All Your Fates (Currently editing/updating)

Chapter 6: The Invisible Leash Part 2

I suddenly realized I was scowling and determined I really should go home and sleep after work instead of walking amongst the living. Spending several hours as a serving plate colors the mood and then I begin to paint everyone I see with the same brush. Like look at this scrawny hipster dude in skinny jeans with the puppy dog brown eyes and shaggy hair, salivating over vinyl records across the way from my table. How many never-before-heard-of-records will you need to buy before feeling satisfied that you can call yourself a true musical connoisseur? Take it from me, spend your hard-earned money on a hearty meal before you waste away entirely instead...just don't come to RAW to eat sushi off my navel, I beg of you please.

I pulled my eyes from the hipster to wander amongst the beckoning antiques, looking for some tiny memento I could fit into the lining of my suitcase. Some small trinket of L.A. that I could keep with me wherever I went. A vintage pill-box Jackie O hat? – too easily crumpled. Ship in a bottle?  – would never survive overseas. Riding crop? – I could make room, but how would that call to mind my many adventures in the City of Angels?

A rainbow teardrop flickered in the corner of my eye. I turned and spotted a small glass prism gleaming in the sun amongst a sundry of eclectic items – chrome toasters, antique cookie tins, and weathered garden gnomes. I skipped over to the table and picked up the paperweight. It was smooth, hot, and heavy. How many people have held you in their hands before? I cooed wordlessly to the prism. How many owners have you been passed between? How many people have you've given fleeting pleasure to until they've grown weary of your charm and become weighed down by your uselessness? For whom today has any need for weighing down stacks of paper in a digital society, hmm?

I felt a strange affinity for the sad little prism but it was far too heavy for someone "travelling light" as me. I set it down and as I lifted my eyes, they fell upon the hipster now directly across from me with his mouth gaping open like a basset hound eyeing a bone. Ick – I've been leered at enough for one day, sad little man. You're "cute" but...

I quickly activated "shields up" and moved to the next table, hoping the hipster would get the hint. He didn't, and I could sense him wandering after me as if I was tugging him along behind with an invisible leash. I could tell he was looking for an opportunity to strike up a conversation. I considered going to another stall but why should I? I was here first. And am quite adept at shooting guys down if push comes to shove. Besides, there was an adorable little purse that had caught my eye begging for inspection.

"Uh...how do they look?" I heard the nervous masculine voice address me. Boom, there it was. I put on my best "nice try, buddy" face but when I looked up I almost burst out laughing at the sight of him trying to look so bad ass in cop shades and failing miserably, the price tag dangling between his eyes and itching his twitchy noise. He looked every bit as imposing as a Yorkshire terrier. I managed to maintain my dismissive glare and then busied my thoughts on a pair of silk gloves on the table. When I heard him whine, "Everyone's a critic," the corners of my mouth twitched into a smirk against my will. Oh my poor sweet hipster, it isn't your fault I'm not charmed by your overeager and sincere affection. I've never been one for lapdogs, preferring my men and women aloof and distant. Hearts that won't break or strain when I pack up and leave in the middle of the night. And you are most definitely the sort whose soul would be ground to powder by any rejection. My thoughts returned to the silk gloves in my hands: Now these wouldn't take up too much room in my suitcase, but an odd choice to take tree planting with me...perhaps I should consider being a burlesque artist instead. I could go to Germany —

"Shouldn't you be in Sweden?" the hipster's voice pierced my reverie.

Sweden? Wait, how did he know I was from Sweden? I must have misheard him. "What was that?" I snapped. I think I said it a bit too sharply because he began to stammer and then beg his way out of the conversation. But I wasn't about to let him off that easy.

"Yeah...shouldn't you be in Sweden or something?" he returned.

Was this creeper following me around? I stared him down. I was sure I had never seen him before and there is no way the likes of him could have ever stalked anyone without making himself painfully aware. Could he have been a client at the restaurant? No...no one there knows where I am originally from. And unless he only ate sashimi from at the foot of the table and off of my toes, I would have remembered him for sure.

For a moment I started to worry he was immigration, but when I inquired he denied it. I could not but believe him. He just didn't seem the type to hold down a job let alone one with the government. And an INS officer would hardly have flinched and stuttered when grilled by a girl 60 kg soaking wet.

Instead the hipster handed me some line about seeing my face on an ad for a psychic network. Seriously, dude, I wanted to shout, does my face scream poster child for psychic networks to you? Instead I repeated flatly, "Psychic. Network. Hmm." 

But when he said I was "beautiful," I knew it must have been a line all along. He should have stuck with "is there a thief in your family?" or some shit like that. Guys like him should leave the pickup lines to the players.  Was it strange I felt affected by this? I relied on my good judge of character, and was actually disappointed he wasn't a star struck puppy with boundless affection but a "dog" up to new tricks. 

But then he actually started pulling out this flyer, trying to show it to me. I should have just walked away but his sincerity was so...insistent. I began to second doubt my second doubts. And lately, I had been getting a lot of people mistaking me for someone they had seen elsewhere. Perhaps I really did have a doppelganger out there. Stranger things have happened. 

I watched as he carefully unfolded the flyer. I took it from him, careful not to touch his hands as I did so and accidentally give him a cheap thrill, and scrunched up my eyes at the ad. What the F.A.Q.? It was like looking in the mirror! That was me, but I don't remember ever having this picture taken. Then I looked at the image of the card that "I" was holding over "my" eye. Three Norns entwined in blood colored thread and the words: "All Your Fates Are True" above. I resisted rolling my eyes. What the hell are you up to now!?  I'm halfway across the world and she is still managing to interfere with my life. Gran, I love you but sometimes your batshit crazy is even too batshit crazy for me!!!

I looked back at the hipster. He wore a triumphant lopsided grin, and I resisted allowing his foolish charm infect me. As if proving that the girl on the flyer looked like me somehow redeemed his utter lack of sophistication up until now.

I don't know how Gran managed to put my face on this ad but she did. And now this total stranger, whom for all I know could very well be a serial killer, most likely had my address back in Sweden and god knows what else about me. What the hell was she thinking???!!!

"Very interesting," was all I could manage to spit out before quickly spinning on my heel away from him, feeling his eyes burning into my back as I did so.  And as I stumbled away, I could feel that strange invisible leash between us pull tighter and tighter, almost snapping me back, until I manage to break free of its strange hold and stumble out of sight.

I really should know better than walking amongst the living after lying still and playing dead all day.

///

A/N

Thanks so much for sticking through our story so far! Glad you finally got to see Emma through her own eyes, and sober! Make sure if you liked this chapter to vote, comment and fan! We love all our fans very much!

C

****

Like All Your Fates? Show your support for the creators:

Follow:

Read Carrie's other books on wattpad on her personal account: http://www.wattpad.com/user/CarrieCutforth or check out her other projects on 

http://carriecutforth.com

Read Jim Martin's novel Young Americans here: (you can read the first 20 pages for free): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B019EY6MP4 //

All Your Fates © 2012 Carrie Cutforth, Jim Martin and Tom Liljeholm. All Rights Reserved.