Shark 2

by Gillian Zane

  Shit. Shit. Shit. What was wrong with me? I dug my nails into my palm and bit my lip a little too hard.

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Loose paver,” I lied.

  He looked at me skeptically, but let go of my arm.

  “Cassandra’s death needs to be solved,” he said quietly.

  “The police–“

  “The case has stalled out,” he cut me off. “Everything happens for a reason. Do you believe in fate, Ms. Hail?”

  He was too close. I shivered as he looked at me expectantly, waiting for a response to a question I couldn't possibly answer. The thoughts in my head sped up. My mind went a mile a minute, competing emotions warred with each other. I must have looked like I was about to have a panic attack because that’s how I felt and his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed, no longer intimidating. His face clouded with indecision, or was it confusion? I couldn’t read this man. It was probably why I was so intrigued and fearful of him.

  What did I say? That if you asked me a year ago I would say no, but today, I wasn’t sure about anything?

  “Do you believe certain things happen for a reason?” he asked his voice pitched low.

  He lightly touched my arm. His thumb stroked across my bare arm and I let out a soft, stuttered breath. The pleasure of his touch invoked reactions I couldn’t keep in check. My reaction had him pulling his hand back. His eyes were now flat and reserved, and he now had a wall in place as if he too had acted on impulse.

  “No, I think you’re reading too much into this,” I stated, trying to hint at more than just his question.

  “Oblivious isn’t something you wear well,” he said coldly.

  “I don’t know what you want from me.” I felt like a broken record.

  “I want the truth. I want to solve Cassandra’s murder.”

  “I want Cassandra’s murder solved, too,” I said firmly, covering up my weakness with bravado. “But, I can’t…” My words failed me. My voice cracked, giving me away. I tried to cough to cover it up, but it was obvious there was nothing strong about me.

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he said, his voice soft, pleading. “If there is something you’re afraid of, you can trust me.”

  I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him I desperately wanted to know what happened to me. His hand moved, his palm open as if he meant to place it on my arm again, to reassure me, or make contact to reinforce that supposed trust. He held it aloft though, seeing the panic in my eyes. Don’t touch me. He couldn’t. I couldn’t feel that energy. If I did, if he put his hands on me once again, I might say screw it. Screw my soul. The risk of losing it all seemed almost paltry compared to feeling that small touch again.

  I held my breath, not wanting him to overwhelm my senses anymore. He was too close. He was too in my face. Too much. If he didn’t go now, I would break. I would let the truth out. The truth which, for some reason, felt so much more important than my soul.

  His hand dropped to his side, confusion pulling his face into a mask of hardness. I said nothing. There was nothing to say. My lips pursed tightly, holding back what I wanted to say. I dug my nails into my palms so I wouldn’t blurt everything out and get myself in a world of hurt.

  “There’s nothing I’m afraid of, well, maybe you,” I said to push him back farther.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of me, unless you’re hiding something about Cassandra’s death,” he added, erecting the wall higher.

  “I had nothing to do with Cassandra’s death,” I fired back.

  “For some strange reason, I believe you,” he said with a curt nod, as if finally I had proven myself to him. Once again he raised his hand as if he too craved skin-to-skin contact with me, but he made a fist and turned abruptly before making contact.

  I sucked in a breath at his abrupt departure, not sure if I was disappointed or relieved. I let it out slowly, enjoying the luxury of watching him without his eyes on me. His confident stride and wide shoulders had nothing to do with the hitch in my breath or the urge to call him back.

  The need to call out to him, to stop him from leaving and confess everything pressed at the back of my throat. It fought against my logic, squirming around my defenses to take control and force him back. For the silly reason of seeing his eyes go soft and to experience his acknowledgment. Two sides of me warred, my emotions in turmoil. One side of me wanted to run away, tell Brandon, and then get a new identity and disappear into Afterlife Incorporated, but the other side wanted to call him back. He was at his car, the door was open. He would be gone in a moment.

  “Drake,” I called. He stopped. I broke a nail I fisted my hands so hard.

  “Yes, Ms. Hail?” He turned to face me, his hand draped casually on the open door of his car. I wanted him to call me Cassidy again, not Ms. Hail.

  “Thank you for believing me,” I said.

  He nodded his head and got into his sleek, black car. Gone.

  Chapter 3

  Forty Years

  Drake was right. I was a silly little girl. Ready to throw herself on the first big strong guy that flexed his muscles. I punched in the key code for the building and the door clicked open. With shaky hands I pulled open the door and hurried into the lobby. I skidded to a stop when the elevators opened and a well-dressed couple stepped out. They paused in their conversation when they saw me, not recognizing me. I was a stranger in their building.

  I was an unknown in their secure building and that didn’t happen often based on their suspicious glares. I panicked when I saw their intense perusal. What was I supposed to do? I tried not to use this access point because of the security measures they had in place in the building. The building’s entry was secure and you had to get buzzed up to enter the apartments in the floors above. The tenants were also a little more aware because of the prestigious locale, paying attention to people who didn’t look like they belonged. I couldn’t be a stranger. I concentrated. Not a stranger. Not a stranger. Their eyes dimmed and they gave me a curt nod.

  “Angela! I didn’t recognize you with the new haircut,” the woman said with a chuckle.

  They walked to the front door without a backward glance. I made my way to the stairs which would grant me access to Afterlife.

  I was getting better at manifesting, especially when I was under duress. Things happened easier when I was panicking. Which lately seemed to be all I was doing. Maybe before long manifesting would become second nature. Even though it was so foreign to me. If I were alive, it would be magic. Now, it was just another part of being dead.

  I opened the door that led to the stairs and the air pulsed around me. My ears popped as I shifted into another reality. I stepped forward and felt at ease, now in the domain I belonged. Blinking at the shift in light, the stairs filtered away, replaced with a lush courtyard. Darkness shimmered out of existence as bright daylight washed over me along with the aroma of a hot grill and the tantalizing scent of meat cooking. The smell of food was at odds with the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and the tangy smell of herbs. I pushed aside a thick banana tree leaf and felt uncomfortable in the clothes I was in. With a little concentration my heels melted away and left me barefooted, my dress replaced with a red bikini. I was home.

  Socialization wasn’t something I usually enjoyed, but right now, in my current state, I needed to socialize. Going back to my apartment alone wasn't something that appealed to me. It would only lead to me dissecting the conversation with Drake over and over again. There was no reason for me to be alone. I headed for the pool where I knew everyone would gather.

  “Congrats!”

  I stepped onto the warm pavers that surrounded the large pool and clapped my hands in surprise. It was a party. A party for me. All my fellow Karma Incorporated operatives were here for me. Burgers were on the grill, big smiles were plastered on my friends’ faces, and they all held up silly plastic margarita glasses in a toast. Fallon sauntered over to me, her arms overflowing with party props and drinks. She pushed a margarita into my hands a
nd placed a tiara on my head. She kissed me on the cheek and popped a pink flamingo straw into my glass and slapped me on the ass.

  “Way to close a case, bitch,” she laughed.

  Wolf whistles and claps came from the crowd around us.

  “Heard you did a bang up job on your first case,” Tiffany, another one of my fellow operatives, said as she walked over to join us. She clinked her glass against mine and winked.

  “She did,” Fallon said.

  Tiffany moved aside to let my boss Brandon sidle up next to us. He was clutching his own ridiculous plastic margarita cup and was dressed in a tee that read ‘My Karma Ran Over Your Dogma’.

  “Good job, Cassie.” Brandon put his arm around me and did one of those weird side-hugs. We did an awkward dance. He moved left, I moved right, until we ended up barely touching. Hugging in a bikini had its downsides, and obviously Brandon wasn’t as comfortable with it as me. The look on his face was funny and ungainly. The last couple hours slipped from my mind with a manic giggle.

  “Thanks, boss.”

  I sipped my margarita. It surprised me that it was tasty even with my muted taste buds. I focused on the flavor, the tang of the sour mix and the bite of the tequila. I took another big gulp and made a yummy noise.

  “We taste sours and sweet the best,” Brandon explained and he swirled his drink.

  “That’s why it’s always a fiesta here?” I joked.

  “Pretty much.” He looked over at the other party goers with a sad smile, like their festive air was making him uncomfortable.

  “It’s much better than the usual blah food and drink. Since this whole dead thing, I can't taste much of anything. I miss the flavor of coffee,” I said to distract him.

  “Yeah, I don’t even remember what coffee tastes like. I’ve tried a few of the fancier flavors, now that there is a coffee shop on every corner, but it’s not the same. In my day, you drank coffee that put hair on your chest, not this flavored stuff,” he said.

  “It must be weird seeing things change around you, but…” I trailed off, not knowing how to say it without being rude.

  “Not changing myself?” Brandon laughed and took another drink.

  “Yeah.” I cocked my head and looked at him. Brandon was always trying to be light-hearted and laid back, but I knew it was an act, especially when that sad smile slipped over his countenance.

  “I hope I’m changing, it’s the only way to move on. The point of all this, if there is a point, is to learn from your mistakes. I think I’ve done that, but…” He shrugged. “I’ve seen some of my people get promoted after a few months. Some have been here a lot longer than even me.” He gestured to Henry, one of the male operatives of the group.

  Fallon had introduced Henry as the old hat, even though he barely looked eighteen.

  “He’s been here for over a century,” Brandon said under his breath.

  “Looks like he’s enjoying his job.” I tried not to gape, but Henry was enjoying himself quite well. He and Fallon were currently trying to climb down each other’s throats as she moved to the music on his lap.

  “Didn’t see that one coming,” Brandon frowned at the couple and turned his back as Henry yanked on the tiny string that held Fallon’s top in place.

  My co-workers had a very relaxed stance on sexual relationships. And by relaxed, I mean there were very little rules, if any. In my time as an operative I’d seen things that would make a swinger blush. On occasion they had tried to include me in the festivities, especially when I first arrived. I wasn’t comfortable with that kind of behavior though. I wasn’t judging them for it, but I can’t separate the emotion from the act, so hooking up with a person I saw every day was out of the question. I guess I was a prude like that.

  My thoughts drifted back to Bishop and I gritted my teeth with shame, not happy with how that played out. I basically seduced him into almost screwing me on the bar, which subsequently made his baby momma dump him and got me fired. It had been the only way I could think of to close the deal, though. The quickest way, at least. And of course, I wouldn’t ever see him again. The scary part about that situation was I couldn’t care less about him. He was a charming guy, but had some really skeevy tendencies. I hadn’t been attracted to him and had only done it so we would get caught. Did that make me the bad guy? Or was the negativity in his court? When you broke it down, what I had done was not a good thing. I sure hope my karma wasn’t damaged by fixing other people’s. That would be ironic.

  “So, I did good, boss? You know…with the job.” I changed the subject. Maybe I could work up the nerve to ask him about accruing more negative karma. A question I wasn’t too fond of knowing the answer to.

  “Bishop’s sitting in jail right now. He’ll only get a misdemeanor charge since he had about three hundred in his pocket when he was arrested, but I think it’ll be enough to teach him a lesson. His girlfriend is leaving him and moving back in with her parents. Their lives should be better now. If they would have stayed together, it would have gotten nasty,” Brandon said in low tones so as not to be overheard.

  “That sounds so horrible,” I sighed, not liking how that affected me and my own karma. “I would have thought it would be best to keep him with his kid.” Brandon only shook his head in response.

  Someone turned up the music as a popular song came on and Fallon disengaged from Henry and began to gyrate against Tiffany in a weird move that was supposed to be a dance. She hadn’t put her top back on. Brandon looked over at them, that sad smile crossed his face again and I saw a man of too many years, instead of the twenty-something, ironic hipster he was trying to portray.

  “Not in this case. The progression on Bishop's file said he was going to sell drugs if he stayed with the girlfriend. After a while it would have gotten out of control with them both using and the child would be put into foster care.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked.

  “It's all in his case file. It was foreseen by the Powers That Be. They sent a progression report that went into a lot of detail. They also had a reason behind making him a case. Which was odd. They don’t usually do that. I’ve only seen reasons given on a few of the cases I’ve handled over the years.”

  “I wonder why this one was different. What did they say the reason was?” I asked curiously.

  “The PTBs wanted the couple to split. If they were separated, Bishop wouldn’t be pressured to sell drugs. Or this was the reason the PTBs gave for the case. As for why, I really couldn't tell you, I can only guess. It usually pops up when a case has more than one possible conclusion. A fluid case. One where the operative has more wiggle room than usual. His fate might not have been as definitive as other cases. Because you made the decision to give the girlfriend no possible way to continue denying his infidelity, and the boss had concrete proof of theft, you turned him down a certain path. If you would have done something else, his future might have been a lot different.” Brandon took another sip from his margarita. The good thing about being in Afterlife, ice didn’t melt. I circled my glass lightly and looked down into its green depths. My frozen margarita was still very frozen, even though we were standing under a bright sun. The grill was always hot, the drinks always cold. I didn’t even need deodorant because B.O. was a thing only the living had to deal with–but what was the point? A splash from the pool made me wish I could let go and let things happen as they happen, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I might not remember much of my living life, but I knew I wasn’t a person who could let things be.

  “How do you know when a case is fluid? Do they tell you?”

  “No. But you’ll learn to see it in time. Especially if it’s harder to figure out how to deliver the karma. Most are obvious. The ones that aren’t are usually the fluid cases.”

  “Once I met him, it was pretty obvious to me how to close the case.” I shook my head thinking about how oblivious Bishop acted.

  “Maybe, but I have a feeling this case wasn’t about Bishop, or his girlfriend at
all.” I looked at Brandon, my eyebrows raised in question.

  “Then who was it about?” Was this about me? Another way I was a freak?

  “The unborn child.” Brandon dismissed my inner turmoil with his statement and I nervously nodded my head like I knew this all along.

  “That makes sense,” I said. Once I thought about it, it did.

  “In order for that child to have a worthwhile future, the two parents had to stabilize. You got them to stabilize by splitting them up.”

  “You think there might have been an option with them together?” I asked, worried I made the wrong decision.

  “There might, we’ll never know.”

  “The PTBs are the ones that pick and choose who gets a future or not? I’m sure there are plenty of unborn babies about to be born into shitty homes,” I added. Brandon glanced at me. His eyebrows were drawn together in a worried look.

  “Yes, they choose. They see the path and decide whether to make it a case or not.”

  “So, our future is set? Unless karma changes it?” Who decided this? It all seemed so random. Could these mysterious PTBs have interceded when I was murdered? Or did they decide I wasn’t worth it?

  “Not necessarily. Think of fate as being in constant motion. Anything can change the timeline. One decision from one person can set an entire chain of events that will shape the world of the future. With billions of people making decisions daily, the future is always changing. When I was training for this position, I was told the future was like a highway. Not like any highway you would see on this earth. There are thousands, millions of lanes, turn-offs, loops, intersections, you name it. Each turn-off is a possibility, a different future. You get the picture?”