The Reset Life of Cassandra Collins

by Shawn Inmon

  She scrubbed toilets, albeit ones that were not as horrible as what she had first encountered at the bowling alley. She peeled potatoes by the ton. She scrubbed floors on her hands and knees.

  Perhaps most galling of all to Cassandra was that she rarely saw the holy man, Bahrti, at all. Once per week, he would hold an audience in the great hall. He would sit on a golden throne on a raised dais at the front of the room and hold court.

  He was a small man, wizened, with a long, flowing beard that reached to his navel. He had a soft voice and spoke in an accent so thick that Cassandra had great difficulty in understanding him. It seemed to her that he spoke only in clichés and platitudes, anyway.

  “The path of light is the only way out of the darkness.” “To be creative, to let your spirit flow out of you and into others, is to find true happiness.” “Don’t simply try. Do.”

  I think I like that last one better when Yoda said it in Empire Strikes Back.

  She stuck it out week after week and month after month, because she didn’t want to fail at another thing. She was like a three-time divorcee who stuck with a bad fourth marriage.

  Finally, spring arrived and the endless drudgery of cleaning things that weren’t really dirty came to an end. A new form of drudgery took its place—planting season.

  The ashram supported itself through donations from people who joined, and by operating an organic farm. As soon as the first crops of the season came in, yellow-robed acolytes drove the produce up to sell at farmer’s markets in San Francisco. The quality of their kohlrabi and other turnips was widely praised.

  Long before that first trip to the market could be made, preliminary work in the fields had to be done. Bahrti didn’t like the sound of the engines disturbing his meditations, so that work was done by hand.

  After a month of doing back-breaking work in the fields, Cassandra longed for the halcyon days when she just had to scrub floors and toilets.

  Two weeks later, failure or not, she was ready to throw in the towel. She was tired of working from sunup to sundown, always being dirty, and worst of all, she missed Curlee. He had been recruited into some sort of inner circle of Bahrti’s minions, so he never worked in the fields.

  She might catch a glimpse of him as he went to supper, or on a walk, but she realized she hadn’t spoken so much as a word to him in more than a month.

  That’s it. No more.

  Before they had left San Francisco, she had taken the money she had left from selling the Mustang—which was now only a few hundred dollars—and hidden it in her suitcase. She had used a box knife to cut away the fabric on the side of the suitcase, then had hidden the money inside and sewed it back as good as new.

  Knowing that money was hidden, waiting for her, giving her a chance at escape, warmed her through many long days of hard labor. She had never gone back and checked on the money, because she didn’t want to draw attention to the suitcase and if she retrieved it too early, she would not have a place to hide it.

  That night, lying on the same bunk she had been in since she had arrived the previous November, she made a plan.

  I will stay awake until everyone else is asleep for the night. I’ll sneak into the storage room, take back my money, then find Curlee and see if he wants to leave with me. By then, I don’t care if I wake everyone else up or not. They won’t stop me from leaving.

  Cassandra executed the first part of her plan flawlessly. She lay quietly on her bunk until all she heard was soft snores from all corners. She padded quietly away from her bunk to the bathrooms and waited there for a several minutes to see if anyone had followed her.

  When she didn’t hear anyone, she snuck back out and tiptoed to the storage room, where all the emptied-out suitcases were stored. She was slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number and variety of different suitcases. She lit one of the wooden matches she had snuck out of the kitchen and used the illumination to search one area. Then another, and another.

  Look at me. I have finally become a seeker of the light.

  She was almost out of matches when she finally spotted her aquamarine American Tourister suitcase. The same one she had packed when she had left Middle Falls almost two years before. She slipped the suitcase into the middle of the floor and unlatched it as quietly as she could. Still, it made a hollow, ratcheting sound that made her hold her breath.

  She heard nothing but silence.

  Gotta remember, I’m not breaking out of prison, I’m just retrieving my own money, so I can leave. I’m not doing anything wrong.

  That thought calmed her.

  Slowly, she opened the suitcase.

  The fabric on the left side had been completely torn away.

  Her money was gone.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Cassandra’s fingers scrabbled against the material, pulling it this way and that, but there was no mistaking what she had first seen. The entire fabric was torn away. Her money was gone.

  She sat on the hard floor with a thump. She no longer cared if anyone heard her, or if Bahrti himself came roaring into the room. In fact, she would like that. She had a few things she wanted to shout into the holy man’s holy ears.

  Someone stole my money. Someone stole my goddamned money!

  Hot tears of anger coursed down her cheeks.

  That’s it. I’m stuck. Ruined. I have nothing. No car, no money, no way to get out of here, even.

  She opened the door and let it slam behind her, heedlessly.

  She stopped at her bunk just long enough to slip her sandals on, then ran outside. By then, she heard people stirring behind her and asking her what was wrong. She wanted to stop and scream “Someone stole my money!” but she didn’t.

  Instead, she ran out into compound and directly to the sleeping area where she knew Curlee was. She threw the door open and saw row after row of bunk beds. The only light in the room came from a cracked door to the bathroom at the far end of the room. One sleeping figure looked just like all the rest.

  She spread her feet, put her hands on her hips and said, “Floyd Curlee, where are you?”

  That resulted in a number of feet hitting the floor and cries of “Hey!” and “No women allowed in here!” One man nearest her stood and walked toward her.

  He wore a nearly identical sleeping gown to what she had worn every night. The sight of him—a big bear of a man in a flimsy white gown—almost made her laugh, but her anger won out.

  “Sister, you have wandered into the wrong bunkhouse. You need to leave at once.”

  “I am not leaving until I talk to Floyd Curlee,” she said loudly, putting most of the emphasis on “Floyd.”

  Finally, she saw a figure approaching from the far end of the room.

  I see he didn’t have to sleep near the cold draft of the door all winter. Good for you, Curlee.

  Part of her mind noted that somehow, no matter how improbable, he made wearing the ridiculous nightgown look good. Bastard.

  “Cass?” Curlee mumbled, running a hand through his tangled hair. “What are you doing here?”

  “I am leaving,” Cassandra said loudly, wanting the whole world to hear. “When we came here, I sewed all the money I had in the world into my suitcase and now someone has stolen it.” Her throat thickened, and tears were again close, but she fought them back. “It was all I had.” Her voice broke. “And they stole it!”

  “Wait. You had money when we got here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would blow it on dope and acid before we left. Then, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we haven’t spoken ten words to each other in the last few months. I never see you. And did I mention, this holy man of yours and his hooligans stole every dime I had in the world?”

  Curlee raised his hands, placating her. “Calm down.”

  Never, in the history of the world, has a man saying, “calm down,” resulted in the woman he was speaking to calming down.

  Cassandra let out a shriek of frustration. “Oooh
mph!” She seriously considered socking Curlee, but didn’t.

  “Cass. Listen. If someone took something of yours, I know it’s just a misunderstanding. I know these people.” His face lit up with a new idea. “If they took it, it might be a test.”

  “A test. A test? Oh, my God, you’ve really gone ‘round the bend, Floyd Curlee.”

  He winced, but didn’t say anything more.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take your car, and drive it out to the highway. Then, I’m going to park it there, so you can come get it.” She looked around at the other men in the sleeping quarters, who were paying rapt attention to the conversation. There was no television or radio at the ashram, so this was the closest thing to entertainment they had seen in a long time. “Because I am not a thief, unlike these other sons of bitches. If you want to come with me, now is the time. If you don’t, you can get someone to drive you out to the highway tomorrow and retrieve it. I’ll hide the keys under the back tire, although I doubt if anyone will steal it.” She raised her voice again. “Because I think all the goddamn thieves are gathered right here!

  “Come on, Cass. Don’t do this. Go back to bed, and in the morning, I will find out what happened to your money. I promise it’s a mistake, that’s all.”

  Cassandra deflated. She shook her head. When she looked up again, there were tears welling in her eyes.

  “Right up until this moment, I thought you would come with me. That I was more important to you than all this holier-than-thou nonsense. Now I see that I’m not. I guess I’m glad I found out now, when I only had a year invested in you, instead of losing half a lifetime.”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond but walked quietly out of that bunkhouse and back to hers. When she opened the door, everyone was awake.

  “Cassandra, is everything all right?” It was Allison, the quasi-housemother for the bunkhouse.

  Cassandra was too tired and scared to fight any more. “No, Allison. Nothing is all right. Someone stole all the money I arrived here with, and now I am leaving without a penny to my name. And you know what? That’s fine. I’d rather be penniless and out in the world, than have safety here among a den of thieves.”

  She pushed past Allison and went back into the storage room. This time she flipped on the light and saw her suitcase, lying open on the floor. She kicked it in frustration and hurt her foot. She hopped around for a few seconds, cursing under her breath.

  That helped her focus. She looked at the storage racks on the right and found where some of the civilian clothing was that people had with them when they showed up at the ashram. She poked hopefully through the pile, hoping to find something that belonged to her, but it was a fruitless search.

  Finally, she grabbed a tie-dye t-shirt and a pair of jeans. She ripped her nightgown off, threw it on the ground, and dressed quickly.

  By the time she walked back through the rows of bunks, all was quiet again. Every woman was lying on her bunk, back turned toward Cassandra.

  “It’s been nice knowing you, too,” she muttered.

  Cassandra threw open the door into the cool night air. Curlee was standing in the middle of the compound. He held the keys to his car in his left hand. He offered them to her.

  “If you’re really leaving, Cass, here you go. I’ll find out what happened to your money and get it sent to you.”

  “No you won’t, because one of them will lie, another will swear to it, and you will believe it.” She almost said, “You’ve drunk the Kool-Aid,” but she remembered Jonestown was more than a decade in the future and Curlee wouldn’t understand what that meant.

  She took the keys from him, turned, and walked toward where all the cars were parked.

  She didn’t look back.

  CASSANDRA SHIVERED as she drove away from the ashram. She turned the heater as hot as it would go, but it blew only cold air.

  I should have taken a coat, too.

  She drove slowly over the ruts and bumps in the dirt road. No one was chasing her, and she had not one idea where she was going, so there was no need to hurry.

  After a few minutes, the engine warmed up and the heater started putting out warm air. She still shivered, though, and realized she was shaking with anger and emotion, not just the cold.

  I’ve done it now. I’ve messed everything up as badly as it can be. I woke up back here two years ago with the world on a string. A good man who wanted to love me and share his life with me. A happy life where the only limitations on me were what I put on myself. I gave all that up for what, exactly? A pipe dream I hadn’t even really thought through. Now, I’m completely broke, don’t even own the clothes on my back, and I don’t have a person or place in the world to call my own. I am completely alone.

  For the third time that day, tears ran down her cheeks. These were the worst kind of tears. These were I-pity-myself tears.

  This was the point where, in the past, Cassandra had given herself a good talking-to, picked herself up, straightened her back, and moved forward.

  She tried to do so now.

  She didn’t have the energy for it. She just felt empty inside.

  She came to the intersection where the dirt road met the county highway. She pulled off onto a wide spot on the side of the road and parked. She took the ignition key and hit it under a small rock under the back tire. She was just about to lock the door when she remembered something.

  She crawled back inside the car and opened the glove box.

  Ha! They didn’t steal everything!

  She pulled a Three Musketeers candy bar out and held it triumphantly.

  I have something. It may not be much, but it’s a start.

  Her stomach growled at the sight of the candy bar. She shrugged, sat on the hood of the car, and unwrapped it. The candy bar had been in the glove box for months. It was cold, a little brittle, and stale.

  It was also delicious.

  Once the candy bar was gone, she pulled her legs up under her chin and considered her options.

  I don’t really have many options, do I? Hitchhike back to Berkeley and see if they’ll let me have my old couch back? That sounds pretty good right now. Or, go back to The Haight as one of those wandering homeless people, sleeping under newspapers on a bench until I can get a job?

  The sun was coming up, and the eastern sky was awash in pinks and purples.

  No matter what I do, it’s going to start with hitchhiking north. Of course, I haven’t seen a single car pass by since I got here, so that candy bar might have to last me a while.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Universal Life Center

  Semolina sat at her desk, hard at work. She was a newer Watcher, so she still only had seven people she watched over. She touched the glass cylinder, which she called her pyxis, and it stopped rotating.

  “Oh, no,” Semolina said. “No.”

  She rotated her pyxis counter-clockwise half a turn, then let it spin again. There was an image inside the glass—a young woman dressed in a tie-dye shirt and jeans, sitting on the hood of a car. As the pyxis spun, she stepped from the car, walked to the road in front of her and stood waiting.

  Sometime later, a vehicle pulled up and Semolina watched the young woman talk to whoever was in the vehicle. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door and climbed in.

  Semolina paused the scene there. She had already seen what happened after that, and she couldn’t bear to watch it again. There had been a time when good Watchers were supposed to watch only—never interfere.

  Then a Watcher named Carrie stood up to the Council, and everything changed. The Machine issued a new protocol and it was now up to each Watcher to decide their own path.

  Semolina had interfered in her people’s lives from time to time, but she tried not to. She had once saved this same young woman from a terrible fate by pushing a couple out of their motel room to eat dinner. Now, she was faced with this. There was no couple she could summon to save this woman this time.

  Semolina c
leared her throat. “Emillion?”

  Instantly, a disembodied voice said, “Yes, Semolina?”

  “I need help.”

  A woman appeared beside her. She had long white hair and bangs that fell over her forehead. She pushed them away with the back of her hand absent-mindedly. She always reminded Semolina of the grandmother she had known on her last life on Earth.

  Emillion picked up the pyxis and feathered it forward and backward, wincing a bit at the scene that played out before her. She had been a Watcher for millennia, but she was still surprised by the depths of depravity and violence humans could visit on one another.

  “Perhaps this is her fate,” Emillion ventured softly.

  Semolina nodded, but her eyes were downcast.

  “She’s all alone here, so she won’t be easy to save.”

  Semolina nodded her agreement again but didn’t speak.

  “The only way to save her would be for one of us to go down. The last time I visited Earth, the Council recycled me into a baby’s body.” Emillion's expression grew soft. “And that was a very nice life. Very nice.”

  She focused on Semolina and her client again.

  “But that was before the Council changed their protocol. Now we can interfere if we choose to.”

  Semolina’s eyes lit up.

  “Remember, though,” Emillion said, “the Law of Unintended Consequences is strong. We don’t know what will happen to this woman if we interfere here.”

  “But,” Semolina said, “we know what will happen if we don’t.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Poor woman.”

  “She’s trying so hard this life. I’ve grown to love her spirit.”

  Emillion nodded. “Then you must go to her.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Cassandra Collins hopped off the hood of Curlee’s old Ford and walked to the far side of the road.