Fates' Folly (26 page)

Barty pulled himself off the couch and
stretched before walking over to the DVD player, ejecting the disc
and sliding it into the case he had placed on top of the TV.

"Do you realize how often you use the word
obviously? You'd think if everything was as obvious as you make it
out to be, you'd be much more successful in life."

I shrugged again. "I can't help it if I tend
to see things clearly, it's a gift." I looked up into his pasty
freckled face. "Clearly you're being a jackass, and though being a
jackass seems to be a natural personality trait for you, obviously,
you're using your jackassness to try to change the subject. Which
isn't going to work, so stop trying. Answer my question. What do
you think Hades is up to?"

Barty sighed, once again sitting down on the
couch. His whole body deflated as he laid his head back and closed
his eyes. I would have thought he had fallen asleep except for the
DVD case he kept tapping on his knee. Finally, he said, "I didn't
think anything of it at the time, but Hades has been very involved
with Goddess Greek Yogurt as of late. He had a huge tantrum about
the base flavor being substandard and had it changed, though all
numbers indicated our original base recipe was found more than
satisfactory to consumers. I can't help but assume that his sudden
interest with the yogurt recipe is somehow linked to the tampering
of the video."

"How could he have he done it? I thought he
couldn't come to earth around mortals."

Barty snorted. "Hades does as he pleases. He
is fully capable of masking his presence on earth for short periods
of time, but even if he was concerned about his activities being
discovered, he has more than enough covert faithful servants to do
his bidding, several of whom live on earth."

"Okay, so what do you think he's up to?" I
asked.

Barty stopped tapping the DVD case, opened
his eyes and leaned forward, placing elbows on his knees, giving me
his version of an intense stare. "I think he's doctored the yogurt
with some type of hallucinogen to act as a catalyst with the
subliminal messages hidden in the DVD, to influence the consumer
into believing in Greek theology."

He was better at looking intense than I was,
in fact he was quite scary, so it took me a second to process what
he had just said. Once my brain caught up, I couldn't help the
giggle that erupted from my throat. "Holy cow udders, Batman, what
diabolical plan will the Joker think of next?"

Barty lifted one eye brow, his expression
changing to haughty. "I speak of thousands of innocents being
brainwashed into an afterlife not of their choosing, a god breaking
the Law of Free Will, and in doing so, endangering all of our
existence, and you think it the appropriate time to make
jokes."

I rolled my eyes. "You are such a snob. You
can't deny it sounds like some super villain’s
I'm-going-to-take-over-the-world scheme. In fact, it's probably
been a plot in at least one, if not several, comic books."

"Which does nothing to change the impact of
such a plan, if successful," he said, now leaning into the back of
the couch and crossing one leg over the other.

I rocked back and forth in my chair,
thinking. "What did you mean when you said breaking the Law of Free
Will and it being a danger to our existence?"

"The Law of Free Will is simply that, a law
forbidding coercion of thought or action."

"Who made the law?"

"I don't know that anyone made it up. Like
the laws of nature, it is not an invention, but a discovery."

"Except this is a concept, an idea. So
someone had to have thought it first."

He gave a huff of disgust. "I will not get
into a chicken and egg discussion with you. It doesn't matter how
it originated. What is important, is that it is a law, a sacred
understanding known to all that inhabit the realms of belief.
Though it is written in several different religious texts, and in
several different languages, the thought was in existence and known
before words ever existed, before speech was ever formed. It is
knowledge sewn into the fiber of our beings, understood by all. We
may bribe, trick, lie, seduce, use any manner of deception, and, or
reward to get a mortal to do as we want, but we cannot take away
their ability to make their own choice.

If Hades is found to have broken the Law of
Free Will, the other deities will use it as an opportunity to make
sure every thought and every being involving Greek theology is
destroyed, leaving only faint shadows in the memories of mortals
for our existence to cling to, until they too are forever
forgotten."

I gave a big dramatic sigh to counter Barty's
drama queen tendencies and then went for practical. "So what do we
do to stop him?"

"We will do nothing. The test group comes in
tomorrow morning and I will exchange the yogurt with some of the
original product and somehow destroy the yogurt Hades has
tainted."

"What about the power of persuasion or
misdirection that Hades gives his Assassins? Isn’t he already
breaking the Law of Free Will?"

Barty sneered, "I thought I just explained
this."

I shrugged.

His lip curled more. "Neither gift is strong
enough to change thought. If you witness a magician make a rabbit
disappear, you're thrilled and amazed, because at that moment
you're enjoying the idea that it happened by magic, but as you
leave the show, you begin to try and figure out how the magician
did it. How had he made the rabbit disappear? Because, ultimately,
though you saw it happen with your own eyes, you know it was a
trick.

“It is the same when the power of persuasion
or the power of misdirection is used, like a magician performing a
trick, the mind has not been altered, just temporarily amused."

"Oh. I guess that make sense."

"I'm so glad I was able to simplify the
concept enough for your tiny mind to comprehend," Barty said, now
standing in front of me.

"What?"

"It's time."

"Time for what?"

An evil smile spread across his pasty face.
"For you to learn how to take a punch."

Don't panic!

Stop flinching!

Try and anticipate the hit.

Tighten your muscles.

No, no, no! Relax, take a deep breath.

Roll into the punch!

Try and move away so the hit impacts at a
less vulnerable part of your body.

Balance! Balance! Balance!

Now, get up, and let's do it again.

This was how the past hour of my life had
gone, with the same phrases repeated over and over again,
punctuated by a hit or kick to my stomach, legs, head, and
ribs.

"If only I had a dollar for every bruise," I
said, from my position lying across the couch.

"And if only I had one for every whine and
complaint," Barty said, from his position in the middle of the
room, where he had, just minutes before, deflected my pitiful
attempt to punch him in the throat and, as a reward for my efforts,
thrown me against the couch.

I sat up, trying not to cry as my stomach
muscles screamed in protest. "You're lucky, my complaining is
nothing compared to…"

"Why are you making that odd face?" Barty
asked, moving to stand in front of me.

"Mrs. Crotchety."

"Who?"

"My landlord, she lives down stairs." I
pointed to the floor. "We've been up here making all this noise way
longer than normal and she didn't call to yell at me or bang on the
ceiling with her broom. She didn't screech at me when I got home
this afternoon, either. I thought it was because I ran and she
couldn't get out in the hall in time, but now I have to wonder if
it might have been something else."

"You think Mrs. Crotchety might be ill?"

"Yes. Mrs. Crowell is her real name,
crotchety is her disposition," I whispered.

"Why are we whispering?" Barty whispered.

I stood up, grabbed my bag off the floor and
started searching for my cell phone. "I should have realized
something was wrong, I mean she always, and I mean always, catches
me when I come home."

"Considering your activity level is equal to
that of a three toed sloth-"

"You're an ass. Listen, she's a cranky old
lady that cackles like a witch and could blow your ear drums out
with the shrillness of her voice while she points out all of your
flaws with her crooked, bony finger shoved in your face. You'd like
her, she's better at insulting me than you are."

"That still doesn't explain why we're
whispering."

"Because every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
Thursday and Friday afternoon the old crone waits for me to arrive
home so she can screech at me. She has never, not even once, not
stopped me to give me her ‘advice’."

"Why did you make air quotations?"

I shrugged. "Seemed like the thing to
do."

"Well don't, it’s obnoxious."

I held up my middle finger.

Barty sighed. "So your landlady is a busy
body, and we're whispering because she's a ‘scary monster’ who is
loud, opinionated and punctual at least five days a week, and
points?"

"You just made air quotations."

"Yes."

"Pot calling kettle! Come on, Barty. Sheesh,
can you say hypocrite?"

"No, but I can say bitch."

"Oh, please, you are so off your game."

He sighed again. "I couldn't help it. Air
quotations are absolutely obnoxious, but they are also contagious.
You see someone use them and you think what an ass, then the next
thing you know you're holding your hands in the air making finger
quotation marks, too."

"’Really?’" I said, making air
quotations.

Barty rolled his eyes. "For the love of
Aphrodite, why are we whispering?"

"Because, I don't want the old lady to hear
me.”

"Let me get this straight. I've just spent
the last hour and half throwing you all over this apartment,
banging into the wall, furniture and floor. Your landlord has yet
to make a sound of protest, and now that you just realized this,
and the fact that you didn't get accosted by her as usual on your
arrival home, you have decided we must whisper so she won't hear
us?"

"Yes. Though I'm thinking she must have had a
stroke or something. I'm feeling a little conflicted. Do I call the
paramedics before I celebrate or do I wait until after?" I said,
holding out my phone.

"Why don't we go downstairs and check on
her?" Barty asked.

"I just told you, I can't decide if I should
celebrate or-”

Barty opened my front door. "You're not that
mean. So stop it and lead the way downstairs."

"Fine. But if she's not lying on the floor
incapacitated, I'm telling her you're my date. At least then she'll
be focused on you for a few minutes, hell it might even shut her
up," I said, heading out of my apartment and down the stairs.

"She'd never believe it," Barty said from
behind me. "I'm too good looking. Someone with my bone structure
would never date someone who wasn't at least equal in beauty."

"I'll have you know that Bo is quite the
hottie, and not only does he have better cheek bones than you do,
but also better hair. Plus, he's intelligent, thoughtful and sexy
as hell," I said, as I stepped off the bottom step.

"You sound smitten."

"No, I don't know," I said, shaking the
thoughts out of my head as I opened Mrs. Crowell's door.

The paramedics did not need to be called.
Mrs. Crowell was alive and well, wearing her printed flamingo
blouse, favorite pink polyester shorts and matching canvas
slip-ons. She was gagged and tied to a chair, kind of frozen in
shock I suppose, but alive and well. Sebastian- who had one hand on
Mrs. Crowell's forehead holding her head back against the chair and
the other holding a long curved knife that seemed to wrap around
her skinny wrinkled neck- was equally alive and, if not well,
judging by the demented smile on his face, at least very happy.

Barty started to step forward, and I wondered
how long it would take for Sebastian to slice Mrs. Crowell's
throat. I figured, considering her paper thin skin and the fact
that she had one foot in the grave already, she'd be dead before
Barty took a second step. I hated the old hag, but no one should
die wearing polyester. What could I do though? It wasn't like I had
some special skill, but I knew I had to do something. Any second
now Barty would push me aside and make his move, and Mrs. Crowell
would end up a bloody corpse in cheap shoes the exact shade of
Pepto-Bismol.

I tried to think of a clever plan or creative
distraction, but I really didn't have time, so I just opened my
mouth and embraced my obnoxious side.

"First, before any death threats are issued
or any I'm going to take your soul my pretty, blah, blah stuff is
said, can I just take a moment to thank you?" I said, grinning
wildly at Sebastian while Barty gave me a look that said, what the
hell do you think you're doing? Of course, I really didn't know
what I was doing, so I ignored Barty's raised eyebrow and lip curl
and continued. "The image of Mrs. Crowell tied and gagged…" I
laughed, closing my eyes and letting the image become permanent in
my mind. I won't lie, the image was a keeper. "Let's just say,
you've given me a happy place."

Barty gave me an incredulous smile, Sebastian
a deranged one and Mrs. Crowell continued to stare blankly straight
ahead. But Sebastian's hand relaxed and eased an inch or so away
from Mrs. Crowell's throat, and Barty no longer looked like he was
about to pounce, so as far as I was concerned my efforts had been
successful.

Clothed in the same filthy jeans and
shirt he had worn on our first meeting- minus shoes this time- and
emitting a stench so foul that even the cloying scent of Mrs.
Crowell's many hanging sachets of potpourri weren't strong enough
to keep me from gagging, Sebastian continued to smile, his beady
little eyes shifting from me to Barty and back.