Fate: No Strings Attached

by Erik Schubach

  I grinned like it was high praise and said, “It's all in the weave.”

  She squinted an eye at me and made a weird face. “Who says stuff like that? What does it even mean?”

  I looked at her and replied, “What. People say that. It's a thing, right?”

  She was just shaking her head, trying not to smile as she ran a hand down her face. “No, it's not a thing, and nobody says that.” Then she narrowed her eyes slightly and added thoughtfully. “Though, it may be a clue as to where you are from. I'll have to look into that and start keeping a list of 'weird shit Miss Tesha says.'”

  Ok, she was cute when she was snarky. Or was she serious? I guess it was possible that you could find a region someone was raised by their vocabulary and colloquialisms. I cocked an eyebrow at her. I kind of liked that she was a tall as me, as I was a little taller than average and I didn't have to look down at her.

  The outside of my left hip was heating up, and I was sure that she was born and raised within a hundred miles of where we stood. I wanted to scratch at the uncomfortable heat of the ink I knew was begging my fingertips to touch there.

  She looked at me like she could see inside my head, then gratefully changed the subject as she tossed a clear plastic bag with a red tape seal which read 'evidence.' I picked up the envelope to look at the scraps of charred fabric in it.

  I almost recoiled as it brought up my first new memory after the accident. When people arrived in the crater where I lay on the still hot stone, the snow all around the perimeter of the fifty-foot wide crater was melting from the heat. The fabric scraps were the only thing left on my mostly naked form, just a couple loose and charred pieces of fabric made of some sort of natural fiber.

  She said as I looked at the tweed-like material, my sharp eyes flicking around to pick up each individual thread, looking for imperfections but finding none. Not even the machine manufactured fabrics of the clothing I now wore had such imperfection free thread and spacing consistency.

  I was obsessed with counting the threads faster than I thought I should be able to, as she said, “That's the source of the new questions in your case. Our lab techs finally got to the fabric scraps in the queue. And after getting through the backlog and testing the fabric, it brought about more questions than answers.”

  I looked up from where I was satisfied that there were three thousand and thirteen threads in the remnants. She was studying me as she said, “We thought maybe if we could figure out where it was purchased, we could narrow our search to a specific geographical area.”

  She kept her eyes on me as she added. “They tried trimming threads off of it to test but found that they couldn't cut it. It seems resistant to tearing puncturing, even heat, and acids. They broke a variety of tools just trying to get it to fray. They don't even know what it is made of, as it causes electromagnetic feedback in all of their gear. Is it some sort of new fabric body armor being developed somewhere? Are you some sort of tech?”

  It was so frustrating. What she was describing was amazing to me, but it hadn't given me any flashes of memory like I think she was hoping. I was hoping the same. Was I some sort of materials technician in a lab somewhere? I just shrugged at her as I looked at the fabric. I wanted so badly to touch it for some reason.

  I held up the evidence bag and asked permission with my eyes to open it. She just nudged her chin at it and said, “Knock yourself out. I was returning it to you anyway. It is SOP to return any personal items to the people we locate. Though you're something new to us as you're not really missing, just your memory.”

  I started to tear open the bag then hesitated, this sounded awfully final to me. I glanced at her to try to get the answer from her expression. My heart sank at the apology written on her face. She shrugged and said as I turned back to the fabric remnants with a heavy heart, “We're at a dead end currently, and as you aren't in any apparent danger, the higher ups don't want to waste any more resources on your case unless some new information comes to light. They're pulling me to help work on our growing caseload.”

  I sighed heavily. I knew this day was coming unless I could remember anything, just one thing would be nice. So this was my new life unless my memory ever returned. It wasn't her fault. To tell the truth, I think she's gone above and beyond, going off of nothing and exhausting every avenue over the months in between her other cases.

  I nodded as I took the fabric in my hand almost reverently, it was something... the only thing from my past. It felt hot to my touch, and I could see it glowing softly where my fingers touched it. I mumbled, “I understand.” And I did.

  She added quickly. “I'll still be touching base from time to time or following any leads in the case.”

  I nodded and grabbed the end of a thread and pulled gently, it glowed as it pulled easily from the scrap. I don't know why her lab techs had such a problem with it. I dropped the thread back into the evidence bag to her wide-eyed amazement.

  I held the bag out to her. “Maybe this can help? I guess this is goodbye?”

  She nodded as she took the bag and stared intently at it before looking back at me. “I guess so... Sloan.”

  I had to chuckle at her and smile. “Sure, now call me Sloan, after you dump me... Andreya.”

  She was all smiles at that. By the stitch and nap, the woman could be distracting. She shook her head and clarified, “This is just goodbye for now.”

  Then she held up the evidence bag. “Besides, this may help.”

  I felt awkward standing there with her and did possibly something more awkward since I didn’t know what else to do. I shot my hand forward to offer a handshake. How lame is that? I said, “See you around?”

  She looked down at my hand and regarded it for a heartbeat then smirked at me, showing me just how awkward I was and she shook firmly. It may have been my imagination, but it felt like she held on just a little longer that necessary, and gave a slight squeeze before she released my hand.

  As if I couldn't embarrass myself anymore, I could feel the heat of a blush on my cheeks as she gave me one last smile and a quick wing of her eyebrows as she turned and headed for the stairs. I cocked my head watched her hips sway all the way to the stairs, with great interest. I was pleased in some way when she paused and looked back at me before going down.

  That one gesture took away some of the sting of the police abandoning my case. It made it feel... not so final. I really hoped I saw her again. I smiled wistfully at her pixie cut as it bobbed down the stairs until she was gone.

  I just about jumped out of my skin when someone beside me prompted, “Sooo? Any good news?”

  I tried to get my heart rate back down to normal as I pressed a hand to my chest, “Julie, you scared me to death.”

  She looked between me and the stairs then her lips curled up into a sly smile. I narrowed my eyes at the woman. “What?”

  She shrugged, still looking like the cat who ate the canary. “Oh, nothing. So? Anything?”

  I shook my head and held up the fabric scraps as Mrs. Ramos puttered on up to us, had they both been watching me with the Detective? “Unfortunately, no. She was returning my, umm... personal belongings... and informing me that the department can't waste any more resources on my case.”

  The library matron nodded slowly, “Understandable. You are, after all, not missing.”

  I sighed and nodded, stuffing the fabric in the pocket of my jeans. “I know... it's just...” Then I sighed and smiled and looked between the two. “So I guess this is me, Sloan Tesha. Assistant to the stars.” I indicated the women beside me.

  The full figured Julie chuckled at me for referring to them as stars. She adjusted her stylish glasses and pushed back her cherry red hair and said. “Then we're in good company.”

  Mrs. Ramos gave me a chastising look. “Now go take a break before I have to get cross.”

  I felt a little guilty, hadn't talking to Andreya been a break already? I didn't want to take advantage of the woman who gave me a chance no other interviewe
r had.

  I nodded like a chastised child and then started for the stairs to go down to the little employee break room on the first floor. “I'm going, I'm going.”

  Her responding chuckle warmed my heart. The library certainly wouldn't be the same the day she retired. Then to my everlasting embarrassment, Julie called out, “If you're fast enough, maybe you can catch up with Detective Hot Stuff.”

  Oh, knotted threads!

  Hmm... I wonder if I could. Police officers drank coffee, didn't they?

  Chapter 2 – Stranger and Stranger

  A couple days later I found myself with Enid at the little five and dime just down the block from our place. We went to pick up some household supplies and ingredients for our famous meals. Read, frozen dinners, top ramen, and cereal. Anything that didn't require real cooking.

  We sat at one of the little picnic tables they had just outside the door by their coffee stand, sipping the warm beverages in the crisp fall air. Winter would be on the heels of that. A thought that had me looking up to the mountains again, toward Sloan Peak. Just three months before a year would have passed since I was found.

  Enid followed my gaze then did what she always did, and tried to get my mind off of it. “So, did you want to rent a movie for tonight? I can whip up some gourmet popcorn, Orville Redenbacher's.”

  Ok, that was funny. I smiled at her for trying then narrowed my eyes. “You said you were going to ask Adam out. What happened?”

  For weeks she had been eyeing the new guy at the secondhand clothing store she worked at. No matter how much I prompted her, she couldn't get past her terminal shyness to gather the courage to ask him out.

  She looked sheepish as she took a sip of coffee and then nodded and said, “I remember saying that. But then something else happened instead.”

  I cocked an eyebrow in question, and she supplied in a matter of fact tone, “I didn't.”

  Who would have thought Enid could be so funny?

  I felt a burning sensation on my wrist as a boy, no older than eighteen or nineteen, stepped into the store behind us. No, I was sure he was nineteen, I couldn't possibly tell you why I was positive of that. But what caught my attention was this air of finality, of something violent, something 'ending' that caught my attention.

  I stood quickly, Enid asked as I started for the door, “What's wrong, Sloan?”

  I looked at her and said, “Stay here. I...” I flinched at the sound of two gunshots. A small crack followed by a big boom, which came from inside the store.

  A moment later, the door swung open, almost hitting me as the boy ran stumbling out, his chest covered in the dark stains of blood seeping into the fabric of his grey hoodie. He held a bag in one hand and a gun loosely in the other as he collided with me.

  There was another sharp crack that hurt my ears as the impact caused his gun to fire. I was spinning to the ground an instant later, my hip feeling like it was on fire. The boy stumbled away, looking at me then his small pistol, then he ran off while Enid screamed.

  I yelled to him through my pain, “No wait, don't...” As he stepped off the curb in front of a pickup truck pulling a horse trailer. The paper bag tore as the boy's body tumbled along the ground, sending up a plume of money behind him.

  Then just like that, the heat on my wrist vanished, followed by a pulsating warmth between my shoulder blades. I pulled myself to my feet, using one of the picnic tables, my hand on my hip. I noted there was no blood. And Enid was there, supporting me, “Sloan are you...”

  “Someone's hurt inside.” There wasn't anything we could do for the boy, I knew that for a certainty as people started gathering around, calling the police and moving toward the boy's body as the truck driver came running around to check on him.

  She stayed with me as we stepped inside to see people hiding behind shelves and Mr. Jerganson slumped against the wall on the wooden stool he sat on at the register. He was panting, his eyes glazed over in shock as a bright crimson stain spread across his shirt at his stomach. He was grasping a shotgun in both hands tight to his chest.

  He was mumbling, “Try to rob me... you bastard...”

  I got behind the counter and yelled at some of the people, “Call an ambulance!” I laid a hand on the man's shoulder. “Mr. Jerganson. You're going to be ok. You need to let go.” Again, I didn't know why I said he'd be alright, but it was a certainty. I tugged gently on the shotgun, and he looked up at me then down at the rifle like he was confused. He didn't look good, I could see a sickly pallor in his ebony skin.

  He let go, and I quickly handed the gun to Enid who looked about to pass out from her own shock. I grabbed a cleaning rag I saw next to the empty register and held it tightly to his wound. He hissed and tried to back off, and I held his shoulder. “You're losing a lot of blood. We have to keep pressure on it.”

  He nodded understanding, the pain must have pushed away some of the shock as he seemed more lucid now. He nodded again as I pressed his hand over the rag. I looked into his eyes, and he nodded, then I was limping around the counter heading for aisle three. I found the duct tape and hustled back and wrapped the tape around him four or five times to keep the impromptu pressure bandage in place.

  Then we just sat there, all breathing hard. Enid put the gun on the checkout conveyor like it was burning her hands and we waited with Mr. Jerganson as we heard the various sirens of the police and ambulances approach.

  They were pulling up outside as Enid's eyes went wide and she spun to me, crouching by my waist, “He shot you! Are you ok Sloan?”

  I looked down, then reached into my pocket with hands covered in the blood of the store owner and pulled out the fabric scraps I now carried with me everywhere. They glowed in a pearlescent light as I held them. They had stopped the bullet somehow. I shook my head at her. “No he missed. I just hurt my hip when I fell.” I stuffed the fabric back in my pocket, my hands not wanting to let go of it as usual. I had to force myself to release it.

  That's when the cops came rushing in, weapons drawn. My world just kept getting stranger and stranger.

  ***

  After a harrowing few moments, while the police sussed out who was who and what had happened before they lowered their weapons. The paramedics swarmed in and stabilized Mr. Jerganson for transport, Andreya came striding purposefully into the five and dime.

  I smiled internally as her sharp eyes darted around until they landed on me. I'd like to think I saw her almost imperceptibly relax when she saw me. I caught myself nervously brushing back some hair behind my ear. Tattered threads, she brought out the bashful in me.

  She flashed her badge encumbered hip at the officers as she approached. Looking around to the witnesses which her fellow officers had separated around the space as they took statements. Enid looked full of anxiety where she stood over by the stationary, answering questions.

  I absently wondered why they separated all of us like that. Was it so that each person's statement didn't color the ones who followed?

  The detective stepped up to me, where I leaned against the counter next to the register. “I heard your name mentioned while I was listening to the scanner. Are you ok, Sloan?” Her eyes were taking in the emptied register drawer, and the blood spatters all over the wall and the smeared pool of blood on the floor as she spoke.

  I shrugged and brushed aside her concern lightly and was surprised at the feeling of relief that flowed through me that she was here. “I'm fine. I'm more worried that Enid over there is going to pass out from all the excitement.”

  She followed my gaze to Enid then back, they had met a few times when Lisbon would visit with updates on the case from time to time. She smiled a little and said, “She'll be fine. She's made of sterner stuff than that.”

  Then she narrowed her eyes at all of the blood on me, none of it mine, as she asked the officer who was looking at the security tapes of the incident beside me, “Has Miss Tesha already given her statement?”

  The man nodded then went back to watching the int
erior camera, to see the robber shoot Mr. Jerganson when he swung the shotgun up from behind the counter. The shotgun went off, and the boy slammed against the pastry rack behind him before turning toward the door.

  She asked, “What happened?”

  I deadpanned. “Robbery.”

  She exhaled sharply in exasperation and muttered with a smirk, “Smart ass.”

  I tried not to smile. She was worried about me.

  The officer said, “Actually, her quick thinking saved the shopkeeper's life according to the paramedics.”

  I shook my head as he switched to another tape. I said with a surety I couldn't explain while I ignored the feeling of the tattoos under my skin rearranged themselves, “It wasn't his time.”

  When we heard a bang, we both turned to look at the screen the other officer was watching, to see me go down as the ill-fated boy staggered off into the street. Both of them turned to me quickly, the man saying, “You were shot.”

  I shook my head. “No his accidental shot missed.”

  Then I hissed in pain when a squinty eyed Andreya pressed a hand on the torn pocket of my jeans, and I groaned and staggered, seeing motes of light floating in my vision from the pain.

  She started snapping her fingers at one of the men at the door and pointed out at the medics who were loading the boy's body into the medical examiner's van. “We need a medic in here. Gunshot.”

  I pulled her arm down, shaking my head. “No really, I'm not shot, I just bruised my hip when I fell.” I looked down deliberately, and she followed my gaze as I pulled the fabric scraps out a bit for her to see.

  She narrowed her eyes, I could see the recognition in them. I tried to step away from the counter to show her I was ok. But standing there not moving for so long allowed my muscles to stiffen and the ache to really set in. I stumbled a little, and she grabbed my arms in a steel grip to support me.

  I growled in futility, “Really, I just need to loosen up a bit.”

  A paramedic came up to us, carrying his gear. He set the cases down beside us, and Andreya pointed at my hip. The man dug in a case and pulled out some scissors. They didn't need to cut the fabric! I stumbled back away from the scissors, an irrational panic rising inside me. I could mend it, it didn't need destroying, the threads... the threads...