FATE'S PAST

by Jason Huebinger

  Cameron jumped across the table and grabbed the old man’s left arm; he swiped the ring from the old man’s clutches and said, “I’m not rolling over for cheaters.”

  Cameron pushed the old man, who had a stunned expression as he fumbled backwards. Cameron then slid back down from the table, knocked Sally with his shoulder as he passed her, and sprinted towards the door.

  After a few steps, Cameron heard footsteps behind him. Before he had a moment to comprehend his situation, a hard blunt force struck his neck. The force prevented his forward moment and jerked him back. Cameron looked down at the foreign object impeding his progress and determined that it was someone’s forearm wrapped around his neck. He tried tugging and scratching at the forearm, but the more he resisted, the harder the forearm squeezed. He began to feel as though he was suffocating; his breaths were less frequent and required more effort. His breathing ceased being voluntary. He had to fight for every precious gasp of air.

  Cameron relinquished his struggling after a few fruitless seconds, and the foreign forearm released its hold slightly, allowing him to take in increased oxygen. Someone dragged him to the back of the casino. Because of the force exerted inwards and upwards on his neck, he could not look any direction but his immediate left and right. Try as he might, he could not turn to see his attacker. Despite his lack of vision, he could feel the size of his attacker. His head rested upon the aggressor’s broad chest, and the biceps impeding his breathing seemed strangely convex.

  After dragging Cameron several yards, his aggressor stopped. The last row of the casino games was about ten feet in front of him, although the carpet and the walls looked the same. Cameron heard the aggressor open a door and he was flung into an unknown room.

  The momentum of the toss caused him to stumble and fall to his knees on the floor’s ornate carpeting. He tilted his head up and noticed a king-sized bed to his front-left. To his right was a wooden cabinet with a flat-screen television mounted above it. There was a small desk with a purple chair near the cabinet, and in front of the desk was a window that looked out onto an immense display of flickering lights.

  The carpet, the desk, the bed, the view…Cameron recognized this room.

  Cameron turned towards his attacker. Towering over Cameron was an incredibly large black man. The man’s massive chest stretched his white t-shirt out to its fibers, and his wide nipples poked through. His biceps looked to be at least sixteen inches in diameter, and his tight red pants revealed the contours of skinny legs underneath. The light from the room shimmered off the man’s bald head, and his pitch black eyes seethed with rage.

  Like the room, Cameron recognized this man, and he was terrified.

  Sally Franklin’s pimp towered over Cameron with the identical look of contempt he had on the night Cameron refused to pay Sally. The man growled, “So, again, you ain’t paying your bills?”

  Cameron rotated the shoulder upon which he fell and delicately propped himself to his feet. He walked over to the pimp and said, “I’m not telling you this again. I didn’t owe Sally anything that night because she didn’t tell me she was hooking, and I don’t owe anything to the old man because I won the game.”

  “You didn’t win shit.” The words rumbled out from the pimp’s guts. “You lost, and now you gonna pay.”

  Looking the pimp up and down, Cameron asked, “What’s your name anyway? I always wondered.”

  Surprised by the question for a moment, the pimp responded, “Frank.”

  “Frank?” Cameron asked. “Frank the pimp, huh?”

  “Yup. Got a problem?”

  “Nope, not at all.”

  “Enough with this foolishness.” Frank reached to the back of his pants with his right hand and pulled out a switchblade. He flipped it open, and the blade shone in the room’s light like an elongated gem. “Now,” he continued, “gimme the ring, and we don’t have to have an encore of last time, know what I’m sayin’?”

  Cameron forced himself to stand erect and walked up to Frank’s face. “I’m ready for a second showing if you are.”

  A wicked smile slithered over Frank’s face. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.” He flashed the blade across Cameron’s face. “No second thoughts?” Frank asked

  “Nope,” Cameron replied.

  Frank lunged at Cameron, but this time he was expecting the charge. At the final moment, Cameron stepped to his right and stuck out his left leg. Frank, unprepared for Cameron’s counterattack, had no time to react. Frank’s shins struck Cameron’s extended leg, and Frank twisted and tumbled in comically animated efforts to recollect his balance. His struggles were in vain as he fell to his knees and hit his head on the bed.

  After shaking out the cobwebs, Frank looked back at Cameron from his knees and smiled. “So,” Frank said, “that’s how it’s gonna be?” He rubbed his head injury and said, “Good.”

  Frank lifted himself to his feet, and Cameron remained standing. Clutching the knife in his broad left hand and balling his right fist, Frank stepped towards Cameron. When he was in range, Frank swung with his right hand and stuck Cameron’s right eye.

  The force of the punch sent Cameron flailing back and he could not brace himself before his head slammed against the carpet of the hotel floor.

  As he lay on the floor, both the front and back of Cameron’s head pulsated with dull, throbbing pains. Through the twirling stars in his vision, he could see Frank approach, and before Cameron could raise his arm in defense, Frank was on him. Cameron felt two twig-like legs and knees press against his chest and abdomen.

  Frank glided the tip of the blade onto the top right of Cameron’s forehead, the exact spot the blade had visited previously. Cameron felt the same drizzle of blood trickle down his face, and the identical sharp pain shot through his skin.

  “Now, you gonna pay?” Frank’s words were guttural and threatening, as they were before.

  Cameron glared at Frank. “I know I paid you before, but I’ll be damned if I’m payin’ you now. I won that goddamn game, and you will have to pry Carrie’s ring from my cold, dead hands.”

  Cameron covered Frank’s hands with his. Cameron pushed Frank’s hands downward, but the harder Cameron tried to plunge the blade into his brain, the greater Frank resisted.

  Frank was much stronger, and Cameron knew his efforts were futile. So he released his grip, and Frank flew back under the weight of his own opposition. Stunned only for a moment, he rose to his feet and beamed a smile at Cameron. The smile was genuine and rich, and almost prideful.

  “That’a boy,” Frank said.

  He then turned, walked to the door, and opened it. At the threshold, he turned to meet Cameron’s gaze, nodded, and departed.

  Cameron found it difficult to process what just happened to him. He ran his hands over his forehead, staining them with blood. He wiped the blood on his pants, stood, and walked over to the bathroom. He washed and cleansed the wound. When finished, he pressed a bundle of tissues to the cut and sat on a chair in the bathroom.

  While sitting, Cameron removed and stared at the ring. It was as beautiful as it ever was. None of the day’s screwed-up events had dulled its shine.

  Cameron thought of Carrie. He thought of her voice, thought of her smile. He thought of her scent, thought of her laugh. But most of all, he thought of her eyes.

  He closed his eyes to better picture hers. He regretted not proposing when he had the chance. To hell with spontaneity, Cameron thought. Life’s too short for that crap.

  Cameron snapped himself out of his daydreaming. He knew his journey was not complete, and he hoped his road would lead him to Carrie. But no matter what, sitting on his ass in a hotel bathroom would not put him in Carrie’s arms. So he stood and looked at himself in the mirror. He removed the tissues––the wound had ceased bleeding. His eye was a strange pinkish-red color, puffy, and had already started bruising from the force of Frank’s punch.

  Cameron splashed water on his face once more, p
reparing himself for whatever obstacles remained. And as he gazed up into the mirror, what reflected back was a face of pure, unstoppable determination.

  Cameron tossed the tissues into a wastebasket and exited the bathroom. He rubbed away the remaining water on his brow, tensed his muscles, and opened the hotel door.

  What the door revealed amazed Cameron.

  VI.

  At first, Carrie’s trek up the mountain was steady and relaxed. The climb was even pleasant in its infancy. The wind blew gently. The sun radiated soft warmth. The ground was pliable with short grass. Her pace remained constant, her breathing light and regular. She was worried about Cameron’s welfare, but her spirits were high…at least, at the start.

  After a while, the muscles in Carrie’s right leg tightened. She was a runner, and she had problems with sciatica. She had seen one doctor about the problems, but also ignored that physician’s advice to scale back the running. Running was her elixir and sedative. If she didn’t get her daily three miles in the morning, she would be listless and have trouble sleeping the following evening. There was something about the steady pounding of the steps that strung the musical notes of her analytic mind. Much of life’s peccadillos perplexed her, but when she ran, everything made sense.

  Dammit, Carrie thought, I hope my sciatica isn’t acting up again. She rubbed her right leg, but the self-massage did little to curb the tingling sensation stabbing her thigh. Frustrated, she moved a little to the right of the blood trail she followed and kneeled down to the ground. She lifted her right leg and placed it down in a T formation in front of her bent left knee. She lay over her twisted leg formation and breathed deeply. They called this pose “pigeon” in her yoga classes, although she failed to understand how the symmetry of the pose in any way resembled a bird. Regardless of its inapt name, the stretch was the best way to relieve her sciatica. It was also her favorite yoga pose, and she would often find herself lost in the stretch, her mind wandering gently on any range of subjects. But as she bent on the grass on the mountain, she did not allow her mind to rove. Her mind fixated on one mission and one mission alone—finding Cameron.

  After stretching, she lifted herself to her butt. Although the stretch felt good, it did little to control the countless prickles of momentary pain in her right leg. Ugh, I don’t have time for this, she thought.

  Carrie tried a second stretch—she lay on her back and placed her right ankle over her left knee. She interlocked her fingers under her left knee and pulled back with as much force as her body could bear. The stretch was pleasant, but it did little for the constant stabbing.

  Carrie pushed herself to her feet. Before submitting to climbing with the lingering pain, she tried one last stretch. She bent down like she would sit on a barstool, gingerly lifted her right leg and crossed her right calf over her left thigh, and attempted to maintain balance while still sitting deeper to enhance the effectiveness of the stretch. She lasted about ten seconds before losing composure and nearly tumbling to the ground.

  Well, I guess I’m just going to have to deal with it, she thought. Sciatica was a pain in her ass because it was not debilitating, but it also did not lend itself to strenuous activity. Missing a workout because of her sciatica always made her feel like a pansy.

  But that climb was not a casual workout on a stair-master. She climbed to save Cameron’s life, and possibly hers. And no tingling would stop her.

  Carrie felt unprepared. When she walked again, her sciatica continued to flare.

  After about ten minutes of walking, Carrie felt a slight tingling in her left leg. This stopped her in her tracks and she thought, What the hell? I never have problems with my left leg.

  Carrie pushed through, but the left leg sparks became more pronounced and metastasized throughout her thigh, lower calf, and even into her toes. Five minutes later, the tingling sensation reached her hip bone, and then it shot across her midsection and united with the sensation in her right leg.

  A few minutes later, the sparks invaded Carrie’s entire body, and she suddenly felt paralyzed. She was not in pain per se—the sensation transcended physical pain. The discomfort touched depths of her spirit she thought unreachable. The stinging assaulted every pore and shot through every axon.

  Emotions she had not experienced in years overwhelmed her. Fear of failure, self-doubt, unfounded angst. She fell to her knees and questioned everything in her life. Was she worthy of Cameron? Was she worthy of her job? Was she worthy of anything?

  Even her eyes tingled and vibrated as thoughts of her mother swept her mind. Was her mother ashamed of her? Was her mother looking down upon her with despair? Was her mother still upset that Carrie did not stay until the final moments?

  Carrie planted her face into the ground and covered her ears to keep the voices from sinking deeper. Her efforts were futile—no physical barrier could stop the inner voices sweeping through her soul.

  A gray haze surrounded her as she rocked to and fro on the grass. Did she make the right choices with Jack? Did he ever recover? Was she nothing more than a socially-acceptable murderer?

  The overwhelming prickling soared to its incapacitating height and Carrie collapsed onto the mountain. Every regret, question, and self-doubt she had ever experienced rammed against her chest, and the combined power was unstoppable. Her mind slowed, as did her breathing.

  She contemplated for a moment about just letting go, although she had no idea how to go about doing so.

  Carrie balled up into a fetal position. Her thoughts devolved. She was no longer pondering the great questions of the universe. She fell into the uncertainty of her youth. Was she pretty? Did people like her? Did her mom love her?

  A male voice interrupted her thoughts. “Why do you do this?”

  Gathering all of her remaining might, Carrie lifted her head from the comfort of her chest and saw her best friend.

  “Alex?” Carrie asked with hope and distrust.

  “That’s right, beautiful.” Alex leaned down and pushed Carrie’s hair away from her eyes. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why do you do this? Why do you doubt yourself? Why do you overthink your virtues? Why do you question how wonderful you are? Because you’re the greatest girl I’ve ever met, and if I had any straight inclinations, I would have snatched you up years ago.” Alex laughed, smiled, and softly kissed Carrie’s exposed forehead.

  When they were friends, Alex kissed Carrie on the forehead often, and every time she felt a loving and heartening warmth slink through her body. This time was no different—if anything, the kiss’ impact was far more profound. The temperature of her body rose and her blood ran balmy. Her mind recharged and evolved. Her spirit soared and her confidence grew.

  With one kiss, Carrie felt like Carrie again. At least, she felt like the Carrie that she had grown to love.

  “Good to see you, stranger,” Alex said. “Been too damn long, by the way.”

  She tried to reach out touch him, but was unable. She could, however, move her head and speak.

  “My God, Alex, what are you doing here?”

  Alex’s smile beamed large and true. “Well, it looks like our journeys happen to cross paths. Can’t say I’m too unhappy about that.”

  “Alex, why can’t I move?”

  “Shhh,” he said as he put a finger against her lips. “There will be plenty of time to discuss all that. But for now, let’s get you back to your love.”

  “What? You mean Cameron? I thought you hated Cam? Hell, you broke us up for a while. Why do you now want to help me get back to him?”

  Alex nodded. “Let’s just say I’ve learned a few things since we last talked. I’ve learned a few things about Cameron, and more importantly, about myself. Alex grinned as he leaned down and put his arms under her. “Anyway, there’ll be plenty of time to discuss, but for now, we got to get you to your love!”

  He lifted her from the ground and into his arms. Carefully, he raised her above his head and placed her limp body
over his shoulders and back. He hooked his right arm between her dangling knees and his right hand gripped her right elbow. Alex had her in a fireman’s carry. At first, she thought the position would be uncomfortable, but as she lay motionless, she realized that she had never felt more comforted.

  “So, where are we off to, old friend?” she asked.

  “Why, an adventure, of course!” Carrie and Alex used to repeat these two lines whenever he had convinced her to run off to do something crazy. But as she lay limp over his back, the lines seemed more meaningful.

  He steadied his breathing and walked. With each step, her body bounced slightly in synch, but she experienced no pain or discomfort. Though she was helpless and clueless, for the first time since she lost Cameron, she was happy.

  “Any idea how far up this mountain goes?” she asked.

  “No idea. I’m guessing for a while.”

  “Well, good. Because we have some catching up to do!”

  Alex chuckled. “We definitely do.”

  As Alex walked and Carrie bounced, they discussed anything and everything. Alex gloated about his new “office” job with Shell. He talked about how much he enjoyed Houston, but also how much he missed Austin. He ranted on all of his ex-boyfriends, and at the end of each rant, Carrie would say, “I never liked that guy, anyway.”

  Carrie complained about her job as an equity trader, but also analyzed how it would help her in her future career pursuits. “It’s just going to open so many doors, don’t ya think?” she asked.

  “Yeah…” he replied.

  Eventually, she talked about Cameron, though she decided not to discuss their brief breakup. She bragged about how well Cameron had been doing with his anger, and how much better he was treating her.

  “He better be,” Alex said. “You deserve nothing but the best.”