My Name Is Karma

by N. A. Cash

  I stopped pushing on the door to close it. “Kill you? Why would I? I mean I could understand why anyone would want to, but what reason would I have to?”

  I tried to think through the scenarios in which I would try to kill him—beyond him making fun of me. I saw the smirk return to his face. His eyes twinkled just a bit. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

  Sullen, I crossed my arms over my chest, rocking back on my heels. “Maybe,” I said.

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m harder to kill than it seems. Besides, I’m going with you to protect you. It wouldn’t be wise to kill your protector.”

  I found him and this discussion exhausting. “What makes you think I need protecting?”

  “Maybe you don’t,” he shot back. “Either way, I have a lot of respect for your father and I will honor his wishes, which means I protect you with my life.”

  He paused and looked me over. Suddenly, I felt like he could see through my pajamas. I squeezed my arms tighter across my chest. His smile got bigger as his violet eyes searched my face. “This means, you don’t try to kill me. Deal?”

  He then reached out his sturdy hand to me. I stared at it for a moment before I took it. The simultaneous warmth and electricity startled me for a moment, then I returned his gaze. I tried to pull my hand back. He held on for a moment longer, tilting his head slightly to one side, eyes studying my face. I felt myself blush again, searching my brain for a witty comeback. “I’ll try not to kill you,” I said.

  “Nice eyes,” he finally said, then let my hand go and promptly turned to walk away.

  I stood, rooted to that spot, staring, transfixed, as he moved down the hallway towards the stairs. It took a moment to realize that I had stopped breathing. I shook my head and closed the door behind me. I crawled back into the bed, turned off the light, and closed my eyes. This is going to be interesting…

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Sleep that night was a mixture of restless darkness, floating faces, and flickering flames. I tossed and turned throughout the night. I woke a few minutes before the alarm rang at 5:00 a.m. I just lay there, not moving, working on steading my breathing. When I heard the beep of the alarm and saw the increasing glow of the light from the clock, I reached over, turned it off, and lay in the bed for a few more minutes. I wrestled with the possibilities of what lie ahead. After a while, I realized that there were no other alternatives to finding Mam and Aunt Vern; I could only trust Pap at this time. I still wrestled with trusting Valdez.

  Still groggy, I dragged myself into the bathroom for my morning ritual. I felt immensely better after another hot shower. I rummaged through the closets for an appropriate outfit for the day. Since I would be going on a mission, I decided on a fitted pair of black jeans and a black pullover sweater, with a black camisole underneath. I pulled on a black pair of sneakers, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and donned a black baseball cap. I took a view of myself in the mirror and thought this would do. I finished my appearance with a spray of a floral scented perfume at the nape of my neck, a swipe of mascara on my long lashes and a sheen red lip gloss that had a hint of cherry flavoring.

  I entered the hallway and walked smack into Valdez. I jumped back a bit, startled. When I recovered from the shock, I glared at him in the dim light from the hallway. “What did you do? Sleep out there?” I teased.

  I recognized that familiar smirk, accompanied by that brilliant smile that took my breath away. “Time is money,” he said.

  He gave me the once-over, his head cocked to one side. “You smell nice,” he said.

  I blushed, shuffling from foot to foot to disguise my nervousness. “Are you just going to stand there or are we going to leave?” I shot back.

  I know I was being mean, but I didn’t know how else to react to his obvious interest. As usual, my words didn’t faze him; in fact, they made his smile grew wider. He didn’t respond; he merely turned to walk ahead of me. I limped behind, my head bowed. I hated myself for treating him so horribly. I knew that he was only there to help, but I didn’t feel like I could help myself. He just made me feel so damned uncomfortable. Yes, uncomfortable. Yet, so warm inside. I kept my eyes on his form as he moved silently throughout the house. Like me, he wore all black—no baseball cap and pullover though. Instead, he wore black jeans that hugged his muscular form, a simple black fitted t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and black work boots over it. He’d slicked his thick, wet black hair into a long ponytail.

  Pap and Dean met us stood by the front door. Pap pulled me into a strong hug. “Good morning, darling,” he said happily. “How’d you sleep?”

  He slipped a hand under my chin and tilted my head to look me in the eyes. His were the familiar brown that I remembered from my childhood. “It’s going to be okay,” he assured me. “You could trust Valdez. Like I said, he’s well trained, and I trust him with my life.” He glanced over to Valdez, who gave him a clipped nod.

  I saw Valdez turn his head, his cheeks gradually turning a shade redder. Pap turned to look at the both of us. “So, you two will go back to the house,” he said. “Be careful. I’m not sure who else Sultren has out there looking for you.”

  He clasped his hands around mine and looked deeply into my eyes. “You know what to do to protect yourself.”

  I nodded. He hugged me again, then shook Valdez’s hand. “You know how to reach me if needed.”

  Valdez nodded briefly.

  Pap shooed us towards Dean at the door. “Okay then, off you two go. I will let you know how the progress with Owen goes.”

  Dean handed us matching plastic lunch bags to the both of us. “Food,” he explained, with a wink. I took mine; Valdez followed suit.

  “Thanks, Dean,” I said. “So thoughtful.”

  Valdez mumbled what sounded like thank you as he opened the front door. He stood to the side and waited until I walked out.

  We headed to a black SUV parked in the driveway. Valdez opened the passenger door for me. I looked curiously at him while his devilish smile returned. “Chivalry isn’t dead,” he insisted.

  I just laughed, watching him as he got behind the wheel. Pap and Dean waved at us as we drove away.

  I sat stiffly in the seat as we drove to the highway that we would take to my house. We had about an hour’s drive. I began to fidget with the radio dials. Valdez sat quietly as I switched from station to station. After I had passed over several genres—Latin, R&B, rock, gospel, country—he glanced at me briefly. “You’re obviously nervous,” he declared. “Want to talk about it?”

  Instinctively, I thought leveling a smart, biting retort at him but stopped myself. I realized that he was concerned for me. I left the radio dial on the country music station and squeezed my hands in my lap. I tried to gather my thoughts. “I’m just not used to someone trying so hard to kill me,” I sighed.

  He snickered—not at all the reaction I was expecting. I turned and glared hatefully at him. “What? You think it’s funny?!”

  He held up one hand. “No, no. Not your situation. It’s just that,” he paused and glanced over at me before returning his eyes to the road. “I’m not used to someone not trying to kill me.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. He gave me a brief glance once again and then explained. “When I was eight years old, I found out that my father was a part of a secret military operation for the Portuguese government. Before that, I just thought we lived a normal life. He, and my mother, and I lived in a simple house in Portugal. I grew up thinking my father was a vintner; my mother, a seamstress. He would leave every morning in his blue overalls and head to what I thought was a vineyard, where he would pick grapes to be pressed into wine. He even took me there once or twice.”

  I stayed silent, watching him. He took a deep breath. “Then one day, I woke to my mother shaking me and telling me we had to go. I was confused, not knowing what was going on. She made me dress quickly, while she threw some of my belongings into a small suitcase. I asked what was going on, but s
he just told me to be quiet and pushed me out of the room. My father was waiting for us, and he and my mother took my hand and we snuck through the back door. I could hear men in the front of the house and even heard, what I later identified as the clicks of firearms. We ran through a neighbor’s yard, and then another. I heard the men shouting behind us, but we kept on running. Eventually, we ran into a street. A car came speeding towards us. My mother was so frightened. My father just kept on saying it would be okay. The car stopped in front of us, and the door opened. A man—your father—told us to get in. We piled into the car and sped off. My mother was shaking and my father held her and me.”

  I leaned in closer, fully engrossed in the story now. “Go on,” I urged.

  He glanced over at me and indulged me. “Over the next few years, we moved constantly. As soon as we started settling one place, my father’s enemies would find us.” The muscles in his jaw tensed, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He died trying to protect us when I was eleven.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I felt an urge to reach out to and touch him but I squeezed my hands together instead.

  He glanced over at me again, his expression softening. “I’ve made my peace with it. It taught me to be a fighter. Your father arranged the funeral for my father and then, he invited me to become the man that I am.”

  “I’m glad,” I responded before I thought about it.

  He glanced at me quizzically. “You are?”

  I turned away, blushing. “What I mean is, I’m glad that my father helped you,” I sputtered. “I mean, he’s a good guy.”

  I could still feel him smiling, even though I wasn’t looking at him. With an elbow, he playfully jabbed at my arm. I stared at him. Who ARE you? “So, tell me about your history,” he implored.

  “My history?” I echoed.

  “Yes,” he said. “I want to know more about these gifts of yours.”

  I eyed him suspiciously, eyes narrowed to slits—hard for him not to notice. “Once again, Karma, I’m on your side,” he said. “I’d just like to know what to expect, in case something goes…wrong.”

  I studied him for a moment. I guess it couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay,” I began. “The first thing that I noticed was my ability to cause fires. I think I might have gotten that from my uncle. I also know that I have the ability to bend metals, cause nature to move around me, and…” I hesitated. I didn’t know if I really wanted to tell him how I got my name.

  “And?” he asked, encouraging me to go on.

  “And…I could cause storms. That’s from my mom.” I decided to leave it at that and not explain why I’m named Karma.

  He took his eyes of the road for a moment, regarding me with naked admiration. “Those are interesting!”

  “Yes, they sometimes can be scary. Sometimes, it feels as if I can’t control them. My Aunt Shugs, when I was with her, began to teach me how to do it, but sometimes…” I broke off and stared out of the window, remembering how I almost killed Cicely.

  This time, he reached over and pat my knee. I looked at him in utter surprise; he pulled his hand away.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You sure are different than any other female I’ve met.” Valdez smiled and despite myself, I blushed, feeling embarrassed and weak at the same time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The time passed quickly. We spent the remainder of the ride chatting about our experiences. I told him about my teaching career and my school. He regaled me with exciting stories about his childhood, his missions. Before I knew it, we neared the driveway leading to my house. Valdez stopped the car and looked at me. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked.

  During the entire drive, he’d been relaxed, the arrogant smirk gone. Now, he looked at me with such care and concern. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I assured him. I took an exaggerated deep breath to steady my nerves. “Let’s go.”

  Valdez pressed the gas pedal and drove slowly up the long driveway. My heart raced with every inch of ground the car covered. The trees provided ample covering from the brightness of the rising sun. I rolled down the window and could smell the faint residue of smoke. My eyes darted around the property, my senses immediately heightened. We drove towards the charred building. All that remained were a few walls blackened by smoke, debris from incinerated furniture, and other pieces of my former life that were burnt beyond recognition.

  Valdez stopped the car a few feet away from the house. We looked at each other, wordlessly agreeing that this was it.

  I stepped on the crisp grass. I scanned the property, and my eyes went right to the spot where Owen had been rooted only hours ago. Valdez moved closer to me. “You ready?”

  I took a deep breath in and breathed out slowly. “I am.”

  Slowly, we walked towards the house, Valdez walking so close to me that I could feel heat emanating from his body. This was one time that I didn’t mind having him that close to me. Although the sun blazed overhead, a darkness emanated from the burned-out shell of the house. We walked hesitantly through the space where the outside walls were, being careful not fall over anything as we picked our way through the charred debris.

  We walked through where the front door had been. Light shone through where the roof used to be and illuminated the burnt wooden beams. I stood where the living room used to be. Images of times I spent playing card games or listening to Mam and Aunt Vern flashed through my mind. A few yards in the front of me, I saw a small blackened lump. I walked over, used the toe of my shoe to kick some of the dirt around, and unearthed a wooden figurine of a wolf that I loved to rub my hands over. It emitted more energy than the other figurines in the house. I bent to pick it up. The familiar hum that I usually felt was now extinguished. I clasped it in my hand and felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Valdez stood silently behind me, not moving. He placed his comforting hand on my shoulder. I used the back of my hand to swipe away a stray tear from my cheek.

  Suddenly, Valdez squeezed my shoulder. I stopped immediately and turned to look at him. He slowly raised a finger and pressed it to his lips. I froze, willing my senses awake. After a moment, I heard the sound of faint scraping. At first, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Valdez pointed to my right, the area where only a burnt-out shell of the kitchen remained.

  I moved to follow the sound, but his grip on my shoulder tightened. He shook his head, slipped in the front of me, and began walking softly over the debris beneath our feet. I followed him through the charred jamb of the former kitchen door. The kitchen table, now blackened, still stood firm, but all of the appliances were molten lumps of metal and aluminum. We finally identified where the scratching noise was coming from—inside the lump that used to be the fridge. Valdez placed a hand up, motioning for me to stop.

  He walked over and peered in through the top of the fridge. He stepped back, revolted. I walked over and peeped in. Five mice were at the bottom, scavenging for any remaining food that might have survived the fire. Valdez looked sufficiently repulsed. “Afraid of mice?” I whispered, then teasingly winked.

  He shook his head, glanced back into the fridge, and walked away. “They’re disgusting,” he shuddered.

  We explored the remaining rooms to make sure that there were no other surprises. Thankfully, there was no one there beyond the five mice. Valdez volunteered to look around the outside, while I headed to the secret rooms in the basement. A few singed cupboards had fallen over the spot where the hidden entrance led to the descending staircase. Valdez helped me move the wreckage, and we eventually saw the staircase that led down. Concerned, he turned to me. “You sure you’re going to be okay going down there alone?” he asked.

  “We checked out everything. There’s no one here. I’ll be fine.” I playfully punched his arm. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any mice to scare you away.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Maybe you will have to save me after all.”

  Only his teasing could my heart to flutter and my palms to sweat. I blus
hed, looking away from him.

  As I stared down into the dark staircase, I could feel his eyes on my back for a few seconds longer. I then heard the debris crunching under his footsteps as he headed outside to search the grounds, leaving me all alone.

  I took the first step cautiously, making sure that I tested the ground before placing my full weight on it, just in case the stone staircase was cracked. When it felt solid, I moved tentatively down each step. From what I could see, it appeared that the fire hadn’t touched this part of the house. I arrived at the door; it was undamaged. I took a deep breath and pressed my finger onto the lock. Instantly, the door swung open, as it always did. I tried the switch on the nearby wall. Surprisingly, the lights flickered on, one bulb at a time. When the last bulb lit up, my heart stopped.

  A crumpled figure lay in a fetal position against the far wall. I froze, unable to move. As if sensing my presence of someone in the room, the person slowly stretched out, rolled over, and turned towards me. My throat opened, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Mam!” I cried.

  I rushed over towards her frail figure and fell to the floor beside her. She looked awful…her hair thinned, her complexion pale and faded, her otherwise bright eyes dull and surrounded by dark circles. Her clothes were tattered. She smelled filthy, like she hadn’t bathed in months. She was frail; obviously she’d lost a lot of weight since I last saw her. I slipped a hand under her head and held her dirty face with another. I fought back the hot tears burning in my eyes so that my vision wouldn’t be blurred.

  “Mam,” I cooed, hoping that she could hear me. “Mam, are you okay?”

  Her eyes fluttered briefly, then her head slouched to one side. “Mam! No!” I shouted.

  My loud voice roused her. She rolled her head towards my face, her eyes fluttering and then squinting against the light. I could no longer hold back the tears. They flowed onto Mam’s dirt streaked face. She weakly opened her eyes. “Karma?” Her voice sounded wispy and dry, like it took all of her strength to speak.