FATE'S PAST

by Jason Huebinger

  Her name was Sally. Sally Franklin. Cameron met her on a drunken night in Vegas and she became one of his biggest regrets.

  Cameron, flustered for a moment, said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  * * *

  Towards the back of the restaurant, Carrie found a door under a third, much larger mounted deer head. The door was unmarked and closed, but Carrie heard something from within. She couldn’t tell what she heard, but she knew she heard something. And so she gently placed her right hand on the doorknob, twisted, and pushed. The door was heavier than she expected, so she pushed it with greater force, which caused it to swing open, pulling her inside. The whole opening was surreal, as if an invisible creature was pushing back on the other side of the door before it pulled her in.

  The door slammed shut with unexpected momentum.

  Bang!

  The ground trembled. Carrie fell to the floor.

  Nothing attacked. She looked up and noticed a pan on the ground. It was one of many that hung from the roof. The door must have caused it to fall.

  Just chill out, she thought. Her mind was getting the best of her.

  She stood and looked at the restaurant’s kitchen stretched out before her. The kitchen was enormous; it eclipsed the serving area in size. It was also oddly clean—every stove, sink, and oven flawlessly reflected the light that shone from the florescent bulbs above. It appeared as if no one had ever used the kitchen. There were no dirty plates in the sinks, no stains on the counter tops. The floor was spotless and the walls were smooth and white. She thought, Damn, this is so much cleaner than my kitchen! How embarrassing is that?

  The air felt oppressive and lacked any smell one would expect in the kitchen. No scents of gumbo, garlic, or pepper.

  “Hello!” Carrie yelled. “Anyone there? You have customers!” There was no response to her cries. “Heeeelllloooo,” she repeated, but again, silence.

  Carrie stepped forward a few feet and gazed around tentatively as if someone was about to jump out of an oven and assault her. The sound she heard from outside the door was gone, and all she heard was the slight sounds of her feet striking the ground. She looped around the right side of the kitchen, analyzing each exposed piece of equipment. There were the normal and expected tools—knives, forks, spoons, and ladles. But the knives’ blades were smooth and without the nicks of carving. The forks points were sharp and unbent. The spoons and ladles shined with no hints of foreign food remnants. Do they actually do any cooking in this kitchen? she wondered.

  In her periphery, she spotted a dash of red, which stood out from the clean silver and brown utensils everywhere else. She walked towards the red, realizing it was in a sink. When next to the sink, she looked in, and stepped back in horror.

  A bloodied knife lay in the sink. It had been there for a while as flecks of dried blood surrounded it.

  Don’t freak out. It’s blood from an animal.

  She tried to turn away from the knife, but could not. She fixated on it. Something within her needed to clean the knife. Why, she did not know. But she could not fight the desire.

  She stepped towards the sink, and with a shaking hand, flicked the sink’s handle. Water silently poured down, splashing against the knife and sink without sound. The water liquefied the dried blood, which swirled under the knife. The water, however, did not clean the knife. Blood continued to run from it, as if the knife itself bled.

  A sound outside of the kitchen’s door diverted Carrie’s attention from the knife. At first, she was afraid that it would be the sound of a baby crying again. But it wasn’t.

  “No,” Carrie uttered as she scanned the kitchen for the source of the sound. She had heard the sound before. It played throughout her childhood and into her adult years. It haunted many waking moments and every dream. It served as the impetus for many fearful awakenings. Its steadfast presence once served as both a blessing and a curse, but its eventual absence was the worst torture at all.

  It was a beep. The same beep she had heard in the hotel room.

  “Please no,” Carrie whispered. She moved throughout the kitchen, hoping to hone in on the sound’s origin. But the sound’s volume remained steady regardless of where she stood in the kitchen.

  And so she resorted to chaos. She flung open cabinet doors, opened the ovens, and looked in the sinks. She furiously cast aside every object in the kitchen; her frustration and longing propelled the instruments’ flights. But despite her efforts, the noise remained, unchanged.

  “Please stop,” Carrie cried. She ran to the door, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted. But the doorknob refused to comply; it remained motionless as her hand glided over its smooth surface.

  She kicked the door and screamed, “Let me out, dammit!” She kicked it harder a second time, but it didn’t budge. Pain shot through her foot and she smacked the door with her open right hand.

  “Cameron!” she screamed, but no one screamed back. She grabbed the doorknob with both hands and tried to twist with greater force, but all she had to show for her efforts were narrow welts in both her palms.

  Exhausted, Carrie fell to her knees and put her hands to her face. The beep continued to penetrate her eardrums; although it wasn’t blaringly loud, its monotonous repetition was maddening.

  In her fetal position, a voice startled her. “Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t believe you are supposed to be in this area.”

  Carrie, frightened by the voice, stood and turned. She looked up at the mysterious man who was standing in front of her, whose presence had chased off the beeping. The guy looked to be in his early twenties. He appeared to be just over six feet, was thin with a mopped mess of curls, and his expression exposed a deer-in-the-headlights quality. Realization struck her.

  His name was Billy. Carrie met him on a low night and he became one of her biggest regrets.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Carrie asked.

  * * *

  “What?” Sally asked coyly and placed her hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “Don’t you remember me?”

  “Yes, of course I remember you,” Cameron said as he brushed off her hand. “But what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m here because you’re here.”

  Cameron positioned himself in a more aggressive posture. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Sally took a step forward. She bowed her head and peered up at him darkly. “What, aren’t you happy to see me? You certainly were happy that night.”

  “No, I’m not happy to see you,” he said as he took a step away from her. “I’m here with my girlfriend. Remember her? Pretty sure I told you about her when I kicked you out of my hotel room.”

  A smiled crept over Sally’s face. “Oh, of course I remember Carrie. In fact, I know everything about Carrie. The question is, does Carrie know anything about me?” She stepped forward again to match Cameron’s step back, and he extended his arm to impede her progress.

  “Why would she know anything about you? What good would that do? It’s not like you’re anything to me.”

  “Oh, I know what I was to you. I was your whore. I was your meaningless piece of trash. I was your tissue for your temporary illness, and you cast me aside just as quickly. So yes, I realize I was nothing to you. But I do wonder what I would mean to Carrie. I wonder if Carrie could forget about me as fast as you did.” Sally’s smiled grew and she turned her head to look over her right shoulder. “Shall we find out?”

  “No,” Cameron pleaded. “Please don’t. We are doing so great.”

  “Oh, I know how you two are doing.” She turned her head to lock onto his stare. “I know you are in ‘love.’” She mock quoted when she said “love.” “You have a ring in your pocket, and you’re planning to give it to her this trip. But do you really want to go into lifelong commitment with a secret? Doesn’t Carrie need to know the real Cameron before she agrees or rejects your proposal? I mean, if I were her, I’d want to know. And dammit, I’d de
serve to know!” Her hand darted out and clenched onto Cameron’s shirt. “So, are you going to have the balls to tell her, or do I have to?”

  “No, please don’t,” he pleaded as he touched the hand that was twisting his shirt. “Please, it would crush her. She doesn’t deserve that. She has done nothing wrong.”

  “Oh really?” Sally asked demurely. “Yes, Carrie is the perfect little lass, isn’t she? She’s just never done anything wrong, huh?”

  Her rapid change in demeanor baffled Cameron. “Yes, Carrie is perfect. Or, at least, she is perfect for me. So please don’t hurt our relationship. I did not promise you anything, and I explained the entire situation to you. So why are you punishing me?”

  “Oh, you think I am punishing you? I am not punishing you, Cameron. Your lies are punishing you, your deceit. The guilt has been eating you alive, consuming your soul. And no matter how much you repent, no matter how often you plead for forgiveness, it will not come until you look Carrie in the eye and confess. Unbosom your sins to Carrie. Only in truth can you find true peace.” She took another step closer, grazed her hand across his face, and said, “I forgot about you the moment I got my money. But you didn’t forget about me, did you? You recognized me the moment you saw me. I have been living with you, sleeping with you, lying next to you every night between you and Carrie. And the only way you’re ever going to be able to kick me out of the bed is to admit that I’m there to Carrie.”

  Cameron was silent. He processed everything she had said, and it was all true. “Why are you doing this?”

  Sally leaned into Cameron’s face, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered sweetly, “Nothing personal, babe. Just sleep on it. But don’t sleep too long, because I’m not going anywhere, Cameron.”

  She pushed Cameron aside, walked to the restaurant’s door, and left him with his mouth open wide.

  * * *

  “What?” Billy asked. “You don’t remember?” A meek puppy dog frown covered his face. He looked exactly as Carrie remembered. Brown, pitiful eyes stared at her. He even had on the same striped, button-up shirt he was wearing the night she met him.

  “Yes, of course I remember. But what the hell are you doing here? What are you doing in Louisiana, and in this restaurant?”

  Billy looked around the kitchen. “You don’t like it? I actually think it’s quite quaint.”

  “Stop being coy,” Carrie said as she took a step back.

  He stepped forward. “I’m here because you’re here, of course.”

  Carrie’s eyes grew wide with fear. “Really? You never struck me as the stalker type.”

  “How would you know what type I am?” Billy asked in a sorrowful tone. “You didn’t really give me much of a chance.”

  Carrie locked eyes with him and tried her best to be a disciplinarian. “We talked about this. I wasn’t in a place to continue anything with you. You know I was lost, and you filled a void. That’s all. And now I’m back with Cameron, and we’re better than we’ve ever been. So please, don’t do anything to hurt me. Or us.”

  Billy’s face morphed from youthful agonizing to purposeful resolve, and suddenly he looked much older. “Oh, Carrie, I know what I was.” He walked forward with greater determination and she backtracked until she hit a wall. He placed his right hand onto the wall above her left shoulder, trapping her in his web of inquiry and spite. “I know what I was, probably better than you do. I was your toy, your distraction. I was…his opposite.” He looked at the door as he said this. “But I’ve always wondered, what the hell does he have?” His innocence returned as he said this.

  Carrie’s tone softened. “It wasn’t about what he has that you don’t. Cameron and I are just right for each other. Yin and Yang, you know?”

  Billy’s innocence dripped away and his devious smile returned. “Oh, I know all about Cameron’s dark Yin. And it’s so sad that you are blind to it.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked with disdain as she pushed away his arm that still rested above her shoulder. “What the hell do you know about Cameron? Nothing. Nothing at all. So please stop acting like an asshole.” She tried to shove him to the side and walk away, but the clench of his hand around her biceps stopped her. She scratched at the fingers of his clenched fist, but they would not budge. “Stop that, you’re hurting me. Please let go and let us go.”

  “We are not finished, Carrie.” Billy’s menacing tone frightened her. She remembered him as a timid soul, one that would not—and probably could not—hurt anyone or anything. His timidity drew Carrie to him that night, because she needed a kind and soft touch; she needed a touch from one who would caress instead of rub.

  But the man that stood before her was not the one she remembered. He was not the gentle spirit that shyly asked if he could buy her a drink. This was not the guy who asked, “Is that okay?” maddeningly often. The stranger in front of her had a callous and hardened aura, and she realized that the force of his resistance was unmovable. His clenched hand and bent arm did not even flinch as she clawed, pushed, and pulled. She did not feel a touch of passive trembling or indecision. He had her in his grips, and she realized that nothing she could do would convince him to release her. He had something to say, and he was going to say it.

  “You didn’t tell him about us, did you? Never told him what happened?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?” Billy asked.

  “What do you mean, why not?”

  “Why didn’t you tell him about what happened between us?”

  “What purpose would that serve?” Carrie asked. That same question had run though her mind countless times. It was the only thing separating Carrie and Cameron from the truth, the one obstacle to Carrie’s total liberation. “What purpose would that serve?” She would repeat that sentence to herself over and over on the nights when she couldn’t sleep, when the guilt filled her mind. It was her persistent excuse, her imagined truism. But no matter how often she repeated the line, she was never fully convinced.

  “What purpose? How about repentance? How about freedom? How about just truth, for Christ’s sake. I can think of a million purposes, but your cowardice would defeat them all. What, are you afraid of how Cameron might react?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I am not afraid of how Cameron would react. I’m sure he would forgive me. It was only a misunderstanding. And we were kinda broken up at the time.”

  “And how quick you were to take advantage of that misunderstanding.” Billy released his grip after he said that, and she recoiled in disgust at his implication.

  “What the hell are you trying to say? That I was looking for any little reason to be with someone else? Go to hell, I’m done with this shit.” She shoved Billy and marched towards the door. She reached for the door handle, twisted, and pulled; the door didn’t budge.

  “As I said,” Billy said and he approached Carrie, his fists clenched again, his eyes wide. “We are not done here. Not until you promise me you will tell Cameron about us.”

  She stopped trying to open the door and locked her gaze upon him, anger blistering around the pupils of her eyes. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? You are nothing to me, and Cameron is everything. And what Cameron and I have is none of your business.”

  He smiled a dauntless and unaffected smile. “It is more of my business than you will ever know. And I do understand Cameron is your everything. Believe it or not, I respect that. And that’s the exact reason I am here. See, to you, I was just a gentle guy at the bar. A temporary Yang to satisfy your momentary disgust of the darkness. I was the footnote that explained your feelings without interrupting them. But, I’m beginning to bleed into the body of Cameron’s and your story, aren’t I?”

  Carrie, bewildered, uttered, “Please, just leave us alone.”

  “That’s just it, Carrie. I will never leave you alone. I harbor no guilt about us, and in fact, I’m dating a pretty, blonde psychology major that I’ll marry and have three kids
with. But that’s not the point. My present is not the point. My past with you is what matters. And until you address it with Cameron, I will remain. So I will let you out, but until you confess what happened, I will always stand between you and Cameron. Do you understand?”

  “No,” she admitted, fear dripping from her voice.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, you will.” He repositioned Carrie away from the door, turned its knob, and the door opened. “Hopefully I won’t have to see you again, Carrie.” He waved meekly in the same doltish manner Carrie recalled and left.

  After his departure, Carrie stood for a few moments, paralyzed by confusion. She then snapped into her senses and tried to open the door. This time, the door opened, and Carrie tentatively walked out. Once out, she noticed Cameron standing in the middle of the restaurant; his back was to her, his eyes fixed on the front of the restaurant.

  “Cameron!” she cried.

  “Well, hey there. Find us any service?” Cameron smiled and jogged over to her. They embraced, and she held him as if he may drift away. Upon her left cheek, Carrie felt a hint of moisture. Confused at first, she realized that Cameron was crying.

  Carrie had never seen Cameron cry. He did not cry when he discussed his mother. He did not cry when he talked to her about the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father. But in her arms, Cameron let go and found an inner peace that moved him to outer distress.

  “Hey, Cameron, I’ve got an idea.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “How about we forget about New Orleans and just go home. I’m ready to be back in Austin with you. I’ll even let you take me to your favorite restaurant, Uchi! You can spend a ton of money on food you don’t really care for and shower me with attention. Whaddya say?”