanging from his ceiling fan by his tie.
His red tie.
And I’m thinking about the pictures Jerry showed me at the church in Rockford, Illinois. All the humans on my path who died. The ones I allegedly killed with my own hubris.
George and Carla Baer with the red ball gags.
Cliff Brooks devoured by a greyhound wearing a red collar.
Nicolas Jansen, impaled on a cross, his monk’s robe tied closed with a red sash.
In every picture, on every dead human, something red.
Red shoes. Red lipstick. A red bowling ball.
It’s so subtle but so obvious. Something I wouldn’t have thought to look for. Something I wouldn’t have imagined but that makes perfect sense. Something that explains why the universe didn’t correct.
Destiny has been killing my humans.
CHAPTER 46
You’d think that
being an all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful deity, Jerry would be able to keep track of what his immortal charges were up to on a regular basis.
Starting wars.
Spreading disease.
Killing innocent humans and framing me.
Of course, he had no idea what I was up to for months, so I can’t exactly fault him for not noticing what Destiny was doing with her personal days. And he does have a pretty full schedule, what with answering prayers and planning for the Messiah and hosting the Golden Globes. Still, I’d like to think he would have noticed
something
.
True, I don’t have any tangible proof that Destiny is responsible for the deaths of my humans, but I know it’s true, just as I know Sara is destined to bear Jerry’s offspring. I feel it in my man suit. And although I’m sorry about what happened to Cliff Brooks and Nicolas Jansen and all of the others, at least I know their deaths weren’t my fault.
Except that’s not entirely true. Had I not interfered in the fates of my humans to begin with, none of this would have happened. None of them would have been sent down the Path of Destiny. None of them would have died. But while I’m willing to accept responsibility for my role in all of this, I can’t accept that I’m the only one to blame.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m picking up my cell phone and dialing Destiny.
“Faaaaabio!” she says, picking up after the first ring.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Hold on,” she says.
In the background, I hear murmuring voices and the sound of laughter and an orchestra playing “Winter Wonderland.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I’m where everyone is,” she says. “At Jerry’s.”
Oh, right. The company holiday party. The one I couldn’t attend because I don’t have the ability to transport anymore. That one.
“Sorry you couldn’t be here,” she says, the background noises fading. “The party’s just not the same without you.”
“Yeah, well, no thanks to you,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play games with me,” I say. “I know what you did. And I’m not going to let you get away with this.”
“Get away with what?” she says, so coy I almost believe she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Cliff Brooks. Nicolas Jansen. Darren Stafford. Any of those names ring a bell?” I say.
“Should they?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Considering you killed them.”
“Now, why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a heartless bitch.”
“Do you have any proof?” she says.
“About you being a heartless bitch?” I ask.
“About these humans you think I should know about.”
“I don’t need any proof,” I say. “You’re the one who’s going to need the proof.”
“Hold on,” she says. “There’s someone who wants to say hi to you.”
I figure she’s just ignoring me, blowing me off as she grabs someone else to put on the phone. But a few moments later, a voice comes on and says, “Hey, Fabio. What’s your excuse for not being here?”
Although I haven’t seen her in a while, there’s no mistaking the voice of Alibi.
The thing about Alibi is that she’s airtight.
She’s the perfect excuse. Always believable. Never indefensible.
She’s the star witness. The girl next door. The one that every jury and every investigative committee will believe.
And if that’s not enough, she just so happens to be Trust’s little sister.
Perfect. Not only can Alibi provide a believable account of Destiny’s whereabouts on the occasions of any of my humans’ deaths, but she’s related to one of the agents investigating me.
“You were saying?” says Destiny, coming back on the line.
I know it’s childish and that I’ll probably regret doing it, but I can’t stand the sound of Destiny’s voice any longer. So I hang up on her, then sit and stare out my window at the East River, trying to figure out what I’m going to do.
Maybe I could conduct my own investigation, see if I could turn up some evidence that would implicate Destiny in spite of everything. Snoop around. Talk to some people. Except with my frequent-flier privileges revoked, I don’t have the time to make that work.
Maybe I could get Dennis or Lady Luck or Karma to investigate. Follow Destiny around and see if she makes a mistake or gives up anything that could help me. Except I know that would be asking a lot, since they barely have any time for themselves. Plus at this point, I doubt Destiny is going to do anything stupid.
Maybe I could have a sit-down with Jerry, come clean about everything and hope he believes me. But that would mean admitting to my relationship with Sara. Even if she wasn’t supposed to be the mother of the next Messiah, chances are he’d put an end to us. And as much as I enjoy my man suit and having the ability to go invisible and being able to zip around the globe without having to go through a security checkpoint, I would rather be mortal with Sara than immortal without her.
So I don’t really have any choice. I have to accept my circumstances and hope for the best. The problem is, Jerry’s probably going to find out about my relationship with Sara sooner or later. And when that happens, I’m the one who’s going to get screwed.
CHAPTER 47
My hearing is
taking place in Jerry’s private chambers.
I was kind of hoping for an Earthside location. Someplace neutral like Switzerland. I would have even settled for east L.A. or Afghanistan. But Jerry comes down to Earth only for special occasions, like stripping me of my powers or impregnating my girlfriend.
Naturally, I couldn’t make the trip on my own, so Jerry sent Hermes down to escort me.
Hermes is the only one of the ancient Greek gods who stuck around once the Greeks eschewed their Olympian deities and got on the Christianity bandwagon. He didn’t have a problem being relegated to the status of lesser god and taking a position as a glorified messenger and part-time chauffeur.
Most of the other Greek gods couldn’t handle their loss of celebrity and their perks and their Mount Olympus address, so they just sort of faded into ignominy. Last I heard, Zeus and Hera were running a con game with Apollo in Turkey, while Aphrodite and Athena were turning tricks in Poland. The rest ended up homeless, addicted to crack, or on welfare.
And I’m thinking that after today, I might have more in common with them than I’d like to admit.
Jerry is sitting behind a solid oak desk in an overstuffed, white wing-back chair the size of New Jersey. His desktop is completely empty except for a handmade leaded crystal gavel and a single stack of papers about half an inch thick. On the right side of his desk sit Integrity and Trust, looking smug and self-righteous, while on the left side of his desk sits an empty, cushioned, red vinyl chair.
I’m sitting across from Jerry, on the opposite side of his desk, one level down in a straight-backed wooden chair.
Unlike his office, Jerry’s private chambers aren’t made of glass and they don’t have a 360-degree view of the universe. Still, it’s kind of intimidating when you’re sitting at eye level with the top of Jerry’s desk and he’s dressed in his Sunday whites staring down at you over the top of his reading glasses.
Jerry’s already gone through the report from Trust and Integrity, the half-inch stack of papers on his desk. He didn’t say a word, just read through the report with a lot of
hmm
s and a few
mmm-hmm
s and an occasional glance at me with a look of disappointment.
And I’m wondering if I can bribe Jerry with the pictures I took of him and Indiscretion at the last company hot tub party.
“Well, it looks like everything’s in order,” says Jerry, nodding to Integrity and Trust. “Guess we’d better hear the first witness.”
Jerry flips open his cell phone and presses one of his speed dials. An instant later, Secrecy is sitting in the red vinyl chair.
She nods to Jerry, then turns to me.
“Hey, Fabio,” she says, with a look of resignation.
I just nod. There’s not much to say, considering she’s here to corroborate my guilt. I don’t blame her. It’s just an awkward situation.
Jerry sits there expressionless as Secrecy recounts the incident in Amsterdam where she helped to stitch up my man suit. Although she never saw him stab me and never explicitly mentions his name, she effectively ties me to the death of Nicolas Jansen.
“Sorry, Fabio,” she says, and then she’s gone.
Jerry presses a button on his cell phone and a moment later, Lady Luck appears.
“Hey, sugar,” she says to me. “How you doin’?”
“Great,” I say, forcing a smile. “Never been better.”
She responds with a radiant smile that only Lady Luck can give, and I almost believe everything’s going to be okay.
Then she starts talking.
About the day she and I met at the Daytona Beach Dog Track, which just so happened to be less than a week after Jerry told me not to interfere in the life paths of my humans. It doesn’t take long for her testimony to connect me to Cliff Brooks.

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