Karma (Karma Series) Read online

  Harold's footsteps echoed through the condo.

  “Harold, what should I wear?” I yelled out the open bedroom door.

  His bushy red head popped into the room, then looked me up and down.

  “What's wrong with that?”

  “Jeans, flip flops and a t-shirt?” I looked at his white button down and bow tie.

  “Yes, let's go.”

  Ah, he didn't like it; he just didn't want to wait. I'd file that information away for when I might need it. Harold's weak spot was patience.

  “I’m not making my first impression in this.” I shooed him out of the room and threw on a little black dress that would be appropriate for many different occasions.

  “Ready,” I said as I left my room. I went to grab my purse out of reflex, before I remembered I didn't have one. I settled for grabbing the cell phone and headed out to...who the hell knows?

  I saw Hank waiting out front, with the stretch Mercedes, as I shut and locked the condo.

  “So, boss, where we heading?” I asked once I'd gotten in the car.

  “Work.” Harold settled into the other seat and was nose deep in papers before I could get my next question out. Harold wasn't much of a talker.

  I took the opportunity to get my own head together. Today was the first day I actually felt like myself and if I wanted to get through the rest of this month, there were certain things I couldn't do. Seeing my parents was one of them. That had been a huge mistake. I was stuck for now and I had to remain calm about the situation, and work within its confines, until I got out of here. I'm a logical, sane woman. I could handle this.

  One internal pep talk and fifteen minutes later, the Mercedes pulled into the lot of an unassuming three-story office building. I got out of the car and took in the average structure on Highway Seventeen. I'd driven past this exact location hundreds, maybe thousands, of times in my life and never given it a second glance.

  “This is work?” I slapped my hand against the brick. “This is where the powers of the almighty universe reside?”

  “Yes.”

  When we approached the door, it had one of those black boards that listed all the residents hanging on the wall next to it. I read through the list quickly. It included everything from an accountant's office, counselor, and a dentist on the third, exactly what I'd expect from a structure like this.

  “Here?” I turned from the board to Harold, who was already waiting for me just inside the door. “This is where work is? The universe and all that? Just sitting in an innocuous office building, on regular road, in the middle of South Carolina?”

  “Yes, our offices reside within this building.”

  “Then how was I going to live in Texas?”

  “Commute.”

  “From Texas?”

  “Yes.”

  He pointed to the lettering on the large glass windows framing the door above him. “This building is owned by UFU, LLC. If you looked that name up on Google, UFU stands for Units for Use, LLC, but the real name is Unknown Forces of the Universe.”

  He stopped talking abruptly and moved inside. Harold wasn't much of a teacher. If he were human, I'd think he might be diagnosed as having some sort of social disability.

  I circled through the doors after him into the average looking, if slightly dingy, lobby. The dark brown tile gave me the impression it hadn't been decorated since the seventies, and not well even then.

  We made a left when we hit the carpeted hallway. We passed an ancient looking elevator that made me glad it looked like we were on the first floor and proceeded past several doors.

  “You might be tempted to visit other offices, but I would discourage that.”

  “Why?” I had no intention of visiting, but you couldn't have a statement like that thrown out there and not ask why. Well, some people could, but my life was about knowing every detail of a situation. Being dead hadn't changed me much.

  “Until you know what you're dealing with, it's inadvisable.”

  He stopped at the final door at the end of the corridor. The plaque by the entrance read “Life Management Associates.”

  We walked into a typical looking waiting room. It had chairs that looked like they'd actually been used and tables littered with fliers that read “Be the best you, you can be!” and “Find your passion, unlock your future!”

  “This is Trudy.” Harold pointed to the young redheaded female sitting behind the Formica desk—another fabulous piece leftover from the rocking 70s décor—in the front room who looked to be barely eighteen.

  We smiled at each other in greeting as I followed him to an interior door across the room. He held it open and I walked into a space that could've belonged to any small company. If I had to make a movie set for an office scene, this was exactly what I'd make it look like. There were desks scattered throughout and people milled about here and there, until they noticed our presence. Then one by one, all heads turned toward us. And stayed there.

  Luckily, I was used to a courtroom full of people staring me down. These people didn't have a thing on Judge Arnold when he was missing a golf tournament because I had requested an emergency hearing.

  “Don't mind their curiosity. We haven't had a new recruit for quite some time.”

  I nodded, wondering what some time meant to these people, with a frightening suspicion it was a lot longer than my personal frame of reference.

  I followed him as he walked to the back of the long open office to a smaller managerial six-by-six and the only separated area.

  “Please,” he said and waved a hand toward the chair, as he sat behind the only desk in the room.

  As far as offices went, it wasn't exactly ostentatious with its gray metal desk, filing cabinets, and brown commercial rug. The plain white walls didn't do much to help add any character to the setting.

  The room itself held almost no interest for me, except for the door behind his desk. It was plain, like everything else in the office, but there was a one-inch crack between the bottom of it and the floor, and the most brilliant light I'd ever seen was shooting rays out of the gap.

  “What's behind that door?”

  “Retirement. When you finish your trial period, that is where you will reenter,” he said, not bothering to look up from where he'd seated himself behind the desk. “I'd like to talk to you about your position.”

  I forced my attention to Harold. He was as odd as my hazy memory had hinted at. He looked like he should be strolling around an economics convention, not dealing in death and retribution. And I couldn't help but feel like there had to be more than what met the eye. If this was the guy calling the shots, there just had to be.

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Karma.”

  “Could you elaborate on that?” I repeated, squinting my eyes and staring at him in confusion. He still wasn't explaining exactly what I was supposed to do.

  “Yes. Karma.”

  “I don't understand. I thought karma was when you did something good, it would come back to you and the same thing if you did something bad.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “But you said it was my job? I don't understand what I'm supposed to do.” How many other ways could I ask him? This guy was really in charge?

  He leaned his head in his hand for a minute and I had the distinct impression that this was out of character for him. He mumbled something I couldn't hear except for the mumbled word “transfer.” Then he shook his head, as if pulling himself back together.

  “The universe has a certain balance it maintains, but it will occasionally fall out of balance. This is usually caused by people slipping through the cracks, who have a sort of natural immunity to the universal forces and need an associate to go in and manually adjust them. If they go too long, they can sometimes throw the system and balance off violently.”

  I nodded and smiled, still unsure of exactly how I was going to come into play. How would I fix anyone?

  “Let me give you a very simple example. You are
familiar with WWII?”

  “Of course I am. I'm dead, not stupid.”

  “Everyone in this office tries to make sure that everything runs pretty much the way it should and nobody cheats the system. When we don't do a good job, you end up with people like Hitler. That's what happens when no one is paying attention. The better we do our job, the calmer the world.”

  “So everyone here is in charge of karma?”

  “No. Just you. Everyone has their own department. You are Karma.” He pointed toward me dramatically, the way someone would try and accent a meaning to a person who didn't know the language.

  “I'm not sure I'm adequately suited for this position. Even for a month. I'm more of a “bygones be bygones” kind of person. Don't you need someone a bit more vengeful?”

  He looked down at the file spread on his desk. “I would disagree. Your file said you would be an excellent candidate.”

  “May I see that?” I asked, eying up said file on his desk. How much did Harold know about me? Everything? That was an uneasy feeling. Even the best of us had our secrets and even though I considered myself a decent human being, I didn't think I fell into the saintly category.

  The file didn't look big enough for my entire life to be in it. It didn't even look thick enough for a short story. Maybe just a highly edited Wiki version?

  “No, absolutely not.” He shut the Manila folder quickly, as if I were going to jump up and try to peek. The guy took neurotic to a whole other level.

  Okay, the file wasn't that important. I needed to keep the peace and simply explain in better detail how I'd made an error in judgment. Be nice. My southern mother had always said you caught more bees with honey than vinegar. She had tried to drill it into my head since I was a small child. It wasn't something I'd come naturally to, that was for sure, but it was a valid tactic, even if that wasn't the lesson my mother had meant to instill.

  “Harold, when I agreed to work for you, I was under the duress of seeing my dead body. You can understand how jarring that can be, right? I wasn't thinking clearly at all.” It sounded logical enough to me, but I wasn't sure if he'd ever had the pleasure of dying and his manner didn't scream naturally empathetic.

  He cleared his throat and I could tell by the set of his mouth that I wouldn't like the next words. “I'm sorry, but that's not how things work here. Like I told you, there’s a mandatory one-month trial period. An active one-month.”

  He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up closer to his face. His almost black eyes, artificially enlarged from the lens, stared at me in a bit of an awkward way. I wasn't sure if there was a bite to follow up his bark but his magnified beady gaze sure made the situation less than desirable.

  Still, beady gaze and all, I had to try one last time. Perhaps a different angle. Regardless of my record, he clearly thought I was an idiot; maybe that was the way to go. I had no problem playing a stooge if it got me out of here quickly.

  “As you stated, I'm a transfer. You really don't want me. I'm a horribly slow learner. The mistakes I've made in my life, geesh, you'd squirm if you knew.” I twirled a finger in my hair for effect and wished I had some chewing gum to smack.

  “Yes, I'm well aware.”

  He was? Hey, wait a minute; I didn't think I'd done too badly for myself. What were these jerks writing about me in that file?

  “Fate will help you with that.”

  And just like that, I had bigger problems. I wasn't just stuck here; I was stuck with him. “The guy who helped me so far?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “It has to be him.” Harold threw his hands in the air, as if why am I bothering him? Not his orders.

  “Then I'll work alone.”

  I'd be clueless but peaceful. There was something wrong about that guy. There was something too bossy or too intense. I couldn't even describe exactly what it was about him that was too much, but it was.

  Even the brief moment I'd actually been in my right mind around him, it was as if his presence exerted some sort of gravitational pull, stronger than a normal person’s. As if his intensity could throw me out of orbit. And I didn't want to go out of orbit. I had enough things to handle besides ping ponging around.

  “Non-negotiable. I've got orders.” Harold folded his hands and rested them atop his desk, littered with paper.

  “From who exactly?”

  “The universe.” His chin notched up a hair.

  “Would it be possible to speak to this universe person? I'm sure they'll understand that there is a personality conflict.” It was time to bump my complaint to upper management.

  “No one speaks to the universe.”

  “Then how do you know what to do?” I leaned in a little.

  “Simple. Through my orders.” His eyes started to twitch.

  “Which you get how?”

  “My memos.”

  “Then you can send a memo to the universe. I won't work with him.”

  “I'll file your complaint but it won't matter. And don't forget, as I've already explained, it has to be an active month.”

  Twenty-five days. I've dealt with worse for longer. One case in particular came to mind. The guy actually tried to bite me when we lost. Harold didn't seem inclined to bite and he didn't get into my personal space. I could deal with him.

  On the other hand, Fate looked like he might be the biting sort.

  “Do the last five days count toward the thirty? Time served and all?”

  “Yes.”

  “These first days were highly unpleasant. Do you think I could get extra credit for those? Maybe, I don't know, you could knock off a day or two? Like they do in jail for good behavior?”

  He squinted his eyes and tilted his head. I was going to take that for a no.

  “Follow me.” He stood and headed out of his office and back into the main room.

  We'd barely taken a step out the door when I saw him; Fate, supervisor from hell. His eyes met mine and it was as if all the cells in my body had decided to wake up. Which was quite ironic, considering I was technically dead.

  The room could have been packed wall to wall with people and it wouldn't have mattered. It couldn't be attraction, because I hated him. In my human life, if someone had treated me the way he had, I would have set them straight and then never spoken to them again. But I couldn't seem to stop the awareness I had for him and it made me dislike him even more.

  I broke eye contact first as he walked over toward Harold and me.

  Fate stared straight at me but didn't actually acknowledge me, not even the slightest tilt of the head. But he dismissed me pretty clearly when he turned and spoke only to Harold.

  “Anything with her?”

  “Doesn't appear to be, but it's early.”

  “Any what? You can direct your questions about me directly to me.”

  He shifted his attention fully back to me and I wished I'd kept my temper in check. His presence was more intense up close. I should've just shut up and let him go along his not-so-merry way.

  The first time I'd interacted with him, I hadn't been in my right mind. Like so many things in retrospect, it was crystal clear just how out of whack I'd been. I never would've agreed to this if I had been thinking clearly.

  Then, when I'd been writhing in pain, I couldn't see past the intensity of what I was feeling.

  This was technically my second coherent contact with Fate and the full impact of his presence seemed to get worse with subsequent exposures. Twenty-five days was suddenly a lifetime.

  “Have you noticed anything different, yet?”

  “What?”

  “You said to address you, so I am. Have you noticed anything different?”

  He knew he was making me uncomfortable. The corner of his mouth quirked up. Worse than him doing it on purpose was that little twitch of the lips meant he didn't care if I knew he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he even wanted me to know? What was this guy's problem? Decent folk didn't openly mock you and admit to
it. They would feign ignorance. Rude man!

  “Nope, nothing out of the ordinary here.” And there was no way I was going to let him know how much he was indeed getting under my skin. I raise your smirk with a full on, double row of pearly whites smile. Take that, you ogre in man's clothing!

  He didn't respond, just turned back to Harold. “Your office,” he said and then strode off in that direction, making me wonder who was really in charge here.

  Harold claimed to be calling the shots, but it certainly didn't look like that right now. And if Fate was the secret power holder, man, things just weren't looking good. He seemed to dislike me even more than Harold

  “Luck?” Harold said and waved over a raven-haired beauty with the reddest lips I'd ever seen outside a Vogue Magazine, and not an interior spread but a glossy bright cover.

  She walked over toward us, hips sashaying in a way that would captivate any human male alive. I say alive since she didn't seem to have any affect on Harold. Every time I thought I peeled another layer of the onion back on this guy, he revealed another skin of strange.

  “Would you show Karma around?”

  Karma, the truth of the name settled into my skin like a lotion I was allergic to.

  “I've got a few matters that need my immediate attention.” He nodded to us and made to leave.

  “Wait, what about my killer? When are we going to go get him?”

  “Your killer?”

  “Yes. You said I could get my killer.”

  “Sure. Try and get him.”

  “How?”

  “I don't know.” He shrugged and threw his hands up, in a “why are you asking me” kind of way.

  “But you said—”

  “That you could right the wrongs, not me. I don't do that sort of thing.”

  “But I don't know how to do anything.”

  He looked toward his office, where Fate waited. “That certainly isn't my shortcoming.”

  I watched Harold walk away from me and directly toward the office where Fate had basically ordered his presence. Dead or not, shouldn't there be some sort of professional standards?

  And another weird thing was Fate and Harold's relationship. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was wrong but there was tension there and I couldn't tell if they liked each other or not. Normally, when I look at two people, and see them interact, it's obvious. Not with those two.