My Name Is Karma

by N. A. Cash

  I returned home, playing the events of the day over in my head. I felt a bit dejected. With the amount of progress I had made, I felt as if it wasn’t enough. As I walked into the house, I noticed the light on the answering machine blinking. I dropped my things on a nearby couch and pressed the Play Message button. After the beep, I heard, “You have one new message.”

  After another beep, there was static…then silence. I could hear the sound of heavy breathing on the other end of the line. I paused, waiting. The heavy breathing continued for a few seconds, then a scratchy deep voice said, “Karma. If you ever want to find out what happened to your family, you would quit poking around.”

  The machine clicked off. I paused, breath caught in my throat. What was that? Who was that? Somehow, though, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew that voice from somewhere. I played the message repeatedly, listening intently. Finally, it hit me. In the deep recesses of my memory, I matched the voice to a face. The face of Owen Vang.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next morning, I woke up early from a restless night of sleep. My mind was plagued with tons of questions I couldn’t answer. How could Owen have known what I was doing? How did he know about my family? How did he get my home phone number? Was this some sort of joke? Was he trying to scare me?

  My mind restlessly played these questions over and over again. I had no answers but I was determined to find them. I knew that he hadn’t attended any classes after that first day, nor had I seen him around campus. I figured that he would have to have registered at some point though. I took my time getting dressed and ate a small breakfast of an egg and toast just to calm my stomach and to pass the time until the administration office opened. I figured that I would get my answers one way or another.

  At a quarter to eight, I drove to the college at a neck-breaking speed. I arrived slightly after eight—just enough time for the young receptionist to settle in behind her desk. I sat in my car, took a few calming breaths, then got out and walked over to the administration building door. Through the glass, I could see the receptionist rummaging around behind the desk. I opened the door and watched her eyes grow wide. She seemed shocked that anyone would be in the office so early. When she saw it was me, she relaxed a bit and continued looking for whatever object had captured her attention earlier. I stood by the desk, waiting for her to turn towards me again. When she didn’t, I pointedly cleared my throat. Her head jerked up, and her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. “Yes?” she asked impatiently.

  Initially, I was taken back by her attitude. I didn’t remember ever having been rude to her or having done anything to piss her off in the past. “Good morning,” I said, matching her tone. “I’d like to know if an Owen Vang is registered here.”

  She rolled her eyes as she turned towards her blank computer screen. She turned on her computer, entered her password, opened her browser, and started to scroll through her Facebook page. I waited through five minutes of this, saying nothing. I could feel the heat rising up my neck. I closed my eyes, telling myself that it was just how young people acted. Nonetheless, I took a deep breath and tried again. “Excuse me. Can you please check your system to see if Owen Vang is registered at this college?”

  Disgusted, she stared up at me. “I’m sorry ma’am, my shift doesn’t begin until nine.” She then turned her attention back to her computer screen.

  I could feel my anger constricting my throat. My face flushed, and I squeezed my hands into tight fists. A little voice inside of my head told me to calm down and walk away, but I couldn’t. I had to find out what Owen knew, and subsequently what happened to my family. I felt my control slipping away as I watched her. The voice inside my head kept saying, “Walk away, Karma. Walk away.”

  I turned my back to her and headed for the door. I then stopped. I suddenly remembered that I’d brought with me some of Aunt Vern’s sleeping powder that she had made from one of her plants. Right now felt like the best moment to use it. It was nestled in the fold of a tiny sliver of paper. I dug it out of my purse. “Are you going to find the information for me?” I asked one last time.

  She angrily looked up again. “You must have not heard me. I don’t start work until…”

  Before she could get the last words out, with my heart beating quickly and my hands slightly trembling from a mix of trepidation and anger, I took the paper with the powder nestled in it and blew it in her face. I saw her breathing stop and her eyes roll upward. She then leaned forward and her head crashed onto the desk as her body fell forward. I waited a few seconds before moving behind the desk to feel her neck for a pulse. I had never used the powder before, only heard Aunt Vern say it was a very powerful sleeping potion. I hoped that I hadn’t used too much and killed her. I felt a faint pulse throbbing in her neck. To be sure, I checked the pulse in her wrist also. The same steady thumping was there. I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled her chair over to the side.

  Since the receptionist had the only chair, I knelt down at the computer, minimized the browser screen and searched for the desktop icon that had the school’s crest. When I found it, I double clicked the icon. The computer prompted me for a password. I silently swore to myself.

  I searched around the desk for any inkling of what the password could be. After I searched the top of the desk with no luck, I began to open the desk drawers. The top left draw contained a lot of miscellaneous knickknacks—tissues, paperclips, lipstick, and the like. The second drawer also contained some of the same stuff, as well as a glass bowl and a few snacks. The third drawer contained file folders. I ran my fingers over the tabs, feeling dejected…until I found a tab at the back that was labeled “Passwords”. I pulled out the file folder and opened it. Could she be this dumb?

  On a white sheet of paper in a neat scrawl was every password for every aspect of her life. Two lines contained email passwords, one contained the password for her computer, one for her electronic dairy, and one contained the alarm code for her house. There were other passwords, including the one for the administration file that I tried to get into. I memorized the series of letters and numbers—Bunny123—and closed the file. I turned to her and shook my head, pitying her simplicity.

  I put the folder back where I found it, then typed in the password. The administration screen blinked on, and I gave a little squeal of satisfaction. Immediately, I saw file folder icon labeled “Student Data” on the desktop. I double clicked onto the file and typed in Owen’s first and last name into the Search field. His name, social security number, telephone, and address popped up. I rummaged around the desk for a pen and a piece of paper and wrote the information down.

  When I was done, I logged off and got up. As I was putting everything back in its place and checking the receptionist for a pulse, I saw a flash outside the door. My head jolted up, and I realized that the flash came from the sunlight being reflected off a closing car door. Dr. Brown had arrived and was walking in the direction of the office building.

  My heart thumped as I sprinted from behind the desk to the nearby female bathroom adjacent to the entrance to the back offices. I hid in the bathrooms just in time to hear the jingle of keys and the front door opening and closing. I pressed myself hard against the wall and worked to slow my breathing, keeping as quiet as I could. If he found me, I would not be able to explain what had happened to the receptionist. I leaned in closer to the door and listened intently. I heard him greet the unconscious receptionist, who I had propped in an upright seated position, with her head against the top of the chair. When silence greeted him, I heard his heavy footsteps stop. A few seconds later, he called her name. She snored loudly in response. I assumed by this time, he walked over to her and shook her.

  I didn’t know how long the powder would last, so I silently hoped that he would leave her alone. This happened about thirty seconds later when I heard the door next to the bathrooms open and close. I waited for a few seconds until there was quiet and then pulled the door open just a bit. When I saw no one, I pulled it ope
n some more to the point where I could almost stick my head out. I checked to make sure that he was securely in his office and then made a dash towards the front door. I felt the blood in my legs pulsating as I ran to my car. I jumped in and placed my hands on my head, breathing hard. After catching my breath, I looked in the mirror, took out some tissue, and wiped my face. I then composed myself and left my car, talking the long way around to my classroom. I opened the classroom door and slipped in, turning on all of the lights, and sat behind my desk.

  About ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I called.

  Dr. Brown poked his head in. He was pale as he looked at me. “Umm, Ms. Patel, sorry to disturb you, but I saw your car in the parking lot earlier, so I assumed you would be here.”

  “Yes. Come in,” I said as calmly as I could.

  I stood up as he entered. “Is everything okay? You look sick.”

  He fidgeted a bit. “Something’s happened to Miss Grant. You know the receptionist?”

  “Really? What?” I feigned an expression of shock and concern.

  “She seems to be in some sort of coma. I came in this morning and she was just sitting there, calm and asleep. When I went over and tried to wake her, she wouldn’t wake up. I went back into my office to call an ambulance and when I came out, she was barely breathing.”

  “Oh no!” Genuine shock played over my face this time. “Is she going to be okay?” My heart started thumping again. I almost thought Dr. Brown could see it beating.

  He wrung his hands. “Well, I called the nurse too and she came over and examined her. She says she has a pulse. Said she was going to stay with her until the ambulance came. I went out to the security booth to find out if he saw anything and he said only you were here earlier. So, I came to see you to see if you heard or saw anything.” His gaze was pleadingly…imploring…

  I kept my face calm as I lied, although the guilt gnawed at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t. I was here the whole time.”

  He sighed, dejected, his shoulders stooped. “I’m so sorry to bother you. It’s just, she was a sweet girl and I would hate it if anything happened to her.”

  As he headed for the door, I reached out and patted his shoulder, my hands trembled a bit. “I think she’s going to be okay” I assured him.

  “I sure hope so.”

  Moments after he left, I sank back in my chair and took a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves. I sure hope so too, I thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I couldn’t wait until my final class of the day ended. When the last student left, I quickly packed up my things and rushed to the car, intending to go find Owen immediately.

  It took me almost an hour to drive to his house on White Street. By that time, night had fallen. As I drove, my mind buzzed with excitement. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but I thought that I would do all that I could to not get angry and to figure out what he wanted from me. It took me a while to find the house number #114 on White Street. The plain deep-red two-story structure had a small porch covered by an overhang trimmed with white. The rest of the house looked old, with paint chipping in several places. Two windows marked what I assumed to be the upstairs bedrooms, with a smaller window in between—a bathroom, I imagined. Two other windows, one on each side of the porch, were on the ground floor. Lights glimmered in each of them.

  I drove past the house once just to see if there were any cars in the driveway. One was parked in front—an old dark blue or black Chevy mustang. There was enough space in the driveway for another car. I pulled around the block of similar houses and parked a few houses down from Owen’s. I turned off the lights and waited in the stillness.

  For the first half-hour, there was no movement in the windows. The lights in the window on the left side flickered frequently; I assumed that someone was inside watching television. My mind raced as I waited. I thought about what I would do if he came out. I thought about what I would say. I thought briefly about Miss Grant, the receptionist. I hoped that she’d finally woken up. I thought about Mam and Aunt Vern, wondering if they were still alive. If they were alive, where they were and what were they doing at that moment?

  Another forty-five minutes of waiting and racing thoughts passed when I saw the door to the house swing open. Because of my position on the street, I didn’t think that anyone could see me, but as a precaution, I slumped further down in the chair. Owen emerged from the house. He wore his usual—a leather jacket and a pair of jeans, with a white t-shirt. He paused on the porch and slowly looked around. His eyes briefly rested on my car, but then continued surveying the scene. He then pulled a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and lit it with a lighter he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. He took a long drag on the cigarette, held it, and blew out a steady stream of coiling white smoke. He did this for a few more pulls until the cigarette was gone. When he had finished, he flicked the butt onto the lawn.

  He was about to smoke another one when a black pickup truck sped past me. I heard the sound of it long before I saw it in my rearview window. The pulsating sound from the bass of the rap music coming from the pickup shook my car as it passed. The truck skidded to a stop in front of where Owen stood. Jumpy hopped from the passenger side and rushed towards Owen. They did some sort of secret handshake, bumping chests at the end. As they pulled in to each other, I noticed Owen pausing to whisper something in Jumpy’s ear. Jumpy then turned and looked in the direction of my car. I slumped as low as possible to hide my entire body but to still be able to see. Jumpy then smiled, shook his head, and patted Owen on the back. Jumpy got behind the wheel of the truck first; Owen followed on the passenger side. Before they left, however, Owen paused one more time to look in my direction. Jumpy then pulled away from the house.

  When I thought it was safe, I started my car and pulled out after them. I could still see the taillights from the truck up ahead. The night was still, and the roads were almost empty as we drove, so I thought following them without being seen would prove challenging, but not impossible. When we left the neighborhood, we merged into a commercial area where the traffic was heavier. I kept about two cars behind the truck. It pulled off onto a ramp and entered the highway. I tried to keep my distance as much as possible while keeping the truck in my sight.

  After about fifteen minutes, the truck pulled onto another ramp and entered another neighborhood. This area had more traffic so I had to keep a keen eye on the truck so as not to lose sight of it. They drove a couple more minutes and entered a strip mall parking lot, with a few cars scattered throughout it. At the end, several cars gathered in the front of a dark tinted space with a neon sign flashing “Joey’s Restaurant” in one of the windows. The truck pulled into one of the empty slots among the cars. I turned off my lights and parked at the other end of the parking lot.

  From all appearances, they were going into Joey’s. I assumed this because of the atmosphere and sparse number of persons around. The place seemed like it would be rowdy inside. Owen was the first to step out of the truck. He was quickly followed by Jumpy, and then Rock lumbered out. The other two walked towards the open door where I could hear faint music. Owen, however, stayed in the parking lot, pulled out his cellphone, and made a short call while scanning the parking lot. When he was done, he went inside the building.

  I debated for about half an hour whether or not I would have stayed. I thought about the pros of staying, as well as the cons. I thought about going into the building and confronting them. I thought about calling Cicely to see what she was doing. In the end, I decided that I didn’t have a proper plan, so whatever I was going to do, it would have to be done on another day.

  As I started my car, I heard a soft knock on my passenger window. Startled, I snapped my head to the right. Peering into my window was the face of an old wrinkled man. His clouded, milky eyes were deeply embedded into soft folds of wrinkly skin. It was relatively dark with only slight illumination from dim streetlights around the lot. Sparse white hair shone in t
he dim light as his head bent to look inside my car. His thin body was hunched over, and he leaned on a walking stick to hold up his frame.

  While observing him, I began to feel uneasy. The longer I stared, the more I panicked. I couldn’t explain why I felt this way. My thoughts ran through the possibilities. Was it because I sat in a dark parking lot by myself, late at night, with a stranger hawking me? Was it because I expected Owen and his crew to find me? Was I afraid that this old man would rob me? I shook my head of all of these thoughts and told myself I was being silly. He was old. He probably needed help.

  I rolled down the window a bit. “Hello?” I said, trying to control the nervousness in my voice.

  “Hello, young lady. Are you okay?” The voice that came from him wasn’t at all what I had expected. Instead of sounding frail and timid, his voice had a deep silky smoothness and a calm tone. I almost laughed at the thought that he believed that I was in trouble, when I thought the same of him.

  “I’m okay. Thank you,” I said.

  He smiled, and I got a glimpse of strong white teeth that didn’t match the rest of him.

  “Well, I own that shop over there and was walking to my car when I saw yours. I saw you just sitting here and assumed that you needed help.” He lifted his cane and pointed to one of the shops, with a sign that read “Martin’s Antiques.”

  “You’re here late,” I said.

  He smiled again. “Doing inventory. I always stay late when I do inventory.”

  I looked into his milky eyes and wondered if he was even able to see. I guess he could, because he’d seen me.

  “Well, if you’re okay, I guess I’ll just be heading home.” He stood up and stretched his back. I could hear a few of his bones give an audible crack. I was about to tell him goodnight and pull away when he bent back down to the window.