Karma (Karma Series)

by Donna Augustine

  Luck drew my attention back as she clucked her tongue. I found her looking me up and down in an appraising way, which I ignored, trying to make the best of the next month. After all, it would be nice if I didn't have to hate everyone I worked with. Even a dead girl needs a friend.

  I plastered on another fake smile. “I'm Camilla. It's very nice to meet you.”

  Her lips formed a moue as she didn't reply but kept appraising me. “Yes, you are definitely a transfer, all right.”

  I wasn't sure what she was seeing that I didn't. What was I doing that screamed different? Broadcasted me as the transfer they kept labeling me?

  “I just don't know why he did it, not that he listens to anyone,” she continued.

  “What exactly is a transfer and what's so bad about it?”

  “Murphy!” she called out to a man wearing a long tan coat and a hat that would have looked normal on Humphrey Bogart.

  We both took each other in as he walked over. He looked like he was in his early forties, with patches of gray that were winning the war for real estate at his temples. Did that mean these bodies aged? No, I didn't think so. Harold said this is what I'd look like throughout time. Murphy just got a bum deal I guess.

  “Karma?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.

  “Actually, it's Camilla.”

  “We all go by our call signs, here,” he explained.

  Luck hopped up on the desk, crossing her legs and showing off a really nice set of five inch red heels.

  She punched Murphy in the arm to get his attention. “Tell Karma what a transfer is. She's got questions.”

  “A transfer is someone that was mortal first. After they were created into existence, they took a human shape for a while before signing on here.”

  “Neither of you were?”

  “Nobody in this office was. We haven't had a transfer in a while. Doesn't tend to work out.”

  “Why?” This didn't bode well.

  “When your being is first created, you understand the universe and the surroundings. When you’re placed into a mortal body, the human shell insulates you a bit and your connection is dulled. It's like listening to someone talk under water. Even when you are broken from the shell, you're still at a disadvantage.” He sat down on the desk next to Luck. I could tell they were tight knit, in a buddy kind of way.

  “What happened to the other transfers?” I asked, watching the two of them for reactions.

  “Almost all of them quit at the end of the trial period.”

  “You said almost all. What about the ones that didn't? Why aren't they here?”

  Murphy started fiddling with a pencil he'd picked up off the desk and Luck nudged him. “You tell her.”

  “Why do I always get stuck doing this?” Murphy asked in an annoyed voice.

  “You talk to the new people and I help you supplement your income. That's the way it works. Are you trying to break our deal? It's only been seventy-five years. I should've known you'd renege.”

  “I'm not breaking anything.”

  “Then keep talking!”

  Murphy turned his attention back to me now that their squabble seemed to be resolved.

  “Sometimes the things we do can be dangerous when you aren't as in tune. Accidents have happened.” He was back to fiddling with his pencil and the two of them were looking everywhere but at me.

  “So we can die again?”

  “There's death and then there's nothing. No retirement to a cushy mortal life, maybe a famous actor or just incredibly rich. Your energy is reabsorbed but you aren't actually anything, anymore.”

  Wow, this really sucked. I was recruited to do a job I didn't know how to do and when I failed at it, which had a high probability, I ended up even worse off than dead?

  “By the way, I never introduced myself. I'm Murphy. Of Murphy's Law?”

  “And I'm Lady Luck. Luck for short.”

  “So, how does this...” I waved a hand to encompass the office, them, everything. The entire situation was beyond surreal and made me doubt the reality I was in. But if I was going to be doing things that were dangerous, I needed to start gathering information yesterday. Twenty-five days now seemed like an eternity.

  “Well, in my case, I help spread the luck around. Murphy is sort of my counterpart, spreading the opposite.” She patted him on the shoulder. “You're just all sunshine and happiness, aren't you, Murphy?”

  “And what exactly is Harold?”

  “He's middle management.” Murphy picked up another pencil and started to play mock drums as he spoke.

  “Then who exactly do we work for?”

  “The universe.” He hit an invisible cymbal.

  “That's what Harold said, but is it a person? Have either of you seen this universe person or entity?”

  “Nope. Everything is through Harold. It's a lot to take in, especially as a transfer. Why don't we get you settled in. Just try and lay low until your month is up,” Luck said. She motioned to the group of four desks clustered together that they were sitting on. “This one is mine.” She patted next to where she sat. “That's Murphy's, next to me and that's the one the Jinxes share. They don't use it, though.”

  “Jinxes?”

  She nodded and rolled her eyes. “They’re out in the field right, but it's not an introduction you want to rush.”

  She got up and walked to the last remaining desk and pulled the chair out. “And you can have this one.”

  “So, we work here, in this office?” I sat down in the offered chair in front of my desk and opened a couple of the empty drawers. The place didn't seem like somewhere I'd be in danger, but no one had told me exactly what it was I would be doing yet.

  “No, we just like having desks,” Murphy explained, completely straight-faced.

  I looked around at all the others in the office, no one hiding their curiosity at my presence and I was quite sure I'd fallen down the rabbit hole. This is why you always read contracts before you sign them. First contract I didn't read thoroughly and this is what I got.

  “That's the Cat Lady, over there,” Luck pointed in the direction of a woman reading a gossip magazine in the corner, a black cat weaving itself through her legs. “We call her Kitty for short.”

  “Why is a cat lady here?”

  “Not a cat lady, the cat lady. Black cats? She sends them out right before someone is about to get really screwed.” She pointed to short little stubby guy walking across the room. “That's our leprechaun, Bert. He used to be in a different office, but got pulled over here for clover detail. I’d introduce you, but he’s in a real bad mood.”

  “What's clover detail?” I looked about for some paper feeling like I should be taking notes.

  “Too many people were finding four leaf clovers. Some leprechaun jerk thought it would be funny to get a little free and loose with the clovers. Now Bert is in charge of monitoring the numbers. The leprechaun responsible got early retirement.” Luck's eyes widened at the end of that statement.

  Murphy held up a hand next to his mouth and whispered, “Poor as dirt and stuck in a boarding house, now.” Murphy pointed to a Goth looking guy by the water cooler. “He's Crow. He sends out a crow before death.”

  “What about the guy in the jockey outfit?” I watched as he crossed the room and exited.

  Luck perched next to me, a hip on my desk. “He's actually in one of the offices down the hall. He's in charge of the Night Mares.” She looked at the door to Harold's office and tilted her head in that direction. “And you already met Fate. The hand of Fate, to be exact.”

  “Fate, as in destiny?”

  Murphy nodded from where he sat across from me. “When a person is fated for a certain destiny, but things aren't lining up the way they should, he steps in.” Murphy put on a pair of reading glasses and pulled out a newspaper.

  “I'm surprised he's talking to you or helping out.” Luck handed Murphy a pencil, which he eschewed for a pen.

  “Why?”

  “Ha
tes transfers.”

  “If being a transfer is such a problem, why did I get recruited?”

  This interested Murphy enough to look up from his paper. “Now, that is the million dollar question.”

  I took a seat at my new desk, not sure what else to do. I opened up the rest of the drawers to see if there were any office supplies. When I looked back up, Luck and Murphy were already walking away from me. I guess that was the end of my introduction.

  So I sat there, alone. Eventually, I stole an extra newspaper from the corner and did the crossword. When noon rolled around, a strange woman showed up and laid out a buffet along the wall. She stopped at my desk and said “Eat,” which ended up being the last word said to me for the entire day, until five.

  I picked through the food and selected a small turkey sandwich, which I nibbled at but had a hard time finishing. Nerves had always dampened my appetite and this situation was bringing them out.

  Throughout the day, people came and went, doing who knew what. I'd read the entire newspaper and five different gossip mags I'd snagged from the front waiting room.

  Occasionally, someone would come near me, but no one actually spoke. I pretended to ignore them. They could stare all they wanted. I'd be out of here, soon enough. I liked crosswords and gossip mags. I could do this for a month standing on my head, no problem.

  At five o'clock, the driver, Hank, strode through the door and headed toward my desk. “I drive you home,” he said and turned on his heel, expecting me to follow. Hank was a man of very few words.

  I went to grab my stuff before I remembered I had none. I was going to have to buy a purse, just to get rid of the feeling I was leaving something behind.

  “Do you know when we get paid?” It felt like an awkward question, since I wasn't doing anything, but some cash would be good if I wanted to eat something I actually liked.

  “Harold.”

  I took that to mean ask Harold, I have no clue, and I let it drop. At least there was food in the condo. It had cable T.V. and it was beachfront. As long as I didn't think of Charlie, my parents, my friends...basically, as long as I didn't think at all, I could get through this.

  I'd decided this was a very short-term purgatory for making a bad knee jerk reaction when I’d known better. I could handle beachfront purgatory that came with gossip mags and cable.

  Chapter Six

  How wrong I was. Day eleven of beach front purgatory and I was ready to kill my already dead body just to escape the boredom. I leaned my head on my palms as I watched the people in the office walk around. I knew I must have looked frazzled but I was past putting up a good appearance.

  Other than a few nods of acknowledgment that another body was a few feet away from them when I walked in the door, that was the extent of communication.

  Hank picked me up every day and dropped me off at five. I hadn't seen Harold for days. He'd said I had to be here for an active month, but if this was what he considered active, I might as well be laid out in a coffin. There was nothing to do. People just strolled in to the office and strolled back out. I wasn't even sure what the purpose of this place was, exactly. No one seemed to do much of anything.

  It wasn't even a good office. My newspaper was already second hand by time I got to it. I knew this for sure because Murphy's sweaty hands left smudges all over the words.

  The catered lunch was stale and I caught Kitty, the cat lady, double dipping her celery in the ranch dressing. Not to mention when she brought her cats in they tried to use my leg as a scratching post.

  I guess I couldn't blame them, I felt like a piece of furniture myself. I must have been putting out that vibe.

  Luck was there the least, if you didn't count Fate. Most of the time, it looked like she'd been the one getting lucky, unless she meant for her hair to look like that and put on her shirts backwards as some sort of fashion statement.

  As for me, it's amazing the damage boredom can do to a personality. There wasn't a person in the office I hadn't nit picked to death in my head. Even Bert, the leprechaun, who I'd never shared two words with; I'd daydream of calling in false four leaf clover reports just to see his green loving butt run out of the office in a tither.

  No wonder this place was full of jerks. It should be a secret training ground for those inclined to go postal.

  So, when I saw Harold step into the office that day, I was ready to tackle him to the ground harder than the biggest NFL linebacker just to get some answers. I chased him down as he walked into his office, giving him barely a foot of distance as we crossed the threshold. There was no way he was shutting his door and kicking me out.

  “Harold, I'm cracking up over here. What exactly am I supposed to be doing? All this sitting around stuff better be counting towards the thirty days since I'm here every day, willing.”

  “You're waiting.” He dropped his armful of papers onto his desk.

  “For what?” I stood with my hands on my hips, blocking the door.

  “You'll know when it's time.”

  “What am I waiting for?”

  “You'll see.”

  “Can you tell me when this thing I'm waiting for might be coming?”

  “I can't say. It's always different.”

  No wonder the world was a mess. These people needed a course in being proactive.

  Be nice, I kept telling myself. Catch more bees with honey, not vinegar. Honey, honey, honey. I just didn't know how much longer I could be full honey when I was choking on acid. I wasn't naturally a sugary sweet person to begin with.

  “I've acquired an automobile for you and the necessary documents to drive it.” Harold reached into a drawer and handed me a Manila envelope. “The keys belong to the white Honda Civic sitting at the curb outside.”

  I peaked out the long rectangular office window.

  “That?” The thing had to have been fifteen years old. One of the doors was primer gray, in comparison to the scratched white exterior of the rest of it.

  Someone had just handed me a car. I should've been happy. No one had ever given me a car, before. Even though I came from an upper middle class family, my parents always believed a car was something I should earn. I should be grateful. But gosh darn it, I did die to get this job. Wasn't that worth at least a used Cadillac, or at the very least something that looked like it was going to start on a regular basis?

  I swallowed back the complaint and opened the envelope that contained the keys and documents. I had no idea where he'd gotten a photo of me for my fake license, but it didn't matter enough to bother asking.

  The license read Carma Walters. It sounded like a fortuneteller at a carnival, but it was better than nothing. I took my envelope and headed out. At least I'd procured wheels. It meant another level of freedom as the next twenty days slugged by.

  “Call me when it happens,” he said as I left.

  “You got it. Whenever this mysterious thing that no one can explain to me happens, you'll be the first person I notify.”

  The clock ticked five just as I made it back to my desk. I nodded politely at the people who didn't speak to me as I passed them on my way to the door.

  ***

  I fell asleep around nine after a busy night of watching Battlestar Gallactica by myself and a pizza and cookie dough ice cream binge. I was already onto the third season. It's amazing how much TV you can watch when there is absolutely nothing else to do. I was tired of spending my nights alone waiting for something, that no one could explain, to come.

  That something finally came at six in the morning. I woke up in a sweat, not knowing why, and then bam, a vision of a man making alterations to financial retirement accounts. Draining them completely. It didn't stop there, either. I saw him arguing with an older woman before killing her.

  The same man entering a coffee bar. The clock struck twelve as he was ordering a drink. I knew that coffee bar.

  And then it was gone. It had been like having a dream while I was wide awake. Was that what I'd been waiting for? A weird d
aydream certainly wasn't the earth-shattering event I'd expected it to be. And seriously, were the people in the office that communication impaired that they couldn’t say, hey, you're going to get a weird daydream?

  I got up, made some coffee and called Harold, filling him on the latest development.

  “Now you go there,” he said.

  “And do what?”

  “How should I know? You'll find out when it's time.”

  Honey, honey, honey. I only had nineteen days left. Deep breaths and big beehives full of honey.

  “Are you sure I'm going to find out?”

  “I'll meet you at eleven. You did know the place, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  And then he hung up.

  I drank another four cups of coffee while I waited to leave, just to make sure I didn't lack for energy.

  I pulled up in front of the office at ten fifty-nine A.M., and Harold was already waiting, staring down at his watch.

  “You're almost late.”

  “Technically, Harold, I'm a minute early.”

  “Which is almost late.”

  The car door made a horrible sound as he got in. One might describe it as the automobile equivalent of a death rattle. I hoped the old Honda had a life expectancy of another eighteen days.

  “What exactly was that I saw?” I asked as I pulled out of the lot with Harold in tow and horrible exploding sounds coming from the vicinity of the Honda's rear.

  “We need to make a stop first and then you have to go the coffee bar you saw.”

  I turned out onto the highway and just when I thought I'd have to pry the rest of the details from his bony pale hands, he started to talk.

  “You are now essentially syncing into the universe. The person you saw is someone that has been escaping balance, probably for generations.”

  “How can he have escaped for generations?”

  “He was doing it in a past life.”

  “These people get away with it for that long?”

  “Yes. For whatever reasons, the universe hasn't settled his score and now you need to.”