A Fickle Fate
Justin Kemppainen
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Justin Kemppainen
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.
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Other books by Justin Kemppainen:
-Uprising (The Fall of Haven)-
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Prologue: Someone Important
"Are you absolutely certain this is necessary?" Brother Roberto asked, body trembling as he crouched in the chapel bell tower. Over the stone lip, he beheld the dusty path which carried a small procession of horses and men clad in layers of plate. The soldiers bore ornamental spears, and a few held torches to illuminate the deepening gloom of the evening.
"Of course!" an eager voice whispered. "Get the job done, and don't worry your scaly bald head." The man grabbed Brother Roberto's shoulder and shook, jabbing a finger toward the street. "Ooh, ooh! Look! There he is!" The speaker collapsed, overcome by a fit of giggling.
Brother Roberto wiped the beading sweat from his brow, trying to calm his screaming nerves. Heart pounding, his breath came short and ragged. He kept his gaze fixed upon the street as the procession drew closer. Dressed in a drab brown robe, he held a white-knuckled grip on a crossbow. Roberto beheld his companion writhing on the ground in crazed mirth. Blessed Father, he truly is mad, the monk thought. But then… am I any less insane to be following his will? No answer or comfort was forthcoming.
In the center of the procession crossing through the street was a man in red robes. This man sat upon a horse attired in extravagant ceremonial garb. The rider's head bowed as the parade advanced toward the cathedral.
The arrival of the Inquisition threw the small city of Carmona into an uproar. In spite of it only being a small stopping point in the travel to visit and inspect the workings of Tribunals across Spain, the locals became more than a little nervous. "Just passing through," they said to each other, half-terrified by the possibilities. "A half-day at most before they depart to Seville."
Brother Roberto, among others, heard rumors of the atrocities committed in the name of God by the organization. However, he decided his place was to serve God and the Church and not to judge the decisions of the Holy Father. Authority had been placed in the hands of the red-robed man, Tomas de Torquemada, and it was not Brother Roberto's place to dishonor that. Still, as he held a death grip upon the crossbow, he wondered again how he could have been foolish enough to get involved.
Gasping for breath, Roberto's odd companion sat up. He was clad in similar brown robes, which hid bizarre clothing Roberto had never seen before. The man displayed unnaturally fair and smooth skin, as though the heat of the sun held no bother to him. The man's features were soft, unremarkable. However, within the man's eyes there lay boundless amusement, and it seemed the fellow viewed the world in nothing more than a fool's terms. These smirking eyes now peeked over the stone lip.
Brother Roberto swallowed hard. "Are you absolutely certain-"
The strange man nudged the nervous monk. "Look, look, look. You see him? That's the guy. Torquemada." He let out a high-pitched giggle and snapped his fingers. "Hey, how does the saying go? Ah, Torquemada… do not beg him for mercy, or compassion, or forgiveness, or something." He covered his mouth with his hand, shaking with laughter. "Let's face it, you can't Tork 'em outta anything! You get it? You can't talk him out of-" He collapsed again, snickering.
Brother Roberto released an involuntary whimper, not comprehending the gibberish and foreign tongue the man lapsed into when more highly amused. He took a deep breath, grimacing at the deadly pointed shafts in a small stack on the ground next to him. Roberto ran a hand over his bald head, wiping away more perspiration. "I… I don't believe I can do this."
His companion ceased laughing and sat up, a serious expression on his face. "Oh, but you have to. This man, Torquemada," Roberto could see the briefest flash of stifled amusement, "is destructive and evil. He's brought misery to hundreds, thousands even, of potentially innocent people."
"P-potentially-?"
The other man waved his hand. "Don't get bogged down in semantics, good chum. Few of them matter in the grand scheme anyway." He gave a thin smile. "What is important, however, is this man's death will save billions, eventually."
The concept of such a number was impossible to Brother Roberto, and he said, "I don't see how this could-"
The other man closed one eye and pursed his lips, pumping his arms back and forth. "Ohhh youuuu," he said with a playful tone. "Do we have to go over this again? C'mon Bob." He stopped the boxing motion. "Don't worry about what your head tells you; just trust me." The man laid a hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes.
Panic gripped Roberto in steel bands.
"No. No, no no… y-you," Roberto thrust out an accusing finger. "You are mad. You are entirely mad, and I will have nothing more to do with this." He scrambled toward the stairway.
"Hold on." Roberto's robes were seized from behind. Tripping, he fell hard upon the stonework of the bell tower. He rolled over and threw his arms across his face, preparing to ward off the assault from the crazed man. Blessed Father, why did I put any trust or faith into this disturbed individual?
No attack came, but his companion knelt over him. "I know, it's tough. You've never killed anyone before; I get it. It's not like I didn't see this coming, you know." He paused in thought. "Well, maybe you don't actually know because you don't seem to believe I can do what I say I can do. Okay, it is a little weird." He stopped again, noticing the trembling, frightened man beneath. "Right. Sorry, I get carried away sometimes, but I do understand the problem. What you need is a little faith."
"No. I am sorry, but I cannot continue with this insanity." Roberto clasped his hands together. "Please, let me depart in peace."
The stranger sighed. "Do you remember your dream?"
Roberto's breath caught in his throat.
"Yes, that one."
The monk buried his face in his hands. "It cannot be true."
Unbidden, the memory of his recent nightmare came forth. Many of Brother Roberto's dreams related to his daily tasks and duties. Sheltered and simple was his life, and this held true for his dreams. However, of late his sleep was very different. For weeks, Brother Roberto had been plagued by a figure, whispering to him in his mind as he slept. It culminated in one terrible nightmare:
Voices, voices, whispering voices. It was first in this dream he was able to see this madman, this specter who haunted him and murmured tales of the future. Brilliant light exploded across Roberto's eyes. His frightened cries were enveloped by a harsh wind, rushing over and through his body.
Disembodied, his figureless sight lay within an inky void of darkness, stars twinkling all around. In front lay a celestial bauble, a beautiful shade of indigo with white clouds skittering across its spherical surface. Verdant shapes imposed themselves over the blue. "Earth," a familiar, ethereal voice filled his mind, and his subconscious wondered if God was speaking.
Unguided by his own will, Roberto's sight rushed forward, down onto the planet. He gasped, causing a strange and endless echo.
"Carmona."
Roberto marveled at the city, barely recognizable yet holding the stonework and landmarks he knew so well. Fascination and wonder flooded his thoughts. People clad in strange clothing progressed through their daily lives as metallic beasts crawled upon the ground.
A flare of deep orange like a setting sun washed over the city. Roberto watched in horror as flames roared and danced in the distance, rushing through the hills. The vision began to pull outward again as the city exploded into fire. Ancient stone buildings blasted to fragments and the people screamed, burning in the streets.
The vision retreated further, and the green lands of the earth settled into a deep orange, black smoke pouring into the sky. Further yet, out into the void of space, the beautiful blue sphere now appeared wreathed in flame.
Roberto wished to close his eyes or turn away, but he could exert no will of his own. The fires died away, melting the vibrant orange of the burning world. The infinite blue of the oceans turned a blackish hue, and the lands were enveloped by a lifeless ashen gray…
A tear slid down Roberto's cheek as he remembered the dream, vivid and horrifying in every tiny detail. He had all but forgotten it, days earlier. The strange man then appeared out of nowhere and swore to him his dream had been a vision of the future. The more the man spoke, prodding and convincing, the more the monk came to believe it.
"The world dies," his companion said, breaking through Roberto's troubled thoughts, "but your action here, today, can change that."
The monk trembled, the image of the beautiful world's lifeless husk burned into his mind. "How can one man's death do so much?"
The stranger twirled his hand. "It can't."
"But you said-"
"Nonononono, don't worry." His companion covered his mouth with both hands. He spoke again, voice muffled. "It isn't the one man. It's several. Dozens. A long chain of carefully manipulated events over the course of," he threw his arms wide open, "hundreds of years will give a slight chance to potentially forestall this devastating occurrence. Mmm'kay?"
Roberto lay upon on the cold stone. He wondered why this apparent great responsibility, given in the form of a lunatic, came to him instead of someone else. Dear God… I truly believe this man, he realized. Have I lost my own mind? "How is this possible?" he asked.
His companion cracked a wide grin and offered him a hand. "Don't you sweat the details, kiddo. I've got everything under control." Somehow, the monk was not at all reassured. "Trust me, it'll all be fine." He hauled Roberto to his feet and handed him the crossbow. "Oh by the way, you've got about thirty seconds now."
A chill swept through Brother Roberto. The procession began passing underneath the bell tower of the chapel, moving toward the larger cathedral. A few townspeople loitered about, watching the members of the Inquisition pass.
Roberto wiped the sweat from his palms. He stretched the cord on the device to its firing position. He picked up one of the bolts, quickly examining its length for crookedness or imperfection. He lay it into the housing, ready to fire.
Breathing shallow, Brother Roberto shouldered the weapon. The red-robed man, Tomas de Torquemada, the leader of the Inquisition who had overseen the torture and death of hundreds, rode beneath. God grant me strength, Roberto prayed silently, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Let this task be a part of your will.
Sighting in on the robed figure, he started to squeeze the trigger.
"Not yet!" his companion said. Brother Roberto jumped, an involuntary muscle clench almost discharging the weapon. "Wait for my signal."
Brother Roberto's mind screamed, No! You can't do this! Every second of waiting loosened his resolve. Put the weapon down and walk away. You don't have to go through with it! In spite of his panic, he kept his aim locked on the target. The procession started to move away from the chapel, and for a moment he felt relieved he might not have to-
"Shoot now!"
Roberto's eyes slid shut as he uttered a small prayer for forgiveness, and he squeezed the trigger. With a snapping twang, the bolt sprang free of the weapon and fired through the air toward its target. Roberto opened his eyes.
It missed.
The bolt whizzed past the Inquisitor's hooded head, a mere inch away from lethally wounding the man. Roberto felt cold shock spill into his midsection. The unhindered bolt continued, whistling its path before sinking deep into the chest of a man leaning against a nearby tree. The victim's eyes popped wide, and he cut loose a horrified scream. Surprised and bleeding, the wounded man toppled to the ground.
The soldiers shouted, wheeling their horses around. The procession dissolved as the Inquisitor spurred his own mount, blazing away down the street. A few of the men below pointed toward the chapel where Roberto hid.
No, this can't be, Roberto thought in horror. He frantically pulled at the cord to load another bolt. He slapped the shaft into place and brought the weapon to bear, but the Inquisitor moved far out of range. I've failed… the monk thought, helpless.
"Perfect," his companion said, smiling. "Well done, Bob. Well done indeed."
Roberto gaped. "But you said I had to-"
The stranger stifled a laugh and waved his hand. "Ohhh, it doesn't really matter what I said, does it?" He wagged a finger. "What matters is you did it! Perfectly!"
"But Torquemada-"
"Oh it's not even him; this whole thing is just a ploy to make the other Tribunals think he's inspecting."
Panic blurred Roberto's vision. His mouth worked up and down, desperate with questions.
His companion held a hand to his ear. The sounds of armor-clad, shouting men spilled into the chapel below, followed by pounding against the soft wood of the door leading to the bell tower. "Sounds like they're playing my song," the man said. "Actually, it's your song, but it's still my cue to leave." He turned away.
Roberto lunged forward and gripped the stranger's clothing. "Please, wait! What does this all mean?"
"Well..." The stranger pointed with both hands toward the stairwell. Sounds of thudding and splintering wood echoed below. "That means several armed Spanish soldiers are about to rush up these stairs to kill you." He cocked his head, thinking. "Or arrest you." Another pause. "Or arrest you and kill you later."
Roberto gasped, his face turning a deathly shade of white. "B-b-but you said…"
The stranger snapped his fingers. "Oh, don't worry about what I said. Take comfort in what you did tonight. Killing that particular man was an important piece to what comes later."
The door below gave way, and the shouting intensified along with a clatter of plate boots upon the stairs. "How?"
"Ohhh fine. I'll give you a hint." The man ticked off on his fingers. "Killing that one saved another person you may or may not know. Your target's confession under duress and subsequent execution in a few days would have implicated this other individual, a very important one. Let's just say tonight's escapade will also grant my important friend a certain immunity from the suspicion of the Inquisition. I need this fellow, and this was one pretty decent way to keep him alive."
"B-but that's it? What about me?" Roberto asked, frantic.
"You'll die," the man said. The stairwell noises intensified, and the soldiers drew close enough for Roberto to imagine he could smell the dust and sweat from their day's travel. His companion's figure began to blur around the edges, and Roberto blinked, fearing his eyes were failing. "You would have died anyway, if it makes you feel better. Today, tomorrow, a week from now; it doesn't matter. Your death has no impact on the grand scheme of Fate, the wily bastard. However," the stranger grinned, "your one action tonight has done wonders. Congratulations!"
The figure began to applaud, and after a moment, he vanished from the monk's view. Brother Roberto tried to clear his vision, but the stranger had disappeared leaving no trace behind. He breathed hard, praying soundlessly as the armor-clad soldiers spilled into the bell tower platform. They viewed the lone man with the crossbow and shouted accusations.
Brother Roberto barely heard them. His mind decided to vacate and find somewhere more bearable to exist for a while. He paid little notice when they hauled him roughly away, and he made no plea or whimper when he was sentenced. The soldiers gathered no coherent information from him. The former monk provided no complaint or resistance when put out of his misery a short time later.
Chapter 1: Evaluations
David Martin sat in front of his computer, pecking at the keyboard. Sales records, profits, incentives. It took very little mental capacity to input this mindless statistical information. As the Assistant Manager of Customer Service at Global Marketplace International, David often found himself assigned this manner of work. The din of phones ringing filled the background. Phone operators addressed complaints or engaged in cheap trinket-hocking.
"How's it going, Dave?" A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezing in what was probably intended to be an affectionate manner. However, with the strength of the six foot plus and built-like-a-truck manager, Chuck Samuelson, the gesture was quite painful.
David winced at the bones grinding in his shoulder as well as the nickname. Not turning away from his entry, he replied, "Not too bad, Chuck. How 'bout you?" He absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder.
In spite of his imposing nature, Chuck was a nice guy if a bit too timid for a boss. "Oh, I'm fine, just fine. Thanks." The muscle-bound man leaned up against the thin wall of David's cubicle. The weak material leaned under Chuck's weight, creaking in protest. "Sorry to bother you, Dave, but I'm afraid I need to ask you a favor."
"Uh-huh, sure." David finished filling in another spreadsheet box and saved the document. He swiveled around. "What do you need?"
Chuck tossed down a thick folder stuffed with papers. "Employee evaluations." A consoling expression crossed the manager's face.
"Again?" David asked, wincing. "I thought we only did those once a year."
"Yeah, usually. However, corporate wants another round to see if they can weed out the problem children."
"Problem children?" David said, a little too loudly. He lowered his voice. "What a crock. What's the excuse? More outsourcing? Affirmative action?"
"Both, probably."
David rolled his eyes. "Do we have to do personnel interviews, too?"
"The whole mess. Interviews, questionnaires, coworker evals." Chuck shrugged. "Sorry, that's the way it is."
"They sending someone in to help us again?"
"Yep, usual tribunal of judgment." Chuck nodded. "The corporate rep is supposed to be a different fellow, I think."
David rubbed his face. "We at least going to get paid overtime for this?"
"Over-what?"
David gave a bitter smirk. "All right, I guess so. When do we start?"
"This afternoon in the conference room." Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll come get you when it's time." He turned around for a moment before stopping. "Oh," he snapped his fingers, "I know it's going to be kind of a pain, but make sure and get those reports finished before we start." David opened his mouth to object to the unreasonable request, but Chuck was already halfway to his office.
Sighing, David swiveled around and went back to work. Bloody hell, he thought, figuring he'd at least try to buckle down and blaze through it. It's not possible; not with the interviews this afternoon. I'm going to have to stay late and finish them. He frowned, clenching a fist against his forehead. I guess it doesn't matter. I don't have anywhere to be tonight. "Or ever…"
Bitter curses at poor life choices rolled through his mind, and David returned to work. A few minutes later the memo email popped up, informing everyone about the upcoming surprise interviews. David didn't bother opening it.
His phone rang. Donning the headset, he tapped the button and answered. "GMI Manhattan. This is the Assistant Manager, David Martin. How may I help you?"
"Hey, Dave," an exasperated female voice came through. One of the phone operators, he thought. Jenny, maybe? "I've got a weird guy here I don't know what to do with."
"Okay," David replied. "What's he saying?"
The girl took on an irritated tone. "I don't know. He's just some freak."
David rolled his eyes. "All right. I'll take care of it."
A few seconds later, the line was transferred over to him. He gave a quick glance to his watch. "Good morning. This is David, the assistant manager. How may I help you?"
"A call center? Really?" an incredulous male voice came through the line. "Could you possibly get any more dull or cliché?"
Confused, David replied, "I'm sorry, is there something I can help you with?"
"I mean seriously," the voice continued, "here you are, Mr. David Martin, the most unique person to ever grace the planet, and you're working in this utterly average, boring, insignificant, typical, and let's face it, chump job. After all this work, I thought you might be a little more-"
"Excuse me, sir?" David said, interrupting the strange rant. "I'm sorry, but is there a certain problem you have with Global Marketplace or any of its products?"
"Directly no, but conceptually, God yes!" the man continued. "Someone like you finding himself peddling the most useless garbage. Faux-ethnic kitsch? For real Martin? Good gravy, even your name is dull! I swear by your dead parents-"
David squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, sir, do I know you?"
"No!" the voice shouted. "I mean, yes. Or maybe. Not yet, you don't, but give it a minute and maybe you might-"
"Sir?" David asked, trying to cut through the babble. "Sir. Sir! Please, sir, do you have a valid question?"
"All questions are valid, David," the man said in a stern, condescending-professor sort of tone. "Except those regarding existentialism. Seriously, what the hell is the point? If Kierkegaard or Heidegger had even the slightest clue about the true nature of the universe, they'd have found real jobs or killed themselves. How's that for a philosophical problem, Camus?!"
Bewildered, David's practiced phone composure slipped. "What are you talking about?"
"It doesn't matter! None of it. How can you describe a system by which people move from existence to essence by way of choice when nothing in and among it matters even the slightest bit? Predetermination, fatalism, unauthenticity and the illusion of free will?"
Why am I still listening to this crackpot? David wondered. With a firm tone, he said, "Listen, sir. I apologize I cannot be of any help. If you have any serious questions or concerns about GMI or its products, direct your queries to Corporate Headquarters. Have a nice day."
He disconnected the line, not caring he hadn't provided a number for the strange man to call. David removed his headset and rubbed his eyes. Standing up, he gripped his plain mug with the intent of grabbing another cup of coffee. As he moved down the aisle toward the break room, he paused.
David stopped by a phone station, where a young woman, a cuteish red-head with freckles, was chicken-peck typing information on her computer. She wore a tank-top and dangling star-shaped earrings. Not exactly dress-code, he thought. "Jenny?" he asked.
She whirled around in her chair and scowled. "It's Jessie."
"Ah, geez, I'm sorry. Weird day so far."
"Yeah, I guess." She gave him a blank stare. "What do you want?"
It was obvious even to David that she was trying to blow him off, but curiosity sparked. "The guy you transferred over to me. He say anything weird to you?"
Jessie gave a short laugh. "Did he say anything not weird? He asks if a guy named Martin works here and starts ranting about the space time continuum or some shit."
David wondered if the girl knew Martin was his last name. I suppose she wouldn't care, he thought. "Was that all?"
She shrugged, bare shoulders bumping into the low-hanging earrings. "I dunno. Once he started chattering, I put him on hold and sent him to you."
"Right," David said, unnerved.
Jessie turned back around without a word and went back to her work. David could see tabs of shopping in her browser and minimized chat windows, but he didn't care enough to call her on it. After all, we've got evaluations soon anyway, he thought.
David entered the break room, unusually empty for this time of day. It didn't house much: a countertop with a microwave, a small fridge, a couple of vending machines. It also had a coffeemaker which usually contained fairly fresh coffee.
It was empty.
David sighed. Not a big deal, but still. "What's with this day?" he muttered, grabbing the can of grounds and a new filter.
A few minutes later, with coffee happily percolating in the ancient maker, a piece of the strange conversation rang in David's head. The most unique person on the face of the planet? Is that what he said?
"Unique my ass…" David said, checking on the coffee.
"Ooh, yeah? How so?" a voice popped up from behind.
Startled, David jumped, heart slamming into his throat. "Jesus!" he yelled, spinning around.
Facing the stranger, he saw a man in a pinstripe suit and fedora. It was an appearance more suited to a soft jazz singer at an upscale lounge or trendy music club.
Clutching his chest, David asked, "Who... who are you? I didn't hear anyone come in."
"Me?" the stranger said, splaying the fingers on both hands toward himself. "I suppose that's a rather interesting question." Something about the man was nagging in familiarity. Since they didn't often get guests...
"Are you the representative from corporate?" David asked.
"Me?" the stranger repeated. "That too, could be an interesting question. What would you say if I said yes?"
David stared at him, confused. "Well… I'd say you're a little early. We weren't going to start the evaluations until this afternoon."
"Ah!" The stranger snapped his fingers. "The evaluations! I love this part. Been looking forward to it for a long time, I have."
"You have?" David asked. "I always thought they were kind of tedious."
The stranger waved his hand. "They're quite a bit more valuable than you might realize and ever so much fun!" He put the tip of his finger to his lips and tilted his head. "Well, actually they as a collective aren't. Or might not be. We'll have to see how it unfolds."
"Okay, I guess." David reached for the coffee pot. "What was your name, again?"
"Again? No, this is the first and only time, my friend. There is only one, and that's what we get." He wagged his finger. "And what we get is running low."
David squeezed his eyes shut, a feeling of bizarre confusion remarkably similar to the recent phone conversation. "Oh!" He pieced the strange dialogue together and recognized the voice. "You called in a few minutes ago."
"Oh sure, I call lots of places," the stranger said with a smug tone.
Ah crap, it must have been part of a service evaluation, David thought. But why so weird, and why is he still at it? David didn't have a clue, but he decided to play along anyway.
"All right, well, you should probably let Chuck know you've arrived. He might want to get started a little earlier on the evals." David gestured in the vague direction of Chuck's office.
"Right, Chuck." The man from corporate bounded to the door, and with a flourishing bow, he ducked out.
At least he's not boring, David thought.
He finished pouring his cup of coffee, put a dash of cream in it, and went back to his desk.
******
After a while, David leaned back from his computer screen. Only about half an hour had passed, but he'd made some mild progress on the entries. Rubbing his eyes, he swiveled around. Chuck was walking down the aisle, appearing somewhat grim.
David stood up. "What's wrong?" he asked as the manager approached.
"I don't like what's happening." Chuck shook his head. "For one, this guy from corporate is nuts. For two, it sounds like this entire evaluation process is going to be nothing but a hatchet job on the employee roster."
David swallowed hard, remembering the surprise phone call and wondering if his behavior had been appropriate. "C'mon, it can't be that bad."
"I don't know, but I think he wants to get started in a few minutes."
Checking his watch, David asked, "At a quarter to noon?"
"Yep. No lunch break."
David sighed, retrieving the empty coffee cup from his desk. "All right, I'll be there in just a sec." He started walking toward the break room.
A few minutes later, fresh cup of coffee and small stack of personnel files in tow, he walked into the conference room. The corporate representative was already seated, leaning back with his feet up on the long table. Instead of the pinstripe suit, he wore a sky blue sweater with dull khaki pants and soft brown loafers. The clothing reminded him of…
"Mister Rogers?" he said under his breath. Oof. Haven't thought about that show in a long time.
"Dave!" The guy threw his arms wide open, shouting the name as though David were an old friend. "Glad you're here!"
"Really? I guess-"
"Sure, sure," the corporate rep interrupted, grinning. "I mean, the sooner we get this going, the sooner we can get you outta here, am I right?"
David widened his eyes. What's that supposed to mean? He felt a slight surge of jittery hope and worry. Does that mean I'm getting promoted, or am I going to get fired? His mind spun, balking at the possibilities.
He walked over, seating himself next to the man. A realization struck. "Say," David spoke, "I didn't catch your name."
The man swung his legs down and sprang up. Planting one foot upon his chair, he took a deep breath and boomed, "I am known as Mixolydian Kittridge Valencia Stradivarius Wilbur von Kaiser the Third!"
Baffled, David asked, "What?"
The strange man crouched low, giving David a wink and thrusting out a hand. "Just call me Mick."
Reluctantly, David reached out and grasped the hand, which was icy cold. "Sure, Mr… Mick."
"No, no, no! My father is Mr. Mick." He cocked his head. "Well actually, he is more like Mr. Infinity plus Destiny, or some crazy crap." He waved his hands back and forth. "Whatever, the important thing is to call me Mick and not Micks. I know it makes more sense as a nickname for Mixolydian, but I don't want to be seen as multiple-ly Irish."
David found this to be awfully confusing, so he nodded.
Thankfully, Chuck came in, forestalling any continuance of the conversation. His eyes widened when he saw the man calling himself Mick. "You changed?"
"Sure. I always find the aura of comfort provided to underlings by wearing casual, friendly clothing to be quite necessary in proceedings such as these."
Chuck pursed his lips and shrugged. "Okay, fair enough."
Mick clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Have a seat, and bring on the first victim!"
Pausing at the door, Chuck's eyes widened, and he appeared quite unsettled by the man's exuberance. After a moment, he wordlessly took a seat on Mick's left, opposite David.
David cleared his throat, pulling out a file and passing it over. "All right, first up we're going to have Jeremiah Dalton. He's been with the company four months now. He missed out on the last round of evaluations, so this will be his first."
"Good, good. Progress is good." Mick nodded with enthusiasm.
David frowned, not knowing how to respond. "I'll… go ahead and get him." He stood up and went outside of the conference room. Jeremiah was waiting, informed a few minutes prior not to take any calls. He was a youngish kid, probably a college student. He saw David and stood, a questioning expression upon his face. David waved him over.
They went into the conference room, and David resumed his seat at the right hand of Mick. Jeremiah sat across from the three, trying to appear confident.
"All right, so as you know-" Chuck began.
"I like you Jeremiah," Mick interrupted. "You've been like a son to me."
The employee's eyes widened. He glanced back and forth between Chuck and David, confused. Chuck's mouth hung open in surprise, and David gave a helpless shrug.
"Yes," Mick continued. "A son. You've got a decent record in your many years of service, and we've been considering you for promotions and raises for quite a long time."
Jeremiah perked up. "Really? Wow, that's amazing-"
"Unfortunately," Mick cut in. "You're fired. Have a nice day." He slouched in the chair and put his feet up. "Who's next?"
A heartbeat of silence resounded. Shocked by the casual termination, David, Chuck, and Jeremiah all started talking at once. A rambled mishmash of, "You can't be serious, this is ridiculous, how can he/I be fired," filled the room.
Mick sprang to his feet. "I am from corporate! My word is law, and I've been sent to clean house!"
Jeremiah appeared on the verge of tears. Chuck, big as he was, seemed pitiful and powerless. Rather than speaking, the manager focused intently on a piece of paper in front of him.
Finally, David stood up, grabbing the dismayed former employee by the arm and leading him out of the room. Outside, he said, "Take the rest of the day off, but don't clean out your desk just yet. We'll see if we can get this sorted out more properly."
Jeremiah snapped his head toward David, anger lighting his face. "No!" he shouted. "You know what? Screw you. Screw this job. You can all rot in hell for all I care if this is how the company treats people! I'm going to contact the Better Business Bureau on your asses. You can bet on it!"
He stormed out, stopping to grab a couple of various implements on his desk. A few of the other employees looked on with nervous interest, startled by the aftermath of the first evaluation. David thought some of things Jeremiah picked up might have not belonged to him. He didn't try to stop it, instead blowing out a heavy sigh and returning to the conference room.
Next up was Rose Parkson, a mid-thirties woman who had been with the company for six years. Single and living alone, she had no children or important family to speak of. The woman was thin and gangly, not particularly attractive with huge, thick glasses. Before she even sat, Mick stood up.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he said, putting his hands out. "Just stop right there, Miss... Who are you?"
"I'm Rose? Rose Parkson." She blinked, confusion across her features.
Mick shook his head. "Not anymore you're not. Clean out your desk."
"What?!" David and Chuck both yelled.
"Next!" Mick settled into his chair and threw his feet back up. He ignored the other two, who continued loud objections.
Rose, lower lip quivering in the most pitiful fashion, burst into tears. David leapt up and guided her out of the room. He brought her to the break room and gave her a tissue. He explained it was a corporate decision and measures would be taken by both he and Chuck to alleviate the problem. "Go ahead," he said. "Go home for the day; I'll make sure you still get paid."
She nodded numbly, her nose an angry red under the huge glasses. She sniffled, taking her coat and walking out the door. The rest of the employees now appeared quite frightened, seeing the horrific reactions from the first two evaluations.
The next was even worse. David started to relax in the twenty minute duration as the next victim spoke. Brenna Dale, a smart and pretty college kid, had attained one of the best records for her year and a half of employment. To his credit, Mick was entirely professional, asking questions about her satisfaction with the company and how she felt about her performance and coworkers.
Mick smiled warmly, nodding as the barrage of questions tapered off. "Well, I think I've heard enough. Your performance has been more than adequate. Congratulations, Miss Dale. You're fired."
Brenna's eyes popped wide, and the beaming smile vanished from her face. David squeezed his own eyes shut. Chuck hid his face behind a hand, elbow propped on the table.
"W-what?" Brenna asked.
"What, you've got a hearing problem?" Mick asked. "You're a stellar employee, now get the hell out."
Furious, Brenna raised her chin defiantly and shouted, "Fine!" before storming out of the room. David tried to catch up to her as she left, but she rushed out too quickly for him to inform her of any reparations.
When he came back in, Chuck was talking to Mick. "…can't keep firing all of our employees."
Mick flashed him a wicked grin. "Not gonna lie to you Chuck. Corporate has been most displeased with the performance of this branch." He shook his head in disapproval. "They sent me to assess it, and I can't say I'm impressed. We might just have to shut this one down, salvaging what we can out of it."
David and Chuck both stopped breathing, letting the shock of the situation settle in. "Surely it hasn't been that bad," Chuck pleaded.
"Oh yes it has," Mick replied. "And don't call me Shirley!" He burst out laughing.
The other two exchanged nervous glances. All at once the rolling laughter ceased, and Mick sat up in his chair. "All right. Who's next?"
The process continued. David relegated himself to merely standing up and gathering the next victim, sitting passive and without hope as each employee was subjected to the chopping block. At the end, he led each person away, telling them management would sort things out. He was met with varying degrees of anger, sorrow, and passive uncaring.
He took Jessie out of her evaluation. She shrugged when he apologized. "This job sucks."
"All right." David sighed. "If there's anything I can-"
"Later," she said with a dismissive wave, grabbing her possessions and walking out.
David returned. Chuck had his face covered by his hand, lost and confused, but Mick was as cheerful as ever. When David sat down next to him, the strange man narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone bathed in suspicion.
"Wha? I'm David. The assistant manager?"
"I don't know…" Mick rubbed his chin. "Never heard of you before."
"You're joking, right?" David asked.
"I don't see anything funny about trespassing." Mick's face held a deadpan expression.
Chuck didn't seem to be listening. David stammered, "I've been sitting here next to you all afternoon while you've… er… fired everyone?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I'd remember something like that." David opened his mouth to speak, but Mick waved him silent. "Tell me Dave; do you think it's important to have an assistant manager?"
A torrent of ice-water cascaded down David's back. He babbled, "W-well, you know, I think it's been, you know, uh, very helpful to Chuck here." He gestured at his boss, who provided no comment. Mick stared at David, slowly shaking his head back and forth.
"That, a-and," David continued. "It's been uh, m-more of a title than anything else. I still answer phones, and record data, and…" he trailed off, grasping for more. "I only get paid about fifty cents more per hour than any of the regular operators."
Mick eyed him for a moment. "All right. You can stay." He raised his eyebrow. "For now. Bring in the next one."
David numbly stood up, feeling very much like he'd dodged a bullet. He went out of the conference room, intending to call the next victim. Instead, he spotted a short balding man clad in a brown suit and carrying a briefcase. The man watched the work progress of the few remaining people.
Forgetting the evaluations for a moment, David moved over to him. "Hello, can I help you?"
The man pointed toward the empty cubicles. "You're awfully understaffed today. Has there been a problem?"
******
"All right you son of a bitch…" David started, bursting into the conference room. Chuck sat there, passively staring off into the distance. The center chair was empty, its occupant nowhere in the room. "What the…? Where did he go?"
"Huh?" Chuck raised his head.
"Where did he go? Where is Mick?"
"I don't know; I think he said he was going to the bathroom."
David bared his teeth and turned to the door as the man in the brown suit walked into the conference room. "What is going on here?" he asked.
Chuck frowned. "Who are you?"
Before hurrying out the door, David stopped to say, "Chuck, meet Harold Appia, the representative from corporate."
Leaping to his feet, Chuck dwarfed the smaller man, and he yelled, "What?!"
Chapter 2: Starting Over
"I'm sorry David, I truly am." Chuck said, scratching the back of his head.
David didn't respond. After all, his former boss had been apologizing for the last half hour. He kept saying the same things over and over as David gathered his few personal possessions. Compounding annoyances, David had to scour the area around his desk, as his cell phone appeared to have vanished. He wondered if one of his angry departing coworkers had swiped it.
"You understand, right?" Chuck continued. "We're both in big trouble for this, and it's best you get out quick and clean." He cleared his throat. David still didn't respond.
Mick, whoever he was, had disappeared. They checked and rechecked the conference room, break room, under desks, Chuck's office: the entire floor. The fraud had vanished. A shame because David would have liked nothing better than to throttle the bastard.
"C'mon Dave, say something?" Chuck was pleading for validation.
David sighed. "Look, first off, I hate being called Dave," he said, staring with unconcealed hostility at the huge man. "Second, I perfectly understand I don't have much of a future here after this debacle. Thirdly, if you think cutting me loose and blaming me will save your own job, you're very much deluded." Chuck's massive shoulders slumped. "Fourth, and I mean almost no offense by this, I'm not in the mood to absolve you of your guilt for firing me." Chuck held a pitiful expression. "And finally," David shrugged, "it could be worse."
David grabbed his coat and moved toward the exit. Harold Appia stood near the door, slowly shaking his head back and forth in disapproval. A bitter retort rose to David's lips, but he bit it back. Not worth it, he thought. As he progressed, plodding down the numerous flights of stairs, a sensation of mild bitterness cultivated.
He hit the streets of Manhattan and started walking back to his apartment. David skipped the subway, in spite of the dozens of blocks he'd need to walk and the small armload of miscellaneous stuff he carried. A walk would be nice right about now, he thought. Maybe it'll clear my head.
David let himself wallow for a time. His irritation burned at the bizarre stranger, who had referred to David as "someone important." He seethed the more he thought about it. I just got fired from a crappy assistant manager job anyone with half a brain could do. How is that important?
A short time of walking later, he stopped at a café. David ordered a drink and a sandwich, finally realizing how hungry he was. After all, the fake rep had been firing people all through what was supposed to be his lunch break. As he ate, he let himself lament his life situation, his boring daily existence, and his general lack of prospects. He sat, staring out the window of the café. Dozens and hundreds of people walked by. Each, as he saw it, retained a greater sense of purpose than him. Once finished and paid, he picked up his belongings and continued walking home. As he went, he noted a growing sense of alarm regarding his newfound unemployment.
By the time he arrived at his apartment complex, he had finished his self-pitying and nervous worrying, feeling generally good about the recent turn of events. The work was dull, the pay stank, the manager was friendly but kind of weak, and the coworkers were either brain-dead, rude, or both. It just wasn't that great of a job, he thought more than once.
At his doorstep, he fished out his keys and decided this would end up being a much-needed kick toward the right direction for him.
"Not bad," David muttered. "I can finally do something different." He entered and tossed his keys onto the table.
His apartment was small, even for a single. His bedroom could squeeze in a queen-size bed if he didn't care about ever seeing the floor. His bathroom was so small that he could shower while reaching over and washing hands in the sink and also urinating in the toilet without too severely stretching or contorting. The kitchen was more like a hallway and provided little useable space in cupboards or counters. The entryway closet could barely open without scraping the opposite wall. The living room was surprisingly spacious.
"If I was five years old or vertically challenged," David said, cracking a smile. Not that I need the space, he thought. He sprawled out on the battered couch which retained every hideous permutation of brown and beige imaginable. He gave a laugh. "It's not like anyone ever comes here anyway."
"Maybe they would if you cleaned up a bit," a voice sounded from the kitchen.
"Shit!" David yelled, scrambling to his feet. Standing in the kitchen, barely illuminated by the small window in the living room, was-
"You!" He said, seeing the man who had gotten him fired. The intruder stood, leaning against the refrigerator with a light smirk on his face. He once again was dressed in his jazz-club suit and fedora.
David sputtered for words. "You son of a bitch! How did you-? How did you get in here?"
"Me?" Mick asked, cocking his head. "I've always been here."
"What? What do you..." He shook his head and pointed to the exit. "Whatever, get out."
The man made no indication toward leaving. He appeared mildly amused.
"Leave!" David jabbed a finger at the door. "I'm serious here; I'll call the cops!" Biting his tongue, he remembered the lost phone.
The stranger stepped into the living room and smiled. "Do you know how I know you won't? Because you don't have a phone." David's heart skipped a beat. "Do you know how I know that?" Mick asked, reaching into his pocket. "I took it." He held up an object strongly resembling David's cell phone.
Blood chilled in David's veins, his mouth falling open. He stammered for a moment, frozen with indecision. Recovering, he stepped back and snatched a broken lamp from the floor. It was metal and ugly but served well-enough for an impromptu cudgel. "All right, get out of here. I don't know who you are, but I'm warning you-"
The stranger threw up both hands. "Hey, just relax! You're so touchy!" He tossed the phone over, which thudded against the thin carpet. "Remember? It's me, Mick!"
David blinked in surprise at the return of his possession and the intruder's odd behavior. "Look, I don't care who you are." He brandished the lamp, twisting it like a baseball bat in his hands. "Just get out!"
Mick rubbed his chin. "How can I put this best?" He snapped his fingers. "Ah… that's the one. No."
"This is your last warning," David started, tightening his grip on the lamp.
"Oh, don't go on about warnings, blah, blah. You can't get rid of me because I'm not actually here."
"What do you mean?"
The stranger put both hands out and wiggled his fingertips. "I'm an illuuuusion. Sent by your subconscious to right the wrongs in your life. How do you think I slipped out of your office building without anyone knowing?"
"Wha... maybe, yeah…" David furrowed his brow. "But no; that's just plain-"
"Silly?" Mick offered, nodding. "Quite. I'm just messing with you; I am here. I'm in a lot of places to be more specific. One could say infinite places?"
David stood by the couch, clutching his lamp while the man babbled what seemed to be more nonsense. Closing his eyes, he replied, sputtering, "L-look. I'm gonna to call the cops or beat you into a coma if you don't leave in thirty seconds."
"Ooh, I love this part," Mick said, rubbing his hands together. He puffed out his chest, standing tall. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Interestingly enough, thirty seconds is almost exactly the time it'll take before the police arrive at this door." He slipped David a wink. "They're a little cranky, so don't take it personally. Thirty stories is a tough thing to deal with."
"Cops are coming, what?" David's breath caught in his throat. He shook his head. "You're lying. You can't know anything like that." Frowning, he asked, "And what the heck does thirty stories have to do with anything?"
"Twenty seconds." Mick shrugged. "Don't worry about it, though. It's going to be a rough night, but luckily you're not gonna get violated or anything. They'll even let you go once they rule you out as a suspect."
David went pale. "S-suspect?"
"Yep, ten seconds." Mick put on a consoling expression. David imagined he could hear the sounds of dozens of feet tromping down the hallway. "Are you ready, champ?"
David held his breath, staring at the doorway in horror and clutching his weapon with a death grip. Mick tapped the side of his face with one finger and counted. "And five… four… three… two… one…" He pointed toward the door.
Nothing happened.
David stood with body tense, watching the door. Still nothing. After several more seconds passed, he blew out a sigh of relief. Mick frowned, echoing the sigh a moment later.
Returning to his threatening stance and feeling silly, David said, "Okay, I've had enough of your games, you seriously need-"
There was a sharp knock at the door. David's insides frosted over, and he halted mid-sentence. Mick held up his hands. "I guess I can be off by a few seconds, what with free will and all."
"B-b-but…"
The sharp knock escalated into a loud, rattling pound on the thin door, shaking David out of his frozen state. "Wh-who is it?" he managed to call out. Noticing the makeshift weapon clutched in his hands, he dropped it, worried about appearing hostile.
"David Martin?" a harsh voice sounded.
"Y-yes?" he replied, staring at the door.
David's heart stopped beating for a second when he heard, "NYPD. Open the door, please." The man's inflection suggested it was not a request.
"J-just a moment!" David called out. He snapped a glance over toward Mick-
David's vision blurred, and a sense of dizzying vertigo rose over the top of his head. For a few moments, he came very close to passing out as reality swam around him. The man, the stranger who had somehow invaded his home, was gone. Dragging through muddled thoughts, he stared numbly at the empty kitchen and wondered if he was losing his mind.
The pounding resumed. "Open up, Martin!" David jumped what felt like three feet in the air. Through the paper thin door he heard the officer say, "Head around back and keep an eye on the fire-escape in case he tries to run."
"Coming!" David said, attempting to smooth out his rumpled short-sleeved polo. He held a tiny and vain hope that he could make a decent impression.
He twisted the knob, which rattled in his trembling hand, and cracked the door. A man wearing a gray suit had a badge open. NYPD, and it seemed authentic. The man himself appeared friendly enough, medium-height with a well-trimmed brown beard. "Are you David Martin?" the man asked, stuffing the identification in his front pocket.
Breathing hard, David managed to squeak out, "Y-yes."
"Detective Perry Bannon. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
David nodded, a little too vigorously, "S-sure, yeah. Absolutely. What about?"
The detective tilted his head, and a little voice in David's mind screamed at him to stop acting so nervous. "I think it would be best if you came with me."
Not knowing what to say or do, David continued, "A-am I under arrest? B-because I didn't do anything. I didn't, I don't have any idea-"
Preying upon David's weak and nervous state, the detective smiled wickedly. "Come with me, and we'll get everything sorted out. All right?"
Unable to think of anything to counter the statement, and fearful he would be hauled away in handcuffs if he didn't cooperate, David slumped his shoulders and nodded.
The detective led him silently out to his car, opening the door like a chauffer and letting David crawl into the back seat. David offered no further complaint as the detective's partner, a woman, emerged from the alley and took her place in the passenger seat.
Bannon stepped away from the vehicle, but David didn't pay much attention to why. Little voices screamed, telling him he was in trouble. A moment later, Bannon returned and seated himself, and the vehicle started moving.
Panic and confusion scrambled around in David's mind. Visions of insane ghosts and jail cells dancing before his eyes, he passed the ride in terrified silence.
Chapter 3: Innocent
They put him in a room. David stifled the urge to laugh; it was like every other interrogation room in every other cop drama he'd seen on television. They let him sit quietly for a while. David tried to use the time to rearrange his erratic mind into a semblance of thin calm.
He realized they were probably watching him, gauging his behavior. David also realized his intense nervousness earlier, motivated by the prophecy from the damnable ghost or whatever-he-was Mick, probably made him seem like a definite…
Suspect, he thought. That's what Mick said. But where did he go? I can't be losing my mind because he stole my phone. He was there in the meeting with Chuck. All of those people he fired will probably remember his face forever. He has to be real, right? In spite of every shred of evidence supporting it, David still wasn't entirely sure.
The door opened, and Detective Bannon walked in carrying a small file. David felt his heart skip a beat. In spite of his relative calm, impulse kicked in, and he started babbling.
"Can you tell me what this is about? I'm not under arrest, am I? I haven't done-"
The detective held up a hand, and David fell silent. Bannon flipped open the folder and thumbed through the pages for a few minutes.
The silence was maddening. A hundred pleas of innocence burned on David's lips, but he bit his cheeks and let the detective continue. He's trying to put me off-balance, he realized, and it's working.
After a short eternity, the detective slapped the files down on the table and took a seat across from David. He folded his hands. "All right, Mr. Martin. Can you tell me your whereabouts at three-forty five this afternoon?"
David felt panic grip him again as he realized he had absolutely no idea. I don't even know what time it is now! He hadn't checked since before he left work at… what, two-thirty? Three? He didn't know. Walking, thinking, eating at the café, and then running into the crazy guy again, he hadn't so much as glanced at a clock.
Clearing his throat, David tried to calm himself. "I… um…"
"Yes?"
Some distant part of him realized he was being suspicious again as he continued to stammer. "I'm… I'm not sure. I had a strange day. I got fired from my job, around two or two thirty, and I left. I-I walked home from there."
"Oh?" The detective's eyebrows shot up. "You walked all the way from the Upper West side down to Kips Bay? Isn't that about three miles? You have a subway pass, don't you?"
"Well, yes," David responded, "but I thought the walk would be good, you know? Clear my head? I stopped and grabbed a sandwich at a café. Uh, Annie's I think."
The detective nodded. "Sure, sure. I understand. Anyone see you leave?"
"Huh?"
"Your office building." The detective pointed at a line in the file. "Global Marketplace International. Can anyone confirm you left when you say you did?"
"Uh, I don't know, maybe one of the other employees?" David traced his memory back to the afternoon.
Bannon shrugged. "Nope, no one there had any idea where you went or when." Although dismayed, David wasn't surprised. The people working the phones had been driven to near-panic by the amount of calls they were handling. They were short-staffed due to the mass of fake-firings which took place. He thought, They probably wouldn't have noticed if I'd done a song and dance number or fired a gun.
David swallowed hard, shoving away the thought as though worried Bannon would pick up on it. "Well," he lit upon an idea. "What about Chuck? Err, Charles Samuelson, my boss?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Uh, former boss?"
The detective tapped a finger on his cheek. "You see, now that's a good question, too."
"It is? What is?"
"You see," the detective started, "no one knows the whereabouts of your friend," he paused, "pardon me, former friend Mr. Samuelson. Or maybe should I say former accomplice?"
Going pale, David asked, "E-excuse me?"
Bannon gave a shrug. "It seems your good friend and former boss skipped town." He leaned over the table, inches from David. "Or did he even manage to get that far. Did you kill him too? After all, he did fire you-"
A bright flare of horror wracked David's body. "No! I've never hurt anyone in my entire life! I have no idea where he is."
"David, David. Just take it easy here. If you tell the truth now, everything will go so much easier for you."