Fate's Past

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Chapters

Part One, The Road

Part Two, The Hotel

I.

II.

III.

Part Three, The Restaurant

I.

II.

Part Four, The Journey

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

Part Five, Yin & Yang

Part Six, The Destination

Epilogue

About The Author

Pandamoon Publishing

Fate’s Past

BY

Jason Huebinger

© 2016 by Jason Huebinger

This book is a work of creative fiction that uses actual publicly known events, situations, and locations as background for the storyline with fictional embellishments as creative license allows. Although the publisher has made every effort to ensure the grammatical integrity of this book was correct at press time, the publisher does not assume and hereby disclaims any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. At Pandamoon, we take great pride in producing quality works that accurately reflect the voice of the author. All the words are the author’s alone.

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pandamoon Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

www.pandamoonpublishing.com

Jacket design and illustrations © Pandamoon Publishing

Art Direction by Matthew Kramer; Pandamoon Publishing

Illustrations by Amy Mihara; Pandamoon Publishing

Editing by Zara Kramer, Rachel Schoenbauer, Cristin Iris, Daphne Tuccitto, and Jessica Reino; Pandamoon Publishing

Pandamoon Publishing and the portrayal of a panda and a moon are registered trademarks of Pandamoon Publishing.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Edition: 1.01

ISBN 13: 978-1-945502-35-4

Dedication

This is for a trinity of women: my mom, for her unwavering love; my Dove, for being my muse; and my Aunt Pat, for putting Garp in my hands and changing my World.

Fate’s Past

Part One

The Road

Cameron’s swerve jolted Carrie from her slumber into fearful arousal. What the hell is wrong with you? Carrie cried as she patted herself to ensure that she was still in one piece.

Sorry, Cameron said, dread dripping from his shaky voice. I saw something.

What are you talking about, Cam? What did you see?

You didn’t see it? You didn’t hear it?

"Hear and see what?"

I… Cameron paused. I thought I saw a light.

A light?

Yeah, a really bright light. And a loud sound, like a honk. You seriously didn’t hear anything? Nothing at all?

Babe, I was asleep and didn’t hear anything until you swerved.

Still shaken, he refocused on the road and said, I guess it was in my head.

Your head? What the hell does that mean? You okay, Cam?

Yeah, I am. I swear, though, that light felt so real.

She looked over and scanned him up and down. His trembling hands, his wide eyes. She had never seen him so flustered. Cameron, you promised me you would stop if you got too tired.

I know.

I don’t think you’re cool to drive.

Yeah… You may be right. I’ll look for a place to stop.

Where in the heck are we, anyway? She glanced out the window; the headlights faintly illuminated the surroundings. The abrupt awakening had disoriented her vision, but as it cleared, a haze remained. As the car sped by, the environment bled together in a blur, and a sense of lifelessness crept through her veins.

Actually, I’m not sure, he said. I haven’t seen a road sign in a while.

What do you mean? How long have we been driving since we stopped at the gas station in Beaumont?

I don’t know, he muttered. This answer and his insecure tone frightened her. Even when Cameron was uncertain, his conviction masked his doubts. But next to her, she saw a man devoid of even feigned poise. He picked at his wavy brunette hair with his right hand, a tick of his when stressed. He sat hunched, the muscles of his athletic build tense as he gripped the steering wheel like a bull rider taking the rope.

What time did we leave the gas station in Beaumont? Carrie asked.

9:20 or so.

And what time is it now?

He looked at the center dash. The digital clock flashed 00:00.

What the hell? He pounded the dash. It’s never done that before. After a few seconds, he asked, Do you have a watch?

Carrie lifted her arm and looked at her self-described comfy Timex digital watch. The watch’s face blinked 00:00. She shook her head and refocused her sight, but the watch still read 00:00. She shook her wrist, pressed every button, but it continued to flash 00:00.

Hesitantly, she took off her watch and handed it to Cameron. After taking the watch, he studied it for several seconds, rotating it and pressing the buttons. He then placed the watch in one of the car’s cup holders and gripped the wheel with shaky hands.

She asked, Did you bring a watch?

No, I forgot to bring one. What time does your phone say?

She pulled out her iPhone from her purse, swiped to the right, and entered her password of 0904––the date she met Cameron. The phone’s battery meter had a full charge. She started different apps, each of which worked. But she also noticed that the phone’s clock read 00:00 and the phone displayed no signal bars. When she tried to access the Internet, a message popped up: NO SERVICE. She clicked into an app that displayed world clocks; the time in New York read 00:00 and the time in Cupertino read 00:00. She tried to call Cameron, but after the phone attempted to connect for a few seconds, it flashed a dropped call message.

As she fumbled with the phone, Cameron asked, What’s wrong?

My damn phone isn’t working.

It isn’t turning on?

No, that isn’t it, she said as she placed her phone back in her purse. Give me your crappy phone for a sec.

Hey, don’t call it crappy. It’s never failed me. He handed her his phone from his front right pocket. He hated technology and had clung to his flip phone until Carrie forced him to upgrade to a smart device. Then he only bought a brick of a Blackberry.

But even with its streamlined functionality, his Blackberry fared no better than her iPhone—its clock also read 00:00 and it could not find a signal.

Dammit to hell, she said as she slammed the Blackberry’s button.

What?

Your crappy phone isn’t working either.

Huh? Let me see. He took the Blackberry from her and performed the ballet of checking his phone while balancing the vehicle’s steering wheel. After about twenty seconds, he placed the Blackberry in the car’s cup holder next to Carrie’s watch, gripped the wheel with both hands, and looked over at her. What the hell is going on? he asked.

I have no idea.

Carrie sat in silence for several minutes and scanned the darkened scenery for milestones—a sign, a gas station, a hotel, a town. Any sign of civilization would do. But none came, and slowly she began to comprehend the uncertainty of their condition.

Cameron also sat quietly, occasionally looking down at the watch in the cup holder. Cameron realized he had no idea what time it was, as if the concept of time slipped away and left only the outline of how that instinct used to feel. Yeah, I definitely need sleep, he thought.

Carrie sat back in her seat and practiced the breathing exercises she learned in her yoga classes. Her pranayama did little good. You seriously have no idea where we are?

No, Carrie, I really don’t. And Cameron had no clue. His sense of direction had abandoned him.

Carrie said, Maybe we should turn around and head back to Beaumont.

He waved his hand dismissively. "We’re not turning around, Carrie. Look, I don’t know exactly where we are, but we have to still be on I-10 because I haven’t exited the highway. At this point, I’m sure we are much closer to Lake Charles or Crowley than Beaumont. Just try to relax. I got this, okay, sweetie?"

She seemed comforted by his words, but they lacked one important explanation. Well, why do you think our electronics aren’t working? she asked.

Cameron’s head slumped for a moment while he thought. Well, the phones aren’t getting signals because we are out in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, but as soon as we get into a bigger town like Lake Charles, I’m sure they’ll work again. Your watch isn’t working because it’s old as hell. And, well, my car’s clock isn’t working because my car is a piece of shit.

He looked over at Carrie, who was obviously not satisfied with his haphazard explanations. She sat upright, which she often did when nervous. She scratched the side of her head, her brunette hair pulled back in a ponytail. He hated seeing her like this, her thin frame so tense. He just wanted her pretty smile to come back. 

I’ll tell you what, he said. We’ll keep driving for another hour or so. If we don’t get to Lake Charles by then, we’ll turn around and head back to Beaumont. That cool?

Well, okay, she said, hesitating. There’s only one problem with that plan.

What’s that?

How are we supposed to know when it’s been an hour? It’s not like we have a clock to go by.

Hmmm, good point, he said. How about this…? He fiddled with an elongated button protruding from the driver’s side dash. I’ll reset our trip gauge to zero. We’ll drive sixty more miles, and if we don’t hit Lake Charles, we’ll turn around. Okay?

Okay, Carrie agreed, and her nerves eased. Relieved there was a plan beyond aimless driving, she gazed out the window at the scenery—each blur of a tree looked exactly like every other tree that flashed by.

Ugh, Carrie exclaimed. I still don’t know why we couldn’t have flown.

It’s a pain in the ass to fly from Austin to New Orleans. With all the time wasted in the airport, it’s not much faster to fly. Plus, with your job, who the hell knows when you’ll be available.

Mmhmm, Carrie said. Let’s be honest. You’re just too much of a pansy to even fly a few hours.

Hey! Cameron exclaimed. Forgive me if I don’t trust some damned tin can flying through the sky.

I know, I know, Carrie said. I’ve heard the whole spiel before. And anyway, who are you to give me work grief? You work sixty hours on a slow week.

Welp, you met me in law school. What did you think was gonna happen when I graduated? Assumption of the risk, babe.

Hey, what happened to the rain? she asked.

I didn’t even notice that it had stopped.

Weird, remember it was raining so hard?

Yeah, but we moved past it after you fell asleep, he said.

Oh? Crap, that’s another good reason not to turn back.

Maybe. We’ll see. But the good thing about the rain stopping is that I really have to pee. Mind if we pull over for a sec?

Of course not, she said.

A few moments later, Cameron slowly drifted to the side of the road and reduced speed. There was no sound of dirt grinding as he pulled over. When the car came to a stop, he looked in his rearview mirror.

Hey, have you seen any other cars? Cameron asked.

Huh? What do you mean?

Since you woke up, have you seen any passing cars?

She considered his question for a few moments before responding. Now that you mention it, I don’t think I have seen a car.

Yeah, me either. Not a single headlight.

You’re not planning to take me out to the woods to kill me? Carrie joked.

Nah, what fun would New Orleans be without my girlfriend? he asked with a shit-eating smirk.

Yeah, yeah, she said while playfully shoving him. Whatever you say, Yin. Just go pee so we can get outta here.

Will do, Yang, he said as he grabbed a jacket from his backseat before exiting.

* * *

Cameron didn’t have to urinate. Ten months before the road trip, he promised Carrie that he would quit smoking. This promise proved far more difficult to fulfill than he had anticipated. Before Carrie, cigarettes were his means by which to settle, his constant companions to stable his emotions. And, for the first several months after his promise, he would break it every day. Carrie, to her credit, said little when he would slip up, though she knew whenever Cameron would grab a cig, in spite of his efforts to mask the stench. Carrie understood that attempts to quickly tame an addiction can backfire. And after a few months of gradual reduction, he smoked less and less; his slip-ups became weekly, then bi-weekly, and then monthly.

That evening, however, Cameron decided he needed a cigarette, though not to calm his anxiety. He was neither melancholy nor giddy, neither hurried nor contemplative. Cameron, in those duplicative woods, simply existed. And he hoped the cig would make him feel something. Anything.

The environment mimicked his non-mood. There was no breeze, the eve was not hot or cool, and he could not detect even a hint of humidity. The trees and shrubbery stood steadfast like paintings, without the normal rustle of the wind and passing animals. He did not leave footprints as he walked across the firm earth. He saw no signs that living creatures had ever explored the depths of those woods.

As he pushed back the limbs of the trees to make his way through the woods, the branches snapped back unnaturally without the typical momentum sway. Cameron did not break a single branch during his short journey; he did not knock down a solitary leaf. He walked for a minute but he did not hear any sound, natural or otherwise.

During his stroll, he realized that every tree was a mirror of its adjacent brethren—every branch, leaf, and shade was the same as every other branch, leaf, and shade.

He pulled out the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his left jacket pocket. He removed a cigarette and positioned it between his lips. The stick did not have the normal paper and filtered tobacco taste. The cigarette lacked all taste.

Cameron concluded that the cigarette must be defective, so he cast it aside and put another in his mouth. Like its predecessor, this one was also tasteless, but the strangeness of the cigarette made him crave it even more. He pressed down on the push button of the lighter to release butane, waited a few moments, and flicked. Nothing happened. He tried again, and once more, the lighter failed to light. He tried a third time, and seven more times after that. In a fit of frustration, he threw the lighter, the cigarette, and the pack as far as he could into the woods.

Something rustled in the distance. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, his fists clenched, and his muscles tightened. Someone watched him. He frantically looked all around, but saw no trace of an intruder. No movement, sound, or any other indication he had company. But unfamiliar eyes were watching him. He was certain of it.

Come out! Cameron yelled. I know you’re out there somewhere!

No response to his yells. The quiet remained, the still pervaded. He scanned his front, back, and sides, hoping to notice any subtle movement to confirm his suspicions.

I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after! Cameron yelled, and again he heard no response. Come out, dammit!

A deep growl approached.

* * *

Carrie sat in the car, concerned that Cameron parked to grab a smoke. Dammit, he was doing so well, she thought, though she understood that the circumstances could push anyone off of his or her wagon. They were lost, and Cameron stressed about their unguided rambling. The best way to read Cameron’s emotions was to look in his eyes, and his distant eyes looked afraid before he left the vehicle to pee.

She shared Cameron’s fear. There was just something disturbing about the area—she was no fan of rural Louisiana, but casual disdain was not the root of her concern. The area was too still, quiet, and unchanging. She rolled down the window and did not hear a single chirp, rustle, or howl. No calming breeze. No cars sped past their parked vehicle. And she desperately wanted to get back to something.

Yet the creeping lifelessness troubled her most. Warmth and promise had filled the past year, but as she sat in a car seat on the side of an unmarked road in an unknown part of backwoods Louisiana, doubt stung her. Questions rushed her mind—questions about Cameron, her job, and herself. She had not experienced such doubt in many years, and the possibility of its return petrified her.

Carrie decided she needed a distraction, so she grabbed her iPhone. She cursed, remembering there was no signal. Instead, she reached for the radio and scrolled through the stations. And though she increased the radio’s volume, the radio stayed silent. It didn’t even make normal scratchy static sounds.

She kept searching, and as she passed 100 MHz, she heard something: a brief and soft sound. She scrolled back, and again heard the sound. The sound only emitted at 100 MHz, so she left the radio on that frequency.

Carrie put her ear near the stereo, which did not affect the volume. Though too soft to decipher, it was high-pitched and came in short intervals, with a pitch range akin to a bell curve. She listened harder, and the noise hit a crescendo. It seeped into her subconscious, dancing its way through Carrie’s every hair, pore, and nerve. She felt paralyzed, trapped by the overwhelming, undetectable sound. The sound crept close and deep, and she could not even move to stop the subconscious invasion.

* * *

The growl came from Cameron’s back, and he turned to meet his attacker. There was nothing behind him. He turned to his left and right, but all he saw were trees.

He shook his head and rubbed his temples. There’s nothing there. It’s all in your head. His craving for a cigarette rushed back, and for a moment he contemplated searching for his discarded pack. But it was too late—he had no idea how long he had been away from the car, but he assumed it had been long enough for Carrie to worry if he didn’t return soon.

Cameron turned to head back to the car, but stopped when he heard the growl again. It was behind him once more; faint at first, the growl amplified. He knew he didn’t have enough time to turn; his attacker was closing, and closing fast.

He burst into a full-on sprint. He didn’t know if he was running in the correct direction, but whatever awaited him was better than what pursued behind.

As he ran, the growl grew louder and louder. No matter how fast he ran, the growl was faster. No matter how hard he pushed, the growl pressed harder.

Cameron felt the curvature of an unusual object under his right foot; his ankle turned, and sharp pain followed. Unbalanced, he flailed his arms outward, trying to regain control, to no avail. His head struck the hard earth, causing his vision to swirl. Warm liquid poured from his forehead. Pain reverberated from his top and bottom, but his fear of the growl trumped both.

Face down on the ground, he heard the growl above his helpless body; warm breath tickled the back of his neck. Drops of moisture spotted his nape—he assumed they fell from the teeth of his attacker.

He had little time to think. Bracing his