Karma (Karma Series) Read online

  I sat back against the tan leather, tears still streaming down my face and I realized I'd made the largest mistake of my life. Or death.

  I was loosing my mind and Harold was still sitting there, his lap full of papers, just another day at the office.

  Fate didn't budge from my side. I could feel the tension in his body where it pressed against my side. He was waiting for me to do something stupid.

  “I don't want to do this.” I kept shaking my head from side to side. “I wasn't ready. I don't want to die. I'm too young.”

  Harold shook his head. “Few do.”

  Fate shifted next to me. “Death isn't reserved for the old. It doesn't sit idly by and wait for you to do everything you wanted. It comes on its own timetable, whether you're ready or not.”

  “Then put me back or send me wherever? Send me where I was supposed to go.”

  Harold barely glanced my way before he responded. “I can't. Not now anyway. Even if I use the trial clause to terminate you, there is a mandatory thirty day period before you are eligible.”

  He shuffled through the papers until he found the one he was looking for.

  A sheet of paper was slipped in front of my face, his pen pointing to the spot that was in boldface that I knew stated a time period.

  I pushed his hand and paper away and looked to the side.

  “Thirty days. I'm stuck here, on Earth – alive but dead to everyone who matters to me.”

  “Yes.”

  A month wasn't that long. I could kill a month. I dragged a hand across my cheek. “If you could just drop me off at that condo and pick me up in a month when it's time—”

  “No, that won't work. Non-involvement voids the termination clause.”

  I turned to Harold, ready to beg, flat out grovel if need be. “I made a mistake. I thought I was going to be able to talk to them. I can't watch them grieve for me. I just can't. I can do anything but that.”

  “I knew Texas would've been a better fit.”

  “The location doesn't matter. I know they’re there.” I was having a hard time speaking. My teeth were rattling in my head like I was stuck in a snowstorm.

  “Look at her,” Fate said. “She might not make it anyway. Not all of them do.”

  There was an edge to his voice that made me want to back further into the corner of the car.

  “You should've passed when you saw it was a transfer.” He leaned forward, toward Harold, and I got the impression he wanted to throttle him. The way Harold leaned back, he seemed afraid of that exact thing.

  “How many times do I have to tell you I couldn't? I had to fill the spot.”

  “And I have to deal with this.”

  “This will run its course in a matter of days.”

  And then I stopped caring what they were saying. Something very bad was happening to me. I couldn't stop shaking or catch my breath enough to get a word out. I pulled my legs up and tried to shrink into myself. I closed my eyes and pretended I was alone. I needed to get a grip.

  “Camilla, this will pass,” I heard Harold say.

  “And if it doesn't?” Fate asked. “She's a wreck and it hasn't even been an hour. Can't imagine what she'll be like tonight. And if she doesn't make it, it's doing irreparable damage. She'll be a nut case in her next life.”

  “We needed a Karma. She's it, for better or worse. At least for the next thirty days.”

  I wanted to know what he was talking about but I didn't trust myself to speak. And this was all before the real pain started.

  Chapter Three

  “You've got to eat.”

  It was him. Fate. He was holding a sandwich next to my mouth and I tried to shove his hand away. Everything hurt. It felt like every nerve I possessed was on fire at the same time. My skin hurt where it touched the bed. I'd turn but that just made something else hurt.

  “You're adjusting to not having your human covering anymore.”

  Even the sound of his voice seemed to be louder.

  “All of your senses are overly heightened right now, but this will only last another day or so.”

  I moaned at the thought. Another day? I couldn't take another minute.

  “I feel like I'm dying again.”

  “But you're not. I won't let you.” He pushed the sandwich to my lips. “Eat.”

  I tried to shove the food away but he grabbed my wrist. The firm contact on my skin made me gasp but no matter how I pulled back, he wouldn't let go.

  “Eat.” I took a bite of the sandwich just to get him to let me go.

  “Please, just leave me alone,” I said after I swallowed.

  “I wish I could.”

  He wouldn't leave until I ate and drank some water. Then I passed out again.

  ***

  I awoke in a strange bedroom that I guessed was in the condo I'd initially been given the keys to.

  Sitting up, I felt surprisingly good, considering what I'd felt like a day ago.

  I clearly remembered Harold driving us back to the condo. Beyond that point, all my memories were filtered through the lens of agony. I'm not sure how I made it to the bed I was now lying upon. I was in the same clothes I'd worn when this all began, however long ago that was.

  I pushed greasy locks of hair from my face as I looked to the bedside table. A sandwich, sitting barely eaten by my bedside, jogged a memory. I'd begrudgingly taken a few bites and only because of the threat of Fate, the animal that had stayed here with me.

  Nursemaid he was not. All I remembered was while I'd writhed in pain, he'd screamed for me to toughen up. That I was being weak. When I wouldn't eat, he forced it on me.

  I felt his presence in the room and I pushed myself up into a sitting position.

  “So you're up?” he said, looking at my disheveled state. His features were hard and angular, nothing you would describe as pretty, but still if he wasn't such a scary bastard I would have described him as handsome.

  “Get out.”

  “You're welcome.”

  “You think I'm going to thank you?”

  “Somebody will come by tomorrow to bring you into the office.” He strolled out of the room and I heard the condo door shut.

  So this was to be home for the next month. I looked around the bedroom. Everything was new, from the comforter to the dresser with the large mirror above it. There was an ocean painting hanging on the white walls, as if to clue you in that you were at a beach, just in case you somehow forgot. The place looked like a summer rental before it acquired that well-worn look after a few seasons of use and profit.

  The ceramic tiles were cold under my feet as I crossed to the door, avoiding looking in the mirror, afraid to see the foreign reflection.

  The rest of the place was quaint, with a small galley type kitchen and a breakfast bar that opened to the main living area. All low-end beach motif decor that screamed don't forget where you are. Definitely a summer rental. It made sense. There would be fewer long-term residents asking nosy neighbor questions.

  Glass sliders overlooked a view of the ocean and the people tanning on the sand. They were as blissfully unaware of what might await them; as I had been, not long ago. I was jealous of them, lying there in the sun, just another day of living. I'd kill for one more day. A chance to say goodbye.

  People often say a quick death is better. I guess in some ways it is, but it sure didn't feel like it right now. Long deaths have one big benefit. You get to say goodbye. Nobody understands how important that is until there's no time for words.

  But after everything, life still went on, even if mine technically didn't.

  I walked back inside, turning away from the sunny beach, full of people. I felt too bitter to bear exposure to their happiness.

  I looked down at the table, the phone Harold gave me lying there, dead. How ironic? When I was alive, I couldn't stand to be without my charged cell phone.

  I walked past without touching it. I couldn't find a reason to plug it in. It would only serve as a reminder of who I couldn't
call and what those people might be doing right now, like burying their child. They might be staring at the ground and grieving for a fiancée who was still here, but might as well be just as dead as the body in the casket for all it meant to their lives.

  I pulled out a chair and sat at the white-washed wood dinette by myself, wondering what in the hell I had agreed to.

  My new body didn't let me stay in my catatonic state very long. A hungry growl erupted from my midsection that made me realize, I might not be exactly human, but I seemed to have a lot of mortal needs. And I had to pee. That shouldn't be a big deal, but it was. I didn't know if I could go into the bathroom and not look at myself, but this body wasn't giving me any other option.

  The need overcame my hesitancy and made it easy to make it into the bathroom without looking. Making it out was the problem. Who knew good hygiene would prove to be my downfall? If I could've just not looked up when I was washing my hands.

  I let out a small sound when I saw the image. It was me. I knew this face, this body, that there would be a mole on my left knee if I looked, but this wasn't the body that I'd just left dead and mangled. It wasn't the face of my parents’ daughter or the image of Charlie's fiancée.

  Staring with gray eyes that were eerily similar to the ones I'd had before my death, I raised a hand to my almost black hair, so different than the blond I'd been. I touched my cheek, watching my actions mirrored. I was prettier than I had been in life. My eyes were a little bigger. I ran a finger across a fuller lower lip.

  A knock on the door jolted me from my intense fascination with my new image.

  Harold walked in before I could get there.

  “I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?”

  “I wouldn't have, if you'd answered your phone.”

  We both stared at the dead phone sitting on the table.

  “It's...dead. I know.” Dead, dead, dead, just like me. I couldn't seem to get past that word.

  “Please keep it charged from now on.”

  If it were only so easy to fix my own dead state.

  “Why do I recognize myself when I don't look like I used to?”

  He was already looking down at papers he was holding in his hand.

  “Harold?”

  He looked up, as if not understanding the question and then the details seemed to click into place for him.

  “Oh, that. I always forget transfers don't remember.” He scribbled on his paper a moment before he finally continued. He swirled a finger, encompassing me. “This is how you really look and will look in your true form for all of eternity. If you go to heaven, hell, purgatory or whatever is beyond, this is your form. That body in the ravine was just a shell, a loosely formed portrait. When your essence is squeezed into a mortal mold, it never matches up the same.”

  I toyed with a lock of my hair, still adjusting to the different texture. “So I've always looked like this on some level? I guess I figured you would give me a new body or something.”

  “Well, that's silly. You think we have stray bodies just lying around?”

  “Uh, I guess...”

  He actually rolled his eyes at me before he tucked his papers into the case he was holding.

  “Do you have everything you need?”

  I shrugged, having no idea exactly what I should need. “Not sure.”

  “There's food in the fridge and my number is on the phone if you ever get around to charging it. I'll be back tomorrow morning for you.”

  Chapter Four

  It took me about two hours to convince myself that going out wouldn't be a bad decision.

  I'd showered and changed into some clothes I found in the closet. They were all my size and, considering I was the only dead chick living here, I assumed they were for my use. I’d briefly wondered if this apartment had been used by another female employee, but they all still had tags. I was still the same size as I used to be, if a bit more endowed.

  There wasn't a computer in the condo and Harold had given me a dumb phone, perhaps the last in existence. The thing looked like it should be dropped off at the Museum of History with its flip screen.

  I didn't have money to buy a newspaper but I could still walk to the library.

  But what was out there? The beach looked normal but what about other places? Would I see ghosts now? I wasn't a chicken, but I'd always been freaked out by that sort of thing.

  Oh no. I was that sort of thing. Ugh!

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, afraid of the monstrosities like myself I might find as I left the condo.

  I stepped out and the sun was shining and the birds were chirping. It was the nicest day we'd had in ages. A couple of bunnies scampering about and it could have been the start to a Disney flick. I'd officially crossed the threshold into “out there” and it didn't look spooky.

  I pocketed the keys to the only home I had. Normally, I would've hopped on my bike for a trip like this but, if not for that small reminder, walking along like this, I could pretend everything was fine. I could almost lull myself into believing I was simply taking a walk, like any other day in my life, not death.

  The library was pretty empty but the kids were still in school, and if you were off, you were reading on the beach right now, not cooped up in a building.

  I went over to where the newspapers were and flipped to the section I needed. There I was. There was nothing that could replace the feeling you got from seeing your name in the obituary section.

  Camilla Fontaine, 27, of Surfside Beach, died in a fatal train crash. Camilla, a highly esteemed public defender, had dedicated her life to the defense of the under privileged. She is survived by parents, Lawrence and Debra Fontaine, and her fiancé, Dr. Charles Knight.

  They'd buried me this morning. It was for the best it was already done. I wouldn't have been able to stay away from my own funeral. Some deep masochistic need would want to see the casket lowered and covered in dirt just to confirm it had happened.

  I put the paper back and drifted out of the library, half incoherent and half devastated.

  I wondered what my casket had looked like and how many people had shown up? What was written on my tombstone?

  I saw a car I recognized pass and started to lift a hand to wave at Jimmy, the guy who delivered for the local pizza shop, but dropped it quickly. He didn't know me anymore.

  I should just turn around and go back to the condo but I couldn't. I didn't want to sit there, thinking. I needed to see my grave. This wasn't going to be real until I saw my grave.

  ***

  I didn't need to read where I'd been buried. There was only one cemetery our family had been using for all the long generations we'd lived in South Carolina.

  I walked through the gates and toward the section where my grandparents had been buried a few years back. They'd passed within a month of each other. I'd always imagined Charlie and I would be the same. We’d have kids, grow old and wrinkly, with faces that showed a life well lived, and then move on together. If I controlled the world, no one would die before their laugh lines had time to set in.

  I was almost on top of her before I saw her. It felt like someone shoved a hand into my chest and twisted with all their strength. My mother was kneeling in front of a tombstone that I knew would have my name carved upon its shiny new surface. I'd never thought about how such a simple act of carving a name can impart such finality.

  I took a couple of steps and felt the grip of death settle upon my shoulders. I halted instantly and then backed away. The weight lifted with my retreat.

  “I get it,” I said to no one or possibly everyone. Who knew what exactly constituted the universe, “I won't go any further.”

  I found a spot to settle in underneath the shade of an old oak, leaning against the rough bark and grateful for the support. I watched my father approach her, his normally perfect Marine posture now slightly hunched, a physical ramification of the emotional weight he carried.

  He stopped by her side and, with a hand on her arm, he
used his own waning strength to help support her. I saw the expression of grief on their faces. She turned into him, and although I couldn't hear her, I saw the sobs wrack her body. His arms circled her as they shared their emotional grief with the only other person who could understand.

  I slid down the tree, not caring how the bark scratched my skin, and sat at the base of the trunk as I watched them leave the cemetery. At that moment, I didn't feel rage or a burning desire for revenge, only defeat and a hollow sadness I couldn't imagine living with, but couldn't fathom how to fill.

  Chapter Five

  After a night of wallowing in a depression that threatened to destroy me, I'd awoken with a determination to not think at all. I wouldn't think of my parents, the career I’d lost, the friends I had, nothing. As stupid as it might seem, it was the only way I was going to hold it together and get through this next month. Too painful? Don't think about it.

  I only had to get through a month. I'd spent at least part of my teens not thinking. I had the skill set; it was just a bit rusty.

  I shuffled through the clothes hanging in the closet for something to wear as I determinedly didn't think about the bad stuff. Problem was, I had no idea what type of attire a job like this called for. I wasn't even sure yet what that job was, exactly.

  I ruled out formal business attire, mostly because I couldn't find anything appropriate. So, will it be corporate casual as I mete out the universe's justice or jeans and boots so that I'm comfortable as I even the score?

  It was ten A.M. when I heard the knock at the door and I still hadn't figured out what to wear. Even in death, I still struggled with wardrobe decisions. Some problems just never go away.

  I didn't budge from the closet, knowing Harold would let himself in and no one else would be here. It wasn't as if I were getting calls from friends. I was dead. The dead didn't get visitors. Even if I mailed an invite, no one would show up. They'd think it was a sick prank.