My Name Is Karma

by N. A. Cash

  During one of our weekly lunches, she asked me to hang with her after school. “It’s this new restaurant just opened downtown. They serve Thai food. Do you like Thai food?” She asked questions in rapid-fire succession.

  “Umm, I don’t think I ever tried it. It sounds like it could be interesting.”

  She beamed as she fluttered her hands around like she usually did while speaking. “It’ll be fab. I hear the atmosphere is wonderful, like you’re actually in Thailand. All authentic, you know. And I hear the food is to die for!” By this time, she practically bounced out of the seat. “My dad gave me some money, because I told him I wanted to go. I told him I was taking a friend I met at school. He asked me about the young man, and I told him you are a woman. He looked at me strangely…” she paused to giggle “…‘No, Dad,’ I said, ‘it’s not like that.’” She emphasized “that” with a roll of her eyes. “’Just a good friend I met,’ I explained to him. I told him I’d bring you over to the house sometime to meet him and Mom.” She paused with an embarrassed expression on her face. “I’m sorry I said it. I didn’t even ask you.”

  I smiled at her. “It would be a pleasure to meet your family.”

  “Yay!” she squealed with delight. “He gave me extra money, because I finally have a friend. I don’t have many friends, you know, because of the blackouts.”

  I knew all too well. Our gifts made us “special”, they made us stand out, different from other people. I think that’s one of the reasons I took so well to this young lady, despite of her being much younger. Having a mutual connection with someone with her bubbly persona was refreshing.

  “So,” I said, “when do you want to go?”

  “Can we go tonight?” She put on her best puppy dog face, batting her long lashes and pursing her lips.

  I laughed. “I feel like I’m being manipulated, but sure.”

  I smiled at her as she jumped and squealed. “Okay!” she cried. “But you have to pick me up. I don’t think I can find your house.”

  I had previously given her vague directions about where I live. I kept a lot of things about myself secret. I hadn’t told her yet about my gifts or about my Mam and Aunt Vern. I figured in time, if I could fully trust her, I would let her in.

  “That’s not a problem,” I said as I reached into my purse and pulled out a pen and a notepad for her to jot down directions to her house.

  “Ooo, you could meet my parents tonight also!” She seemed to startle herself with that revelation so much so it made her handwriting jump on the page. I peered over to see if it was still legible. When she returned the paper to me, I reread her directions out loud and she confirmed them. We parted ways.

  That evening, I found myself smiling as I got dressed to go to the restaurant. I felt happy for the first time in a long time. I hadn’t interacted with people on a personal level for what seemed like an eternity. I barely had many exchanges with anyone other than my students, shoppers at the grocery store, and an occasional appraisal of my work with Dr. Brown. This felt good. Normal. I was slightly hesitant to meet Cicely’s parents but if they were anything like she said they were, it would be okay.

  I took my time driving to Cicely’s house. After I left the highway I took an exit into an area called Gentilly. I followed several streets, pulling over twice to read the directions she wrote on the paper. I finally found Maple Lane in a suburban neighborhood. As I drove, I counted driveways marked by mailboxes near the road. Each house before Cicely’s was obscured by tall hedges and long driveways. I could barely see lights from the mansions at the end of those driveways because of the tall structures. I counted mailboxes until I came to the pink mansion that matched the description of her home that she’d given me. she described that resembled her house. I pulled off the main road onto a paved driveway. As I followed the twists and turns, I noticed an immaculately kept lawn, spotted with various topiaries shaped like lions, elephants, and giraffes.

  The end of the driveway looped in a circle in front of a huge white structure with pink trim. In the center of the driveway stood a lighted fountain with a golden angel, poised on one leg, spitting water back into the base. I parked my car in the empty driveway and slowly walked up five steps to a set of double French doors. I noticed the doors had both a traditional knocker, as well as a doorbell. I rang the doorbell and heard a short melodic version of Chopin’s Nocturne in B Flat.

  “I’m coming!” a sweet voice sang out behind the door. I heard the clicking of heels on tile.

  The door swung open, and an older version of Cicely peered onto the porch where I stood. She looked exactly like Cicely, except with a slightly plumper frame and shorter hair twisted up in a wide bun. She wore a baby pink tweed jacket with a matching skirt and pink heels. Baby blue eyes like Cicely’s opened in surprise, then shock, and then fear as she stared back at me. She slammed the door shut.

  “Mom!” I heard Cicely shriek.

  I heard more clicks on the tiled floor, and a voice said, “We can’t let her in!”

  The door flew open, and Cicely stood in the entrance. This time, an older man stood in the background with his arm around the lady who opened the door at first. Cicely’s face flushed red in her anger and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Karma. Please come in.” She held the door open wide for me to enter.

  I naturally hesitated when I saw Cicely’s mother’s face partially covered by what I assumed to be Cicely’s father’s arm. Her expression was fearful. I examined the man. Cicely looked like him too, but he had stronger features, a head of grey hair and stood a foot taller than the other two women. He appeared to be sorry as he reached his other hand out to beckon me in. When he spoke, his voice boomed from his body. “Come in, Miss Patel.”

  I tentatively stepped in the house and took a moment to scan the space. The house was impressive. The area where we stood opened into a large space with a high ceiling. Either side of the room had a cream carpeted staircase, which led up to a balcony overlooking the area. High above me hung a crystal chandelier that emitted soft lighting. The floor had small brown lines snaked within each cream marble square. It was sparkling clean, like it had been recently scrubbed. The wooden handles of the staircases shone, and so did the small end tables at each end of the room. On each table stood a heavy stone vase with mounds of fresh cream roses standing erect. There were single doors on the left and right sides of the rooms. They were open, with soft lighting spilling out.

  I glimpsed Cicely’s mother, who buried her face in her husband’s arm to hide it from me. I curiously glanced at Cicely and at her father. He shrugged slightly and led his wife through the door on the right.

  “Don’t mind her,” Cicely said, grabbing my arm.

  She pulled me into the door on the left and into an equally expansive sitting room. “Have a seat.” She pointed to one of the many plush cream couches in the room. I sank down into suede luxury. I felt as if I couldn’t get up from the depth of the chair even if I wanted to. Throughout the space were bookshelves stacked with more books than I’d ever seen in a personal library. There were hardcover and paperback books featuring a plethora of genres, from philosophy to the classics. I stared in awe at the collection.

  “Impressive, huh?” Cicely had taken a seat in a straight back chair low to the ground so that her short legs could touch the floor. “My dad is a collector. He loves books.” Her eyes swept the room. “I guess that’s where I get my love for reading.” She smiled at me.

  I was impressed. There were so many books on those shelves. I saw books on finance and economy, popular pop media reads, self-help books, and various forms of fiction from mystery to romance.

  Cicely beamed at me. “You’re more than welcomed to come back and read if you’d like.”

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea, given your mom’s reaction.”

  Cicely glanced away, her cheeks flushing. “Oh yeah, that. Don’t mind that.”

  I felt my own cheeks get warm. “It’s hard not to,” I retorted.
<
br />   “You have to understand,” she began in that quick pace of hers. “My mom hasn’t been ‘right’ since her sister died about five years ago. She witnessed her sister get killed by another woman. It happened so quickly. They were driving together, going to some party, when all of a sudden, a lady walked out of the woods and right in the front of their car. Mom said it was misty, and they couldn’t see properly. She said my aunt braked quickly so that she wouldn’t hit the lady.” Cicely took a deep breath and continued, seeing my eyes fixated on her. A dark expression covered her face.

  “Mom said that when they stopped, the lady just stood there and stared at them. My aunt thought that she was hurt, so despite my mom protesting, she got out of the car and walked over to the lady.” Cicely paused again. She seemed hesitant to continue.

  “Go on,” I urged.

  “Well, I mean, no one knows if it’s true or not. The police found my mom in the back seat of the car sobbing intensely. When they asked her what happened, she said that when my aunt went to the lady, the lady’s arms turned to ropes and bound my aunt all over her body, including around her throat. My aunt tried to scream but no sound came out of her mouth. The woman squeezed the life out of my aunt and threw her limp body away into the bushes like she was a rag doll. My mom said she blacked out and couldn’t remember what happened after that until the police found her. She doesn’t even remember calling the police or how she got into the back seat of the car.”

  I thought about what she had just told me. Arms like ropes? A woman killing her aunt? None of it made sense. I stared, searching Cicely’s face for any clues to my questions but found none. I realized that the only way I would be able to know more was to speak with her mother, which, at this time, wasn’t very likely to happen. “Speaking of which,” I asked as gently as I could. “Why did she react the way she did to me?”

  Cicely stared at me for a bit. “I don’t really know to tell you the truth. She’s been better after going to counseling. Why she would react that way towards you is beyond me.”

  As Cicely opened her mouth to speak again, I heard a soft click on heels and a deep clearing of the throat. I spun to see Cicely’s mother and father standing in the doorway. Her father seemed calm; he had his arm around his wife. She appeared to be a lot calmer, except that fear still reflected in her eyes. She took a deep breath, glanced at her husband, broke away from his embrace, and walked over to me. A forced smile played on her lips as she extended her hand towards me.

  “I’m so sorry about earlier,” she said as I got up to take her plump hand in mine for a handshake. Her baby blue eyes darted nervously around my face and settled in on my eyes. She appeared to be mesmerized for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear any previous thoughts. “I just didn’t expect…any visitors…” Her voice trailed off as she glimpsed Cicely. Seeing the expression on Cicely’s face, she turned her attention back towards me and said, “It’s nice to meet you.” Her eyes flickered over my face for a brief second before she let go of my hand and walked back over to her husband.

  “Good; that’s done.” Cicely’s father walked over to me and gave me a quick but firm hug. I felt the mass of his arms crush me for a moment before he let go, holding onto my shoulders and looking into my eyes with a jolly grin. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Cicely hasn’t stopped raving about you. I’m so glad you’re her friend now. Would you like to have a drink?” He said all of this in one breath, the same quick way Cicely spoke.

  I glanced over to Cicely and gave her a pleading look for us to go. I’d had enough odd behavior for one night. She nodded, like she understood. “Well, we wish we could stay, Dad, but you know we’ve got reservations and look at the time! We have to go!”

  She hurriedly walked over and pulled my arm, releasing me from her father’s grasp. As she dragged me out of the sitting room and into the main area towards the front door, I glanced back to see her parents watch us leave. Her mother’s expression had changed. I glimpsed her face contort into a spiteful sneer and her brows furrow. She glared at me as Cicely and I disappeared into the night air.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Shrouded in darkness on the other side of the street, a figure sat silently behind the wheel of a black SUV. The massive vehicle didn’t seem out of place in the wealthy neighborhood. He slumped down a bit more and pulled the hoodie closer to his face as he watched the two giggling girly figures walk briskly towards the old station wagon. His eyes darted back and forth between the pair—one tall, lean and graceful, the other short and bubbly. His black eyes landed on the elegant one who strolled over to the driver’s side. He noticed her stride, the way her head swung from left to right as she surveyed the shadowy street. He noticed how she paused right after she inserted the key into the car door. He ducked lower in his seat as he watched her gaze shift towards his car.

  The tints on the SUV were as black as his eyes, so he guessed she could not see him, but he felt a chill. He noticed the temperature in the car dropped several degrees, and he saw his breath frost the windows of the car. He began to shift in his seat, trying to warm up, wondering why the temperature dropped so suddenly. He tried his hardest to sit as still as he could, but the cold seeped into his leather jacket and underneath his white t-shirt. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, so he turned on the ignition and blasted the heat. Despite that, he still felt the cold as if it had seeped into his blood stream. He put the car into gear and slowly drove past the two. The lean one still had her hand on the key in the door as she stared at his car driving slowly past. As he turned the corner off Main Street, he started to sweat as the air from the heater filled the car. He quickly turned it off and opened the window to allow the tepid night breeze to flow into the car.

  Well, that’s something I didn’t expect, he thought as he drove to an urban, run-down district all the way across town. He turned off 31st Street onto a short, gloomy alley that ran in between two run-down high-rise apartment complexes. He pulled the SUV next to a hidden door of one of the buildings. He checked his rearview mirror to see if he had been followed or if someone was hiding in the alley, waiting for him. When he was sure that the coast was clear, he slowly got out of the car and strolled over to the door, his keys dangling in his left hand.

  The door looked like an ordinary entrance, with flaking dull-red paint barely covering a rusted metal surface and a distressed looking silver doorknob with a key hole for a regular key. The keys he had in his hand, however didn’t fit the lock. When he approached the door, he had a small liquid gel capsule in his hand. He pressed the capsule into the lock, which caused the door to swing open. Darkness oozed out from the inside as he stepped into the entryway.

  As he strolled through the blackness, the door silently swung behind him. He needed no light. His pitch-black eyes glowed softly in the night, illuminating the dark path before him. He walked over to another door on the right side of the space which led to a narrow staircase. As he ascended the stairs, he listened astutely for any unusual noises that would indicate he had company. He didn’t expect anyone, only the man waiting for him in the room at the top of the stairs.

  The muffled sounds of an opera singer greeted him from behind another red door. For this one, he pulled out another soft gel and inserted it into the lock. Once again, on impact, the gel dissolved, and the door swung open. He entered a massive open loft space covered by a wood floor and solid wood paneling. On the right side loomed a floor length window that showed the entire city below. The heavily tinted window and the lights from the city outside helped to brighten the room. The rest of the walls held various shelves with expensive and delicate trinkets from all over the world—Faberge eggs, Matryoshka nesting dolls, and several Swarovski crystals in various shapes and sizes. He paused to survey the space as he had done every time he’d entered the room. The way the light seeped in, caught each of the crystals, and played with his unusual eyesight always mesmerized him.

  His eyes came to rest on the substantial mahogany desk in the left corn
er of the space. Behind the desk, a sturdy man leisurely sat slumped over, a tumble of brown curls falling over his forehead and covering his eyes as he stared at a singular piece of paper. One long finger tapped rhythmically on the desk to the underlying sounds of the opera singer belting out an aria. The man’s stern jaw locked into place as his head swung up to greet his visitor. A pair of similar black eyes matching his now stared at him.

  “Hello, son.”

  “Hello, father.” Owen greeted him in the low-key, respectful way he usually did. His father wasn’t one for words when he was concentrating on work.

  Owen paused a short distance before the desk. “Busy?”

  “Do you have news?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, have a seat.”

  Owen approached the desk and sat in one of the simple metal chairs in front of it—all the while sensing his father’s eyes watching his every move. His father waited until Owen shifted to a semi-comfortable position in the chair; it was not made for relaxation but to encourage short visits.

  Owen stared into his father’s face as he delivered his news. “I think she can control the weather.”

  His father’s expression revealed nothing except a slight raise of his thick brown eyebrows. “I felt it. It seemed like she knew I sat there, even though I took care to make sure I wasn’t seen. She looked over at the car and all of a sudden the temperature began dropping despite my trying to crank up the heat.”

  After a short pause—Owen assumed, to digest the news—his father asked, “What about the other girl?”

  “I’m not sure as to what she’s capable of yet.” Owen stared down at his hands; he suspected he had disappointed his father by not having much else to tell.

  His father’s attention turned back to the paper on his desk. He started tapping his fingers again to the background music, seemingly ignoring his son sitting before him.