Destiny Calling (22 page)

“It’s not that. It’s nothing about his looks.” At least I didn’t think it was. I curled my hand into a fist, crushing my napkin and several potato chips.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s because…” I opened my hand and dropped the chip crumbs, shoving them around with the tip of my finger. “It’s because he’s like me. He lost both his parents.” I studied the table.

Chance sat back in the booth, staring at me.

“Kind of like me. We understand each other.” I shrugged. “I know it sounds dumb, but I feel like I’ve bonded with him somehow over that.” I formed a small mountain of crushed potato chips.

My mind registered that Chance had lost his parents, our parents, the same time as me, but I didn’t think about it the same way. Maybe I didn’t see him experiencing the same loss because he was my brother, or because he always had Destiny by his side.

“You still had family. I lived in an orphanage until Tessa took me in. Even though you think you can, you can’t understand what that was like.” That and Chance didn’t have a haze pouring out of him when he became angry like Griffith did, or like I did.

I waited for him to say something, but he just stared at me. So I resumed my potato chip crumb races. I had no better explanation for my irrational behaviors.

“His mother isn’t dead.”

“Yes, she is, Griffith told me…” I paused, realizing I’d taken Griffith’s word verbatim. Breaking my gaze with the table, I met Chance’s challenging stare. “Where is she if she’s not dead?”

“I think she’s dead
to
him, but otherwise she’s very much alive. Maybe not sane, but alive. She’s been in the psychiatric hospital for years.”

“Why would he lie to me about that?”

“For the very reason you just told me. To gain your trust. It appears he succeeded. I didn’t think you’d be that gullible.” He shook his head.

Neither did I. I picked at the wrapper on my sandwich, looking up when the bell jangled over the door. A teenage couple walked in, hands intertwined and bodies practically fused at their sides. They stood in front of the counter, whispering to each other and studying the menu on the wall above. I’d never been with any guy like that, not when I wasn’t sure if they wanted me for me or the euphoric feeling they received when they touched me.

As I watched with envy, I noticed the newspaper rack against the wall by the door. A photo of a familiar face stared at me from the front page. “Isn’t that Bob from the bar?” I stood and made my way across the shop. Excusing myself as I passed the couple then hunkered down in front of the paper. The headline read,
Local Man Commits Suicide
.

I covered my mouth as my breath caught. I hardly knew Bob, but he’d been nice enough to give me that ride home. Plus I’d taken his job.
Surely that hadn’t been enough to push him over the edge.

I searched in the pocket of my jeans until I found a few coins. I slipped them in and pulled out the paper to scan the commentary under his picture. The words were brief and to the point, stating Bob was found in his home, dead by what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

The worst part was that the time of death was still being determined. Since he lived alone, no longer worked, and had few friends, he hadn’t been missed for several days. The meter man had gone by and noted a foul odor coming from the cracked window. He saw Bob, or rather what remained of him after the mice or rats that shared Bob’s residence chewed on him. At least that’s what they thought had gnawed at his flesh.

I sat down heavily in the booth. Chance had just taken the last bite of his sandwich. “Did you see this?” I turned the paper toward him.

He nodded and continued chewing, apparently familiar enough with the discussion of death that it didn’t interrupt his lunch.

“I can’t believe Bob would do that.” I set the paper aside, unable to look at the picture any longer. “He didn’t seem depressed enough to kill himself.”

I laced my fingers on the table and studied my nails. “I’ve never known anyone who committed suicide before.”

What went through my mind was how self-absorbed I was, and how I hadn’t taken the time to see how Bob was doing. At the bar the other night, I barely gave him a second glance. I didn’t notice any signs that maybe he needed help. What good was it to have the ability to give people hope if you didn’t know when to do it?

“It probably wasn’t suicide.” Chance crushed the wrapper of his sandwich, making a loud crinkling sound.

“What do you mean?” As soon as I asked, I remembered the last time I’d seen Bob at the bar. He was with Drake.

“You’ll notice there are a lot of suicides or accidental deaths in this city.” He flipped over the paper to the obituary list and tapped it. “Look at the ages of the deaths listed.”

There were the expected ones in their eighties after living a long life, but several were much younger—their lives cut short in their twenties and thirties.

“Plus our psychiatric hospital is one of the biggest in the state. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. The crappy weather?” I knew what he wanted me to say, but even after Tessa and the incident in the woods, I wasn’t sure I could accept how lethal the Oppressors were.

“No, what I’ve been telling you.” Chance glanced around. Except for the one other couple, the shop was empty. “It’s more than the Oppressors.” He tapped the table. “This town is located at the Crossroads, at the entrance.”

“Crossroads?” I’d heard that before. “Is that because this town is part of Pittsburgh, the university community, and on the grounds to the state psychiatric hospital?”

Chance’s frustrated expression told me I was wrong.

“What does it mean?”

“Ruthie said Tessa told you the stories about the Goddess. Do you remember anything about them?”

I crinkled my brow, trying to recall. “I remember parts of the ones she told the most, but not much about a Goddess, though. Ruthie told me a little the other day, then threatened to bring out your old children’s books for me to read.”

I sighed. “Tessa talked about the Moon Goddess, but she renamed her once I grew afraid of the dark after her stories about the ‘Queen of the Night.’” I shuddered at a memory of Tessa sitting on the edge of my bed, with me cowering under the covers begging her to read another book, any book, instead. “Tessa wasn’t the best at bedtime stories.”

“Well, the Goddess has gone by many names.” Chance took a drink, appearing to contemplate his next words. “It’s believed our town is an entrance, or passage, between the heavens, the Earth and the Underworld.”

I sat back in the booth, slumping with fatigue. “Why are you telling me this now? Giving me bits and pieces of information instead of telling me it all at once?”

“Would you have believed me if I’d told you all of this the first time I met you? The second time?”

I grimaced. “Probably not.”

“I know you wouldn’t have,” he said. “You wouldn’t have believed me last week, but now, how can you still question there may be things you don’t understand? A phenomenon which defies logical explanation?”

I mulled this over. “I guess you’re right. But what do you mean a Goddess? Wouldn’t that be someone good?”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot we don’t know, but there is some kind of being, creature, ghost or whatever it may be that aids the Oppressors. They call her Hecate.”

“How could you know that?”

“I know it sounds like a bunch of crazy stories, but I have to trust from all I’ve seen that there’s truth to the stories.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Something is managing the Oppressors, otherwise we’d be teaming with them, or there’d be none. There has to be someone controlling their passage from the Underworld to Earth.”

He slid his cup in slow circles, leaving a trail of condensation behind. “We’re like an Oppressor training ground. We’re right in between Pittsburgh and the university. They can go from one to the other or pick off the transients passing through.”

I turned to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass, distorting the images on the street as the wind picked up. The familiar masks hung, rattling off the street sign. “What’s with the creepy masks?”

Chance followed my gaze. “Some people believe hanging the masks will bribe the Goddess to help them choose the right direction at an intersection.” He shrugged. “Others hang them outside their house to keep spirits, or those from the Underworld, from entering. Some leave food at intersections, either to signify they honor her or want to be under her protection. It’s said she protects those most would shun, fear or misunderstand.”

“Does that work?” That might explain Mrs. Shaw and the bags of leftovers I kept tripping over outside the bar. Initially I was relieved to see them there, just to know she wasn’t taking them home to eat. But finding the ripped remains of the plastic bags disturbed me more.

He sat back in the booth. “Hard to say. It’s kind of like superstition. The stories probably started with facts, but over the years fiction caused them to grow or warp. But these practices make people feel like they’re doing something, like they have a little control. It’s kind of like the saying to keep your enemies close.”

“What can we possibly do? There’s few of us and so many of them.” I pushed my sandwich away as my stomach clenched. “We don’t even know where to start.”

Ruthie said Oppressors were everywhere, but people aren’t aware of them, except for me.

Chance grabbed my hands and squeezed. “It has to start somewhere and every bit matters. Their numbers are dwindling because of people like us. We can shift the balance. Doesn’t even one life make a difference?”

It was the closest to seeing him angry, but of course on him that meant his brow furrowed a little. I thought of Tessa and how nice it was to see her in the mirror. How much nicer it would have been to have her here, for her and Ruthie to continue to argue in person about recipes.

“It’s your choice.” Chance watched me expectantly as I processed this information. “You can leave right now, if that’s what you want.”

“Can I?”

Chance averted his gaze, whether he didn’t want me to leave, or he didn’t want to answer, I didn’t know.

Finding Tessa with her unnaturally twisted body burned the image forever into my brain. I recalled the monster leaving through the back that night, but was unable to put a face to her murderer. Clouds of blackness like a swarm of flies surrounded her body, leaving behind a nauseating stench like rotting flesh.

With the hope she was alive, I rushed to her side, even though I knew it was impossible as the pool of blood surrounding her grew. When I checked for her pulse, her head flopped forward on her broken neck. Yes, one life would make a difference. It would have made a world of difference to me.

“It was an Oppressor that killed Tessa, wasn’t it?” I said what I’d known for some time.

“What did it look like?”

“Not a person. More like an electrical image flashing on and off. His features were distorted by the blackness surrounding him.” It looked a lot like the creature from the woods with more of a human form, but nothing like Drake.
Or whatever Griffith might be.

“He probably was one of the lower level ones. Those are ones too disfigured to walk in normal society because he’s not formed enough.”

“What do you mean, a lower level one?”

The teenagers had left, and the sub shop had emptied out except for us since the lunch hour was about up. “Oppressors thrive off fear, hate, violence, and death.” Chance ticked these off on his fingers as he explained. “The more they absorb, the more powerful they become.”

“The higher the level, the easier they can blend within society and not stand out like a freak. Most lower level Oppressors can’t even be seen. Higher level ones look human.”

I sipped the remainder of my soda, the straw nosily protesting as I sucked more air than soda. “But I could see him. He was barely visible, almost like a ghost.”

“That’s one of the ways we’re different. You, in particular, can see most or all of them. Destiny and I can’t. That’s where the animals help us, in case any get too close.” He placed his palms on the table and waited until I lost interest in my straw. “We want you here because you’re family, but we need you because you’re the strongest of us all.”

I squirmed under his scrutiny. “Has someone seen it? The Goddess or guardian or whatever it is?”

“Not exactly. I’ve heard of other witches claiming to have seen her. It’s said she can walk the earth in another form, but only in her true form and power when there’s an ebony moon, or otherwise two new moons in one month. There are lots of stories about what she looks like, but I don’t think anyone would be able to see her.” He caught my gaze. “Except maybe you.”

Chapter Fifteen

We need you.
I thought about Chance’s words as I drove, studying the signs for the psychiatric hospital.
Had anyone ever needed me?
Maybe Tessa, but when she needed me the most, I hadn’t been there.

It felt good to be needed, but it was terrifying. It meant responsibility. People counting on me. I counted on me, no one else. I was used to letting myself down, not others. Except for Tessa.

Since I’d gotten here, I’d been blindly following everyone, believing what they told me, trusting. All Tessa ever emphasized was, trust no one. Rely on my instincts. That’s what I planned to do now. I trusted Griffith, but no one else did. I needed to start making my own decisions.

Turning down the narrow road leading to the state hospital, my car shook as it bumped over a pothole. Huge, sprawling buildings were spread out over a few acres of ground. The old buildings on the hill appeared to be from a different era, with a few crumbling and falling apart. Barren trees lined the roads and walkways.

The trees were probably beautiful in the fall, when they were full of color, or in the spring sprouting new buds. But right now, their naked, skinny branches heightened the creepy atmosphere. I parked in the visitors’ lot and stepped out of the car. Being a few miles from the main road resulted in a serene isolation, and despite the desolation, it was peaceful here.

I walked into the building marked Administration. People milled around in the lobby, appearing to have no destination other than aimlessly wandering. I couldn’t tell the difference between the staff or the patients since everyone wore street clothes. I’d followed the same policy when I’d worked at an inpatient psychiatric ward. The intent was to make the patients comfortable in the relaxed atmosphere. With no receptionist desk in sight, I went directly to the window marked Security.