Karma (Karma Series) (4 page)

It took me about two
hours to convince myself that going out wouldn't be a bad decision.

I'd showered and changed into some clothes I found in the closet. They were all my size and
, considering I was the only dead chick living here, I assumed they were for my use. I’d briefly wondered if this apartment had been used by another female employee, but they all still had tags. I was still the same size as I used to be, if a bit more endowed.

There wasn't a computer in the condo and Harold had given me a dumb phone, perhaps the last in existence. The thing looked like i
t should be dropped off at the Museum of History with its flip screen.

I didn't have money to buy a newspaper but I could still walk to the library.

But what was out there? The beach looked normal but what about other places? Would I see ghosts now? I wasn't a chicken, but I'd always been freaked out by that sort of thing.

Oh no
. I
was
that sort of thing. Ugh!

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door
, afraid of the monstrosities like myself I might find as I left the condo.

I stepped out and
the sun was shining and the birds were chirping. It was the nicest day we'd had in ages. A couple of bunnies scampering about and it could have been the start to a Disney flick. I'd officially crossed the threshold into “out there” and it didn't look spooky.

I pocketed the keys to the only home I had. Normally, I would've hopped on my bike for a trip like this but
, if not for that small reminder, walking along like this, I could pretend everything was fine. I could almost lull myself into believing I was simply taking a walk, like any other day in my life, not death.

The library was pretty empty but the kids were still in school, and if you were off, you were reading on the beach right now, not cooped up in a building.

I went over to where the newspapers were and flipped to the section I needed. There I was. There was nothing that could replace the feeling you got from seeing your name in the obituary section.

Camilla Fontaine, 27, of Surfside Beach, died in a fatal train crash. Camilla, a highly esteemed public defender, had dedicated her life to the defense of the under privileged. She is survived by parents, Lawrence and Debra Fontaine, and her fiancé, Dr. Charles Knight.

They'd buried me this morning. It was for the best it was already done. I wouldn't have been able to stay away from my own funeral. Some deep masochistic need would want to see the casket lowered and covered in dirt just to confirm it had happened.

I put the paper back and drifted out of the library, half incoherent and half devastated.

I wondered what my casket had looked like and how many people had shown up? What was written on my tombstone?

I saw a car I recognized
pass and started to lift a hand to wave at Jimmy, the guy who delivered for the local pizza shop, but dropped it quickly. He didn't know me anymore.

I should just turn around and go back to the condo but I couldn't. I didn't want to sit there, thinking. I needed to see my grave. This wasn't going to be real until I saw my grave.

***

I didn't need to read where I'd been buried. There was only one cemetery our family had been using for all the long generations we'd lived in South Carolina.

I walked through the gates and toward the section where my grandparents had been buried a few years back. They'd passed within a month of each other. I'd always imagined Charlie and I would be the same. We’d have kids, grow old and wrinkly, with faces that showed a life well lived, and then move on together. If I controlled the world, no one would die before their laugh lines had time to set in.

I was almost on top of her before I saw her. It felt like someone shoved a hand into my chest and twisted with all their strength. My mother was kneeling in front of a tombstone that I knew wo
uld have my name carved upon its shiny new surface. I'd never thought about how such a simple act of carving a name can impart such finality.

I took a couple of steps and felt the grip of death settle upon my shoulders. I halted instantly and then backed away. The weight lifted with my retreat.

“I get it,” I said to no one or possibly everyone. Who knew what exactly constituted the universe, “I won't go any further.”

I found a spot to settle in underneath the shade of an old oak, leaning against the rough bark and grateful for the support. I watched my father approach her, his normally perfect
Marine posture now slightly hunched, a physical ramification of the emotional weight he carried.

He stopped by her side and
, with a hand on her arm, he used his own waning strength to help support her. I saw the expression of grief on their faces. She turned into him, and although I couldn't hear her, I saw the sobs wrack her body. His arms circled her as they shared their emotional grief with the only other person who could understand.

I slid down the tree, not caring how the bark scratche
d my skin, and sat at the base of the trunk as I watched them leave the cemetery. At that moment, I didn't feel rage or a burning desire for revenge, only defeat and a hollow sadness I couldn't imagine living with, but couldn't fathom how to fill.

After a night of wallowing in a depression that threatened to destroy me, I'd awoken with a determination to not think at all. I wouldn't think of my parents, the career I
’d lost, the friends I had, nothing. As stupid as it might seem, it was the only way I was going to hold it together and get through this next month. Too painful? Don't think about it.

I only had to get through a month. I'd spent at least part of my teens not thinking. I had the skill set; it was just a bit rusty.

I shuffled through th
e clothes hanging in the closet for something to wear as I determinedly didn't think about the bad stuff. Problem was, I had no idea what type of attire a job like this called for. I wasn't even sure yet what that job
was
, exactly.

I ruled out formal business attire, mostly because I couldn't find anything appropriate. So, will it be corporate casual as I mete out the universe's justice or jeans and boots so that I'm comfortable as I even the score
?

It was ten A.M. when
I heard the knock at the door and I still hadn't figured out what to wear. Even in death, I still struggled with wardrobe decisions. Some problems just never go away.

I didn't budge from the closet, knowing Harold would let himself in and no one else would be here. It wasn't as if I were getting calls from friends. I was dead. The dead didn't get visitors. Even if I mailed an invite, no one would show up. They'd think it was a sick prank.

Harold's footsteps echoed through the condo.

“
Harold, what should I wear?” I yelled out the open bedroom door.

His bushy red head popped into the room, then looked me up and down.

“What's wrong with that?”

“
Jeans, flip flops and a t-shirt?” I looked at his white button down and bow tie.

“
Yes, let's go.”

Ah, he didn't like it;
he just didn't want to wait. I'd file that information away for when I might need it. Harold's weak spot was patience.

“
I’m not making my first impression in this.” I shooed him out of the room and threw on a little black dress that would be appropriate for many different occasions.

“
Ready,” I said as I left my room. I went to grab my purse out of reflex, before I remembered I didn't have one. I settled for grabbing the cell phone and headed out to...who the hell knows?

I saw Hank waiting out front
, with the stretch Mercedes, as I shut and locked the condo.

“
So, boss, where we heading?” I asked once I'd gotten in the car.

“
Work.” Harold settled into the other seat and was nose deep in papers before I could get my next question out. Harold wasn't much of a talker.

I took the opportunity to get my own head together. Today was the first day I actually felt like myself and if I wanted to get through the rest of this month, there were certain things I couldn't do. Seeing my parents was one of them. That had been a huge mistake. I was stuck for now and I had to remain calm about t
he situation, and work within its confines, until I got out of here. I'm a logical, sane woman. I could handle this.

One internal pep talk and fifteen minut
es later, the Mercedes pulled into the lot of an unassuming three-story office building. I got out of the car and took in the average structure on Highway Seventeen. I'd driven past this exact location hundreds, maybe thousands, of times in my life and never given it a second glance.

“
This is work?” I slapped my hand against the brick. “This is where the powers of the almighty universe reside?”

“
Yes.”

When we approached the door, it had one of those black boards that listed all the residents hanging on the wall next to it. I read through the list quickly. It included everything from an accountant's office, counselor, and a dentist on the third, exactly what I'd expect from a structure like this.

“Here?” I turned from the board to Harold, who was already waiting for me just inside the door. “This is where
work
is? The universe and all that? Just sitting in an innocuous office building, on regular road, in the middle of South Carolina?”

“
Yes, our offices reside within this building.”

“
Then how was I going to live in Texas?”

“
Commute.”

“
From Texas?”

“
Yes.”

He pointed to the lettering on the large glass windows framing the door above him.
“This building is owned by UFU, LLC. If you looked that name up on Google, UFU stands for Units for Use, LLC, but the real name is Unknown Forces of the Universe.”

He stopped talking abruptly and moved inside. Harold wasn't much of a teacher. If he were human, I'd think he might be diagnosed as having som
e sort of social disability.

I circled through the doors after him into the average looking, if slightly dingy, lobby. The dark brown tile gave me the impression it hadn't been decorated since the seventies, and not well even then.

We made a left when we hit the carpeted hallway. We passed an ancient looking elevator that made me glad it looked like we were on the first floor and proceeded past several doors.

“
You might be tempted to visit other offices, but I would discourage that.”

“
Why?” I had no intention of visiting, but you couldn't have a statement like that thrown out there and not ask why. Well, some people could, but my life was about knowing every detail of a situation. Being dead hadn't changed me much.

“
Until you know what you're dealing with, it's inadvisable.”

He stopped at the final door at the end
of the corridor. The plaque by the entrance read “Life Management Associates.”

We walked into a typica
l looking waiting room. It had chairs that looked like they'd actually been used and tables littered with fliers that read “Be the best you, you can be!” and “Find your passion, unlock your future!”

“
This is Trudy.” Harold pointed to the young redheaded female sitting behind the Formica desk—another fabulous piece leftover from the rocking 70s décor—in the front room who looked to be barely eighteen.

We smiled at each other in greeting as I followed him to an interior door across the room. He held it open and I walked into a space that could've belonged to any small company. If I had to make a movie set for an office scene, this was exactly what I'd make it look like. There were desks scattered throughout and people milled about here and there, until they noticed our presence. Then one by one, all heads turned toward us. And stayed there.

Luckily, I was used to a courtroom full of people staring me down. These people didn't have a thing on Judge Arnold when he was missing a golf tournament because I had requested an emergency hearing.

“
Don't mind their curiosity. We haven't had a new recruit for quite some time.”

I nodded, wondering what some time meant to these people, with a frightening suspicion it was a lot longer than my personal frame of reference.

I followed him as he walked to the back of the long open office to a smaller managerial six-by-six and the only separated area.

“
Please,” he said and waved a hand toward the chair, as he sat behind the only desk in the room.

As far as offices went, it wasn't exactly ostentatious with its gray metal desk, filing cabinets, and brown commercial rug. The plain white walls didn't do much to help add any character to the setting.

The room itself held almost no interest for me, except for the door behind his desk. It was plain, like everything else in the office, but there was a one-inch crack between the bottom of it and the floor, and the most brilliant light I'd ever seen was shooting rays out of the gap.

“
What's behind that door?”

“
Retirement. When you finish your trial period, that is where you will reenter,” he said, not bothering to look up from where he'd seated himself behind the desk. “I'd like to talk to you about your position.”

I forced my attention to Harold. He was as odd as my hazy memory had hinted at. He looked like he should be strolling around an economics convention, not dealing in death and retribution. And I couldn't help but feel like there had to be more than what met the eye. If
this
was the guy calling the shots, there just had to be.

“
Which is what, exactly?”

“
Karma.”

“
Could you elaborate on that?” I repeated, squinting my eyes and staring at him in confusion. He still wasn't explaining exactly what I was supposed to do.

“
Yes. Karma.”

“
I don't understand. I thought karma was when you did something good, it would come back to you and the same thing if you did something bad.”

“
Yes, exactly.”

“
But you said it was my job? I don't understand what I'm supposed to do.” How many other ways could I ask him? This guy was really in charge?

He leaned his head in his hand for a minute and I had the distinct impression that this was out of character for him. He mumbled something I couldn't hear except for the mumbled word
“transfer.” Then he shook his head, as if pulling himself back together.

“
The universe has a certain balance it maintains, but it will occasionally fall out of balance. This is usually caused by people slipping through the cracks, who have a sort of natural immunity to the universal forces and need an associate to go in and manually adjust them. If they go too long, they can sometimes throw the system and balance off violently.”

I nodded and smiled, still unsure of exactly how I was going to come into play. How would I fix anyone?

“Let me give you a very simple example. You are familiar with WWII?”

“
Of course I am. I'm dead, not stupid.”

“
Everyone in this office tries to make sure that everything runs pretty much the way it should and nobody cheats the system. When we don't do a good job, you end up with people like Hitler. That's what happens when no one is paying attention. The better we do our job, the calmer the world.”

“
So everyone here is in charge of karma?”

“
No. Just you. Everyone has their own department.
You
are Karma.” He pointed toward me dramatically, the way someone would try and accent a meaning to a person who didn't know the language.

“
I'm not sure I'm adequately suited for this position. Even for a month. I'm more of a “bygones be bygones” kind of person. Don't you need someone a bit more vengeful?”

He looked down at the file spread on his desk.
“I would disagree. Your file said you would be an excellent candidate.”

“
May I see that?” I asked, eying up said file on his desk. How much did Harold know about me? Everything? That was an uneasy feeling. Even the best of us had our secrets and even though I considered myself a decent human being, I didn't think I fell into the saintly category.

The file didn't look big enough for my entire life to be in it. It didn't even look thick enough for a short story. Maybe just a highly edited Wiki version?

“
No, absolutely not.” He shut the Manila folder quickly, as if I were going to jump up and try to peek. The guy took neurotic to a whole other level.

Okay, the file wasn't that important. I needed to keep the peace and simply explain in better detail how I'd made an error in judgment. Be nice. My southern mother had always said you caught more bees with honey than vinegar. She
had tried to drill it into my head since I was a small child. It wasn't something I'd come naturally to, that was for sure, but it was a valid tactic, even if that wasn't the lesson my mother had meant to instill.

“
Harold, when I agreed to work for you, I was under the duress of seeing my dead body. You can understand how jarring that can be, right? I wasn't thinking clearly at all.” It sounded logical enough to me, but I wasn't sure if he'd ever had the pleasure of dying and his manner didn't scream naturally empathetic.

He cleared his throat and I could tell by the set of his mouth that I wouldn't like the next words.
“I'm sorry, but that's not how things work here. Like I told you, there’s a mandatory one-month trial period. An active one-month.”

He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up closer to his face. His almost black eyes, artificially enlarged from the lens, stared at me in a bit of an awkward way. I wasn't sure if there was a bite to follow up his bark but his magnified beady gaze sure made the situation less than desirable.

Still, beady gaze and all, I had to try one last time. Perhaps a different angle. Regardless of my record, he clearly thought I was an idiot; maybe that was the way to go. I had no problem playing a stooge if it got me out of here quickly.