MISFORTUNE

Genre: Horror

 

 

MISFORTUNE

By Randy Romero

 

Frank Caster was worried he’d stick out like an atheist in church at the Rockland County Fair. A thirty-four-year-old man, no kids, no date. Black leather jacket, faded and frayed blue jeans, his dark hair all greasy and slicked back. But nobody seemed to take notice.

He wandered the fairgrounds, treating himself to cotton candy and fried zeppoles. His eyes wandered as much as the rest of his body, perusing the fairgrounds, as if he was searching for someone in particular.

Everywhere he turned, vendors and carnies barked for his attention, and his money. But Frank wasn’t going to be suckered into spending his hard earned cash on rigged games or poorly constructed rides. He walked right past them, ignoring their calls and cries. He walked past the bumper cars, past the Ferris wheel, past dozens and dozens of screaming kids and their exhausted looking parents, stopping only when one attraction caught his eye.

A red tent at one end of the fairgrounds that housed a “real” fortune teller. Normally, Frank wouldn’t go for that sort of thing. And this certainly wasn’t what Frank had been looking for that evening, but something about it intrigued him. For starters, she didn’t have a cliché fortune teller name like Tatiana or Esmerelda or Madame Zorro. She didn’t use a crystal ball or tarot cards, either. Her name was Carissa and for just fifteen dollars, she offered to tell Frank his future.

“Take a seat,” she welcomed him. “I’m Carissa. Sign says fifteen dollars. Price is non-negotiable, despite what some of the drunks in this town think. You can call me Carissa if you’d like. Some guys prefer Madame Carissa…or Mistress Carissa. Those dudes are usually kind of creepy. I’d prefer if we could just stick with Carissa for this session.”

He sat across from her and put a ten and a five on the small, round table between them.

She was young, attractive. A brunette. Short but tough looking, athletic. A girl who probably knew how to fight, knew how to take care of herself. Frank pictured her taking kickboxing classes on the weekends and spin classes during the week. Maybe a Pilates class somewhere in between. Frank couldn’t imagine this was her real job. He couldn’t see her doing this sort of thing for a living. He guessed it was a hobby, something she did on the side for extra cash.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“You tell me,” he said with a smug smile.

She was silent for a moment. “Francis.”

“Well, Frank. But my mother used to call me Francis when I was a boy. So close enough. Not bad. You got to tell me, was that just a wild guess? Or are you the real McCoy?”

“Only one way to find out, Mr. Caster.”

A slight chill danced down his spine. It gave him a rush he found exhilarating. This was getting interesting.

“Take off your jacket,” Carissa said. It wasn’t a request. Frank obliged, liking where this was going.

“Give me your hand,” she said. Ugh, here it comes, he thought. A phony palm reading. I’ve been duped.

But instead, she merely maintained a steady grip on his hand while meeting his steely blue eyes. She never broke eye contact, never looked away.

“You’re not going to read my palm?” Frank asked, confused by her process.

“I don’t read palms. I read people.” She was silent for a moment. Then she spoke again. “You are a loner. But you are not lonely. You prefer it that way.”

“What gave it away?” Frank chortled.

“You’re calm on the outside, but inside you are filled with rage. I can feel it. It’s palpable. You…you’ve hurt people before. Emotionally…physically.”

She seemed to have touched a nerve with that line. She felt his hand twitch, but she held her grip.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” Frank said. “But I’m not a bad person. I’ve never hit anybody. Never raised my hand to a woman. Never in my life.”

“Wait, I’m getting something else. A girl. Her name starts with a J. Jessica? No. Jennifer. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Frank gasped. “Don’t you dare say her name,” he snapped.

“You did something to Jennifer, didn’t you? Something terrible. Something you can’t forgive yourself for. I can’t see what it is, but don’t let guilt drag you down, Frank. I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt Jennifer. And she’s just one of many girls. It’s not worth beating yourself up over. It’s okay to forgive yourself.”

Frank didn’t say anything.

“Was she your wife, an ex girlfriend?” Carissa asked.

“You tell me,” Frank said again, though not quite as smug as before. “You know I thought you were supposed to be telling me my future, not my past.”

“Fortune telling isn’t an exact science. Readings can be vague and mysterious. Past, present, and future can all merge into one. But be patient. We’ll get there.”

Frank was silent again. Then he said quietly, “If you must know, Jennifer was the only woman I ever really loved.” She was my first.

“Wait…hold on, I’m picking up on something else.”

Carissa’s brown eyes widened. A plethora of names came flooding to her. All women that Frank had hurt over the years. Not just broken hearts, but broken bones and cartilage.

Frank jerked his hand away. “So what’s your summary?” Frank asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“I can see that you’re an evil man. You’ve hurt a lot of women in your life, Frank Caster. You should be rotting away behind bars. And if I have anything to say about it, you will be soon.”

Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. In more ways than one. She’s the real deal. But I’m afraid I can’t let her turn me in. My work isn’t done yet. It’s a shame I have to kill her now. I wonder if she can see it coming…