You call this fate?

Chapter 12

I stumbled back into the apartment and let the door bang shut behind me.

Okay. I had to think about this like a sensible person. There was no way that man out there could have been the Christopher Rodwell I was thinking about. I could concede he had the same name, but there must be millions of Christopher Rodwells in the world. It wasn't exactly as unique a name as Dudley, was it?

And then there were his eyes. Okay, so they were sea-green, just like Alexander Rodwell's. But then again, that eye colour wasn't exactly so unique either. These people had a veritable cocktail of eye colours here! Why was it so unbelievable that his eyes were this particular colour? I mean, Ella had aquamarine eyes. And I knew for a fact she wasn't related to Mr. Rodwell. Come to think of it, his eyes weren't even the exact same shade as Mr. Rodwell's. A little lighter, perhaps, blander (I hoped this wasn't my bias talking).

Okay, I was being stupid.

He was not Mr. Rodwell's brother or Tasha's boyfriend. He was just a passing stranger I happened to meet who happened to have the same name as him.

Yes, that's right. Problem solved.

I took another step into the apartment, feeling like the happiest person in the world, smiling the biggest smile possible.

But...

My smile wavered.

What were the odds that a man named Christopher Rodwell happened to be so close to Tasha? What were the odds that a man with that particular combination of names just happened to pop out of thin air only weeks after Tasha started dating one of his specimen?

What were the odds indeed...?

The next step I took wasn't as lively as the first.

What to think and what not to think?

But then I shook my head. There were only two ways to find out who he had been and none of them said 'loiter in the corridor' in the instructions. Number one, ask the Williams'. Number two, ask Tasha.

I hobbled forward and stepped into the living room. It was empty. So, adjusting my hijab--which I had picked up before opening the door--I went where Charles and Howard had vanished to earlier.

Entering the kitchen, I found the Williams family cluttered in the limited space. Jenny was sitting beside her husband at the breakfast table, letting him wrap her hand with a bandage. Howard hovered above them, the magical-bag-of-wonders clutched in his hand. He looked up when I entered.

"Careful, now. I haven't had a chance to clean up that mess yet," he admonished.

I looked down. Inside the doorway a minefield of broken glass lay, the edges winking as if in warning. There was oil mixed in with the glass. Strange, long and green squishy-looking things lay in this unique concoction.

"I am so sorry, honey," Jenny apologised when she saw me. "I wanted to bring you my special pickle. But being the muddle head that I am," she giggled in her nervous little way, "I dropped the jar. I will get you something as soon as this is done." She cocked her head at the slow, methodic mummification of her hand.

"Please don't trouble yourself on my account," I said. "I am not really that hungry anymore."

"But..." she said, not understanding. "You must be."

"No. Not really. Not anymore." If only she knew...

"Oh."

She looked so heartbroken at my refusal that I opened my mouth to try to reassure her. But Charles spoke up before I could get a word out.