Psycher Chronicles

Chapter 70

Remembrance

(Misha Tulley)

Sometimes irony strikes when you least expect it, that or may it is just the ever evolving sphere of coincidence that seems to stalk life as karma’s little shadow. The way no one can outright claim karma exists, but then is reminded over and over of the overbearing and heavy-handed reach of coincidences.

Which if anyone watches for long enough, they will often tell you that there are no such things as coincidences, just as there are too many threads of fate weaving items together to believe in anything as ephemeral as irony. Thus, when events play out to their logical conclusions, one can only truly see the signs of fate that are before them, and realize that fate is watching and apparently judging.

Knowing this absolute certainty of fate always watching and meeting out rewards, punishments, and warnings equally, Misha could only accept what happened to her as a sign that fate was watching and had not yet passed full judgement on her, yet.

“Team,” Coach Green began, her long form covered in the thick protective layer of a black with white striped Adidas windbreaker and matching pants. Her tone was serious, as she held a rather small box in her hands. Her tone was the no nonsense decibel that she used when she was giving out instructions that she either had no control over, nor did she want to argue the point over just how little power she had over these details.

Hearing her tone, everyone instantly snapped to attention with a form of rigidity to their stances as if they were ready for her to claim that the team was being disbanded. That had been a concern that with everything going on, and with budget cuts, sports, especially the girls’ sports, would be cut due to funding issues.

With the coach looking so serious, everyone appeared to be nervous, as if waiting for the axe to drop. Everyone but three people, the coach who was as unreadable as ever. Misha who was still indifferent and never truly let her real emotions play out on her face. Then finally there was Amoni who was unusually calm. Well, no, she wasn’t exactly calm. Rather she seemed to twitch and sway slightly in place as if she knew what was going to happen, but didn’t want to give anything away.

“As you have heard, the county has suffered a number of budget cuts over the past couple of months,” Coach Green continued.

Groans.

Hearing the words, team as one let out unified grunts of frustration that seemed to echo in the gymnasium.

“Now calm down, we knew this was a thing. Also, as I told you before, we were given the option to either disband or find external funding sources.” The coach continued.

At that recognition everyone tensed up, as they knew selling boxes of candy bars to the other students would be tough, but worth it if they could continue to play. At the realization that a lot of their class times would be taken up selling candy bars, many prepared for the inevitable conclusion.

“Well, as you might have seen many of the other sports teams have already begun selling boxes of candy to help raise funds.”

Again, more discontent filled the gymnasium as it sounded like the team would have to do something scandalous like providing car washes in winter, or something equally stupid.

“As you no doubt could have guessed, most of the teams that you see peddling wares were unable to find a donor in time. We too were unable to find a suitable donor in the time period provided.”

At that Misha and Amoni both stared quizzically at the coach, for ironically, the same exact reason.

“For you see, we were not able to find one donor, but two.” Coach Green said, then holding out her box, she opened up the contents to reveal two different badges.

“These are our sponsors, Phil’s Rustbucket Garage, thanks to Misha and her grandfather’s generous contributions,” the coach said, holding up the first badge that just said Phil’s on it, with a rusty bucket embroidered on a typical mechanic name plate.

“This will be worn on your right-hand side, like so,” Coach said, holding up the patch to a spot just below her right collarbone.

Then with the first badge taken care of, the coach took on a more serious tone.

“For the next sponsor, I want to take a moment to address a prominent figure and pillar of our community who sadly passed recently. As many of you are no doubt aware by now, Amoni’s uncle passed away recently. Mr. Bruce Lamar Jacobs was a very affluent man who worked tirelessly to support and build up our community, and above all he loved seeing his beloved niece play basketball. As such, the Jacobs have donated some of his finances left behind to help support not only the basketball team, but many facilities around campus. That is why I am proud to state our second badge of honor will be in commemoration of Mr. Bruce Lamar Jacobs and his immense heart.” Coach said reaching into the box and pulling a second plate from the box. This patch just had three white letters ‘BLJ’ sewn onto a black background.

Then to demonstrate the placement of the patches, coach Green unzipped her jacket to reveal her own uniform with the patches already placed and sewn into their correct spots.

“I will give each of these to you now. Know that while you all are part of the team, you will not be able to play in any sanctioned games, unless you have the sponsors’ badges clearly placed on your jerseys.”

At that coach began handing out patches in pairs to each member of the team, making sure to thank Amoni and Misha respectively for their family’s support.

Holding the patches, Misha could only stare at the three letters.

The three letters of the person she killed. The person whose name she would have to carry with her for at least the length of the season. Seeing the patch, Misha couldn’t help but think it was a message from the universe as a whole. A reminder that while she might have escaped mortal punishments, she was not above karma’s retribution, particularly if she pushed too far.

That said, she realized this moment for what it was, a simple acknowledgement and warning not to get too ahead of herself. A warning that she would have to walk a fine line of retribution from here on out. That if she still wished to punish Alishia and Rodger for their parts in her grandmother's death that she could very well gain karmic backlash.

Suddenly, Misha felt a slight burning sensation in her hand, as if the badge itself grew hot to the touch. Again, either her own mind interpreting and adding additional sensations that were not actually there to help understand the situation, or karma providing a very real tangible feeling to the warning she was clearly receiving.

Then just as the burning sensation got hot enough that Misha might have to do drop the patch or something, the coach spoke again, pulling Misha’s mind from the trance that had overcome her, and pulled her back to the real world.

“That gives you all three days to find an iron, ask a friend who has an iron, or take it to the tailoring shop on Main Street by Friday to get these patches applied.” Coach Green said, going back to her spot at the center of the formation.

Three days, before she would have to wear the remembrance of Bruce Jacobs, the ring leader of the group of wild unchained killers that killed for sport. Three days before every time she put on her uniform, an item that gave her both a sense of accomplishment and joy would have to be noted by the initials of her Grandmother’s killer.

Then Misha switched her vision to the first one, the patch of her Grandfather’s garage, the source of balance and strength in this world. Seeing that patch, Misha felt a wave of calm wash over her, as she realized that fate didn’t just bind her, but bound others that were close to her as well.

It wasn’t just her own life and body that were linked to karma, but she was also linked to others by karma. Knowing her grandfather, he would gladly sacrifice himself for her and her karmic debts. For that reason, and that reason alone, Misha decided to end things with Alishia and Rodger. She made plans to cut karmic ties to Ms. Clayton, and instead she would focus on living her life as is.

In her mind, justice had been levied, Alishia and Rodger had both been punished. While the two ring leaders who orchestrated the event were now dead, both Bruce Jacobs, the shaman and spiritual leader of the wild hunters. Along with Jerome, the future pack leader who would no doubt encourage others to act in such irredeemable manners in the future.

Two deaths and two injuries for the life of one innocent.

From a karmic perspective, Misha could accept such an outcome. Yet, from a personal perspective, Misha still felt the result lacking.

Exhale.

Misha exhaled deeply, and then swore she would cut karmic ties with Alishia and Rodger as well, making the situation complete.

Of course, karmic ties are never so easily severed.

***

(Alishia Stone)

Alishia and Rodger sat in Rodger’s van, an old Odyssey that was over two hundred thousand miles rack up, but a vehicle that was still great for overnight stays and campouts.

Steam filled the windows, the only sign of their previous interactions in the back, on the twin sized mattress that had been used to replace the back row of seats.

Idly the two sat patiently in the driver’s side and passenger’s seats, just staring forward at the exit of the building.

“You sure about this?” Rodger asked, a note of nervous comprehension in his tone.

“Yeah, I saw her coming here the other day.” Alishia responded.

“The same lady from the park?”

“The same old hag from the park.”

Hearing the words, Rodger was about to argue that the old lady had been sort of cute, given her age, but then quickly caught himself as he stared over at the girl that was sort of his on-again off-again girlfriend with benefits.

“So what are we going to do when we see her?” Rodger finally asked, figuring that there was likely something more to this process, other than just witnessing the person they both thought of giving them the worst case of food poisoning ever.

“I’ve decided that I will take her into my pack.” Alicia said.

“Your pack?” Rodger asked, trying to make sure he heard her correctly.

“Our pack, she will be under the two of us. And when you need some were-cougar you can get your fill.” Alicia said, her tone only half joking.

For a moment Rodger wondered if she was serious, but then quickly remembered the rules.

“Wait, shouldn’t we avoid turning those who are older than us?” Rodger asked, trying to remember the sayings of their old shaman.

“That is what you are supposed to do if we were going to immediately integrate her into the pack.” Alishia stated.

“Wait, aren’t we going to add her to the pack though?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually? So, what do we do between the time when we turn her and then?”

“The plan is simple, we make her feral. Turn her, set her loose upon the world, then come to her after she commits her first murder. After that, we offer to guide her and help her cover up her murders.” Alishia said, as if this was the most common thing to do.

Rodger paused and looked at the girl like she was crazy. She was, certifiably so, and Rodger had known it for a while now. But it was one thing to know, and another thing to see her psychosis in action.

“Why her though?” Rodger found himself asking, wondering if there was more to this. He had found an out, he was away from her clutches there for a moment. When he was with her, but for some unknown reason he had come back to Alishia.

Sniff.

Then all it took was one quick smell of the lingering scents of youthful passion that reminded Rodger of why he came back to her, even though she was only going to bring him down the longer he stayed with her.

“Because she’s rich, and despite everything does not go around with a security detail, making her a perfect target for us to lure, latch, and leech.” Alishia stated confidently.

“Lure, latch, and leech?” Rodger parroted, not quite understanding this phrasing.

“Yes, we lure her away and turn her, then latch onto her at her weakest moment, only to then leech away at her fortune. Then when she is fully committed to the pack, we use her to lure in more promising pack mates.” Alishia said.

Hearing the argument for, Rodger couldn’t refute the logic, and if everything went well, no one would be aware of their activities, nor would anyone be able to link them to the chaotic actions of the soon to be turned and left to go rampaging werewolf.

Allegedly there were rules and taboos against such actions, but that was only if the council of elders caught you. Given the recent activity to the pack, the alpha for the area was completely at a loss for what to do. Making this the perfect time to try new feats, particularly if they might actually be successful in the long run to the pack.

If worse came to worse, then it would just be the words of a slowly degenerating serial killer versus the two of them.

There was a lot of upside to this, also Rodger knew that if he refused here, with the old millionaire, then her next target might actually be her. Feeling mildly protective, he decided to go ahead with her plan.

“Okay, tell me what you need me to do,” Rodger stated, a note of conviction filling his voice.

***

(Ursala Jarnic AKA Ms. Clayton)

Double ping.

The moment Ms. Clayton left her temporary office, she heard and felt her phone vibrate letting her know that not one, but two supernatural creatures were nearby.

Not wanting to appear too anxious, Ms. Clayton pulled out her phone and immediately noted the direction of the two noted dots.

Seeing the dots, a faint feral smile filled Ms. Clayton’s lips as there were only a few monsters that still registered in this area. Then a quick glance in the direction of the dots showed her a damp and musty van sitting in what would otherwise be a pristine parking lot at the edge of the business district of town.

Realizing how close her targets were, Ms. Clayton came up with a plan.