Blind Fate

by Olivia Gaines

  “Are we in any danger?”

  “If so, I wouldn’t be on this call but on my way to you. Stay safe and call me after the drop off,” Joe said.

  “Will do,” Zeke replied, looking up at the woman, who held her head high, staring into the deadness of the air, unable to see the fate which lay before her. Blindly, she had to trust people she didn’t know and an employer that would turn the tables in a heartbeat in order to save her own neck.

  “Well?” Tempest asked, although she’d heard most of the conversation.

  “He’ll send me the coordinates in the morning of where I’m to take you to meet Beauty. Tameka, you and Michelle are coming with us, so pack an overnight bag and snacks,” Zeke said to both ladies.

  “Why do I have the feeling that I’m not going to like where we are going?” Tempest asked.

  “I don’t know where we’re headed, so I can’t even say. I just know at 7 a.m., we need be on our way down this mountain,” Zeke replied.

  “Okay,” Tempest said, lowering her head. “Mrs. Neary, if I might impose for that shower and a change of clothing, I would be very appreciative.”

  “Sure thing,” Tameka said, helping the woman to her feet and to the guest room. “If you need any assistance, I’m here to aid you.”

  “Thank you. Your kindness is truly, truly appreciated,” Tempest said, allowing herself to be guided to the bedroom. Her face was lowered, almost touching her chest. In her heart, she didn’t trust Beauty, which was partially the reason she hadn’t called. Now she was left with no choice.

  Inside of her boss ran a sinister, mean and evil streak. Yet, Tempest also questioned her own motives. Had she focused on the job and gotten in and out, she would have been clear. Had she not gotten caught on camera, Rami would never have known. Tempest drove over the road to leave behind bits of a life she didn’t want to remember, but all of it was catching up at an astronomical rate. Six hours in any direction from Blairsville, Georgia could be anywhere in the South.

  Her mind raced, retracing her steps with Rami, trying desperately to pinpoint where it all went wrong. College was nearly fourteen years ago. He still couldn’t be angry over a simple graduate project? Angry at that, all these years later?

  She sat on the edge of the bed with flashes of her life passing before her own eyes. Neary’s wife said her aura was dark green, which meant she’d refused to take responsibility for her own actions, which of course wasn’t true. A great number of her actions she simply walked away from and moved on to the next best thing. A shudder went up her spine as she felt the prickly fingers of karma catching up with the penny-pinching choices she’d made prior to now, yet the banker was requesting the balloon payment come due.

  Tempest Fateman was a few dollars short of paying her bill.

  Chapter Eight – Downside-Up

  Tempest sat on the side of the bed wondering what kind of people she’d fallen in with during her darkest, literally and physically, hour of need. Blinking repeatedly like an idiot, she hoped for a mere second that after the next blink her vision would suddenly, miraculously become restored. She blinked again to no avail. A solemnness sunk in around her taut frame, accompanied by a hopelessness that clung to every fiber of the strong woman she’d cultivated like a perfect Bonsai tree. On top of all of the uncertainty, her tits were still somewhat covered in rose gold glitter since she hadn’t had the opportunity to wash it off. Markham only hosed the lady down and allowed her to clean just the dirty parts.

  “I can feel you standing there,” Tempest said to the body in the doorway. She couldn’t see the person but the faint traces of blueberry her nose detected indicated it was Neary’s wife.

  “I brought you a clean towel, washcloth, and bar of soap,” Tameka said softly. “I have a couple of blueberry bushes in the back which seem to overproduce so I use the berries in almost everything. Last week, I made a few bars of soap.”

  “Ah, that’s what I’m smelling on you,” Tempest replied, waiting to see where this conversation would head.

  “I attempted to make shampoo, but it just resulted in turning my hair a nice tint of purple, which was cool for a minute, if one likes that kind of thing,” Tameka said, placing the towel on the bed next to her. “The towels are next to you. I also brought in a sleep shirt for tonight, and I can wash the clothes you have on when you take them off.”

  “Sorry, my clothes are dry clean only,” Tempest replied, turning her head slightly to where she thought the woman might be standing.

  “Well, today those clothes are going into the washer on cold and can air dry,” Tameka replied with a bit of sass in her voice. “Listen...”

  Tempest popped up off the edge of the bed, taking one step and getting in Tameka’s face.

  “Don’t tell me to listen, Mrs. Neary. You don’t know me or anything about me, so don’t try to lay some human-interest piece on me about all of us at one-point living in a self-imposed darkness. It won’t fly, and I don’t care to hear it in a feeble attempt to bond with me. Understand?”

  Tameka didn’t respond with words. She reached her hand out, placed it in the middle of Tempest’s chest and pushed really hard, sending the woman flying backwards into the middle of the bed.

  “You’re in my home,” Tameka said in a low voice, “which places you at my mercy. It is up to me if, and that is a big ass if, my husband puts you in a car to take you where Beauty wants you to go next or if Zeke drives you back down the mountain and leaves you for Sheriff Tomlin.”

  Tameka moved closer, grabbing Tempest by the leg and dragging her across the bed. Before the woman had time to react, Tameka removed her shoes.

  “See, what you’re failing to understand is that you’re right, you don’t know me, or what I’ve been through,” Tameka said. “Sheriff Tomlin, unlike his predecessor, loves black women. They collect them in these parts and sell them. Mr. Mann’s biological father is Michael Kurtzwilde, Beauty’s brother-in-law. One call from him and you could be placed in rotation for the collectors. Any secrets you hold about his business The Company can die with you, and no one will know you’re missing. Those are the types of people The Company hires. Bodies that no one will miss. No one will miss you, Tempest, least of all me.”

  Tempest struggled to sit up, disoriented in the room, not understanding which way the door was now that the woman pushed her on the bed and drug her over the mattress. She’d underestimate Mrs. Neary, a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

  “I’m sorry,” Tempest said, but it lacked sincerity.

  “No, you’re not,” Tameka replied. “You’re one of those women who learned to apologize when you get caught doing a low-down thing and hurting others. You have no remorse and no shame. I’d bet, if I weren’t here, your first move would have been to get my husband into bed to make him more docile and obedient.”

  “So now you’re judging me? Thanks for beating on me when I’m down, helpless, and at your mercy.”

  “Honey, the last thing you are is helpless,” Tameka replied. “Life is reciprocal. What you put into it is often what life will give you back. This Glitter Man didn’t kill you because there is a big thing he needs you to acknowledge. Either you did a wrong to him that changed his life or you did a wrong to someone else and it altered theirs. You’re right, I don’t know your story, but that deep green aura hanging around your body says even if you could see, we wouldn’t be friends.”

  “Great, a woman who makes her own soap is telling me that I’m not good enough to be her friend. My day just keeps getting better,” Tempest muttered, trying to sit up on the bed.

  “No, what I’m telling you is that between now and wherever we’re taking you tomorrow, you really need to get your head together. Pray, ask for forgiveness, or simply make a mental list of all the people you’ve treated like crap and wronged. More than likely, those same people are the ones who are going to have to be your eyes,” Tameka said. “Let me know when you’re ready to wash that glitter off of you.”

  “I have glitter o
n me?”

  “Yes, it’s all over your legs, your jacket and in your hair. I’m going to have to wash your hair for you just to make sure we get it all out,” Tameka said.

  “Mrs. Neary, I’m sorry I came across as such a bitch. This is unnerving. I really don’t know...,” Tempest started speaking, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Uh, good try. Save the tears. Those don’t work on me,” Tameka said with a dry tone. “Your old tricks are played out. Darling, you’re going to have to start fresh. And I say this with all sincerity, you are a bitch. Can you please try to just be a better person? You’re going to need it to survive.”

  Tempest listened to the soft footfalls walking away to be meet by tiny feet and a soft, small voice requesting a story. She heard Zeke Neary ask the child to select a book followed by a deep-bellied chuckle from the man of the house regarding the choice made by the child.

  “We are not reading Shakespeare, Michelle,” Zeke replied, putting the book back on the shelf. “When Uncle Bleu comes for a visit, you can have him read a play to you and do the voices.”

  The child pleaded with him to read the story, and the pages of the book flipped open to The Tempest. Zeke looked down at Act 5 Scene 1, reading aloud the phrase, “O brave new world that has such people in't!”

  Tameka listened as he read a bit more from the last chapter. “Maybe you should read it to her, and it will put her down for a bed without a fight.”

  “In both of our dreams,” Zeke replied, looking towards the guest bedroom door at their new visitor. “I have a bad feeling that this situation is just going to get stranger.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” Tameka replied, also looking through the door at the woman holding a cell phone as if she were wondering who to call.

  TEMPEST’S MIND WENT into overdrive, thinking of all the potential solutions Beauty would come up with in this situation and none of them pleased her. In a worst-case scenario, Mr. Exit would be dispatched to put an end to her and without sight, there would be no way to see him coming. It was his trademark. No one ever saw him coming.

  A strong tug came at her heart, and a few people came to mind. A mantra of ‘home’ played in her head. Tempest Fateman had more than one place she called home, and outside of Athens, the other two places were the last stops she wanted to make, with or without her eyesight.

  “Make a list,” she said softly, thinking of Mrs. Neary’s words. If she were to begin with a list, she would start with Jeremiah Slanecki, a close friend from college she nicknamed Rami.

  AT THE TENDER AGE OF 22 years, the moral compass of a young woman on the move and in high demand can be incrementally adjusted to fit the need of the mentor. The biochemistry department at Emory was loaded with brilliant minds ready to make a change in the world one molecule at a time. Jeremiah Slanecki wasn’t much different. He wanted friends and to be accepted. However, no one in the department wanted to be friends with a rail thin man with splotchy skin and too many ideas falling out of his mouth all at once to make an actual coherent sentence. That was until he met Tempest Fateman.

  She spoke fluent Jeremiah and even provided him with a cute nickname of Rami, which everyone in the department soon picked up, making him the nerdy guy who became cool by association. The small circle that surround Tempest was safely guarded by Rami, who served as her protector, friend, and confidante. The two also shared a love of the macabre, especially when it came to the decomposition of human remains.

  “Wouldn’t it be cool if we developed a solvent to break the human body down into a powder form that can be used as a composting agent for flower beds and the like?” Rami said one evening when scouring notes for a Biochem midterm.

  “Yes, they can add the dead remains of Uncle Ernie right in the same hole with the placenta from Ernie’s daughter new baby girl to grow blood-red roses,” Tempest quipped.

  “That’s kind of sick, Tempest, but follow me on this,” Rami said. “The cost of a funeral is almost ten grand, plus they are running out of six foot holes, and cemeteries are becoming overcrowded. People are opting for cremation, but that too can be costly and the power itself to operate the body bake oven is astronomical. I hear the cooldown of the ashes can take a couple of days. What if we could create a solvent to break down a human body in a few hours? Mix it with an additive and turn it into to a powder that could be used to fertilize gardens?”

  “Who the fuck wants to eat veggies grown by using Nana, Rami? That is truly sick,” she said, scowling at him. “Hey, Bubba, taste this tomato, we used Grandma Julie as the fertilizer. They are so red and plump. No. Just no.”

  “I see what you mean,” he replied, his head held low. “What if...and hear me out, there was a specialized business who catered to getting rid of unwanted people? The owner of such a material could charge their own price for services rendered.”

  “A specialized business like cleaning up for the mob?”

  “Well, yeah,” he responded, his cheeks getting red.

  “Rami, I hear you, but people like that are scary. What is to stop them from placing you in a vat of your own doing and melting your body down and feeding you to the hogs in a bucket of slop?” she asked, sincerely concerned for his mental well-being.

  “Seriously, Tempest, a few years back, I heard of this company, I think it’s out of Chicago,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “They hire specialized people to do contract work. You and me could start a business and do the clean-up for the guys who do the wet work.”

  “Oh my God, you’re serious,” Tempest said, stepping away from him.

  “Heck yeah, I’m more than serious,” he responded, gently touching her hand. To his shock, this time she didn’t pull her hand away but actually stared at him with those liquid pools of brown love that made his heart beat faster and dream of a life with her outside of study corrals in the library. “Tempest, we could charge anywhere from five to ten grand a disposal. A two-man cleaning team. We can do it all from blood splatter cleanup to staging crime scenes, removing bodies, planting the right chemical evidence, odor removal and more. You and me can run it as a legit business with the county, but do the dirty stuff on the side. We would be set for life.”

  “Let me think about,” she replied and went back to her studies.

  Three days later, she’d given it enough thought. She was tired of being broke. The student loans loomed over her head, and she couldn’t see any earthly reason for going back to Augusta, Georgia and living in her mother’s house, even though she no longer ran girls on the first floor on payday weekends. Tempest Fateman wanted clothes that had to be dry cleaned and not the off the rack items which she purchased at big box retail stores. Her body belonged in fine linens, hand crafted leather shoes, and designer purses to hang off her wrist. She could get those things if the business Rami wanted to start worked.

  “I’ll work on the business plan, and you work on the chemical compounds,” she told him one evening over cups of ramen noodles mixed with vegetable soup for supper.

  “Perfect,” he said, excited to show her the initial formula for breaking down soft tissue. “I think we’ll need a few pig cadavers to start, just to test out the breakdown on the skin.”

  “Maybe we should make this part of our graduate thesis so we can have access to the lab and materials at no cost to us,” she said.

  “No, then our findings would become the intellectual property of the University and not our own,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but we can fail at the project, disproving our own theories and formulaic instrumentation by the omission of two compounds and summarize the research as faulty,” Tempest said. “The actual formula we can file the patent on and claim the glory.”

  “Tempest, if you file the patent, you have to give the actual formula to legally claim the rights which opens you up to others creating a similar formula and beating us to market,” he warned.

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know...try it on a few h
omeless people, maybe?”

  It was then that Tempest knew beyond any reasonable doubt that Rami Slanecki wasn’t quite right in the head. In silence, she worked alongside him creating the formula currently housed in the back of her van, which he had taken from her, along with all the other ideas he had created to start the business she now ran, servicing the organization out of Chicago who hired specialized contract workers which he suggested they contact. She had stolen the life he’d imagined for himself.

  She stole his life, breaking his heart and graduating college to start a life with a man named Ferdinand who had just finished veterinary school. He was a handsome fellow with hazel eyes, a cleft chin, and a bulge in his pants that made women swoon when he entered a room. Rami hated him with a passion.

  As far as Rami was concerned, and based on his assessment of the situation, Ferdinand also stole Tempest from him.

  Tempest planned to live a life with the man, have a family, and live a normal existence. Rami couldn’t have that. Ferdinand couldn’t have his Tempest. He would get in their way. He’d show Ferdinand what type of woman she actually was; a user.

  Initially, the taunts on their lives were small. Ferdinand, having enough of the meddling into their day to day living, took a job in Kentucky, leaving Georgia behind. Tempest continued the work on the formula, finally perfecting it years later. Upon perfection of the formula, she also left Ferdinand behind, along with one other item that she never looked back to see.

  Tempest reached out to the powers that be in Chicago, pitched Rami’s idea and became code name Wrong Way. The first shop, a bulky utility van with no panache, was purchased by The Company. The current van Tempest purchased herself with tax-free funds earned for the work she did that had made her extremely wealthy.

  She was a cleaner for The Company. Her van carried specialized chemicals to handle any job, including the removal of fingerprints from a live body or tale tell identifying fingerprints from a dead one. Tempest lived her life moving forward, never looking back at the waste and destruction of choices left in her wake. Men did it all the time. When a woman made the same self-preservative choices, she was labeled as a whore or a bitch. In her mind, it was the wrong way of looking at life.