The Fate Merchant

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

     A bell chimed as Jasper bumped the door of the Quick and Easy convenience store with his shoulder and stepped into the sunshine, a massive slushie in each hand. Callie waited for him on a bench in front of the store, eyes closed, head resting against sunbaked brick.

     “Drink this,” Jasper said, proffering one of the drinks.

     Callie opened one eye, fixed it on the giant sweating cup with the icicle-laden words Brain Freezer! printed in blue lettering across its moisture-beaded surface, and took it. She closed her eye and held the cup to her forehead.

     “The straw goes in your mouth,” Jasper said, sitting down beside her.

     “Funny guy.” She slid the cup back and forth across her forehead.

     “Take a sip. You’ll feel better.”

     “Did you spike it?”

     “Yes.”

     Her left eye popped open. “Really?”

     “I tapped into the syrup supply when the clerk wasn’t looking. That’s an original Jasper J. Kravitz nitro slushie you’re holding, and if you don’t drink it soon, the ice is going to melt and kill the kick.”

    Callie took a sip and made the sort of face one might make if one were forced to swallow an overly sweet porcupine. “You have some serious self-harm issues, you know that?” She ripped off the top and dumped the slushie on the ground. “I think we need to talk about the picture now,” she said.

     “You’re sure?”

     “No, but there’s no sense putting it off.”

     Jasper rested his cup on the bench, removed the camera from around his neck, and loaded the picture into the viewer.

     In the picture, Callie stared back at them, or rather her reflection did. She stood before a full-length mirror and had cried recently, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, her pale cheeks streaked with mascara. Her red hair lacked its usual luster and draped her face like a faded and threadbare curtain. Behind her, a shaft of sunlight cut a streak through the gloom and landed on an unmade king-sized bed, its wrinkled sheets spilling over the sides of the mattress like the flayed skin of giant white whale. In her left hand, she held a sheet of paper on which she’d scrawled HELP JASPER KRAVITZ! in red lipstick. With her right hand, she buried the tip of a pistol barrel in the soft skin under chin.

     “Look at me. I’m a mess,” Callie said, her expression pained. “How old do you think I look? When is this supposed to happen? I’ve never been suicidal a day in my life. Depressed as shit, yes, but…” She leaned forward for a closer look, “Is that a room service tray on the bed?”

     “I think so. The empty beer bottles make it hard to tell.”