Magic Souls

Magic Souls

An Interactive Urban Fantasy

Michael La Ronn

Copyright 2014, 2017 © Michael La Ronn. All rights reserved. Formerly published as How to Be Bad: A Decision Select Novel. Published by Author Level Up.

Version 4.1

Cover designed by Lou Harper (www.coveraffairs.com)

Editing by Gary Smailes and Maya Myers.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue, and incidents described in this publication are fictional or entirely coincidental.

No part of this novel may be reproduced or reprinted without permission of the publisher. Please address inquiries to info@michaellaronn.com.

To get notifications when Michael releases new work, join his Fantasy Guild Fan Club at www.michaellaronn.com/fanclub

To Diana,

For your love and support.

And to Ray Bradbury:

Live forever!

How Does This Book Work?

It’s simple.

Select the link below to begin reading, or turn the page to see what happens if you don’t select the link.

~ Got it!

SORRY!

You didn’t make a selection. Go back to the previous page.

(These pages exist to stop you from getting lost.)

Annette

CHAPTER 1

The Promotion Commotion

It was the morning of the biggest presentation of my legal career, and I spent ten minutes practicing my speech in front of a potted ficus. The bronze faces of the partners stared down at me from the wall, and I tried to imagine my face among them. If my presentation went well, I’d become a mid-level associate at the Hanover Law Firm—the most prestigious law firm in the city—and I’d finally get my own office instead of having to share a cubicle.

I hurried through the hall, swung into the conference room, and discovered that the meeting had begun without me. The partners sat around a long cedar table, watching a plasma TV mounted on the wall. They swiveled their heads toward me.

You’re late, Bebe, said Annette Farwell, my arch-nemesis with stilettos and perky breasts. Her designer suit made my blouse and skirt look like consignment items. She wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting. She smirked at me from the head of the table, lacing her fingers together so that everyone could see her glittering maroon nails. I’ve been working on this case for six months, and I don’t appreciate you interrupting my presentation.

My PowerPoint slides hovered on the TV screen. Only at the Hanover Law Firm were the partners so busy that they couldn’t tell when attorneys were stealing cases from each other.

I nearly turned green when I saw Tucker Salinas sitting at the table. He looked sexy in his black suit and red tie, and I could smell his lavender cologne across the room. His wavy hair and brown skin made him stick out in the room full of pasty white people like me.

Wasn’t this your case, Bebe? he said.

Well—

Annette raised her voice to cover mine. Of course Bebe helped me. When she wasn’t on Facebook, she was wonderful. But time management is her weakness. It’s just like her to be late.

I wanted to say, I’m late because you rescheduled the meeting without telling me, but what came out was something between a pout and a nervous laugh.

The managing partner shot up. That’s all I need. It’s a tough decision—both of you do a great job. But on the basis of this case, Annette, we’re going to go ahead and promote you to mid-level associate. Bebe, we’ll discuss your performance at a later date.

Annette draped her palms over her mouth and sucked in air. I can’t thank you enough for recognizing my hard work. She schmoozed around the room, shaking everyone’s hands. The partners ignored me as they filed out, and when I tried to meet Tucker’s eyes, he looked through me, too.

It’s nothing personal, Annette said after the last attorney left. She primped her bun with one hand and packed her portfolio with the other. You’ll get your promotion in due time.

I blocked the door. You stole my case.

It’s so nice to finally hear you speak. I couldn’t tell if you were shocked, or if you were participating in one of your silent vegan protests again.

This is wrong, Annette. You never worked on this case.

You shouldn’t have left your computer unlocked.

You’re committing fraud.

You’re the fraud. Annette stepped toward me. And if you think I’m a bitch now, she said, I dare you to tell the partners. Then I can tell them how you broke company protocol and kissed Tucker Salinas.

How do you know that?

Sure, I had kissed him. I’d had too many cocktails at happy hour—super embarrassing—but he hadn’t kissed me back.

Annette saw me thinking and laughed. You know the rules. Any kind of personal contact is grounds for termination. I’ll make you wish that you’d dropped out of law school like you should have, and wonder why you didn’t major in English, spend the rest of your life writing erotica, and contribute to society in some meaningful way other than being a tool for my personal advancement. Go on, she said, pointing to the door, tell the partners.

I didn’t know what to say. Annette pushed me aside and slammed the door behind her, leaving me alone with the lingering smell of cologne, legal pads, and betrayal.

***

The law firm was inside an old Victorian mansion. No one used the third floor because the partners hadn’t brought the attic up to city code yet. It was dark and disorganized, with stacks of boxes and couches with plastic draped over them. A circular stained glass window gave the area an eerie light, as if it were haunted.

I liked to go there sometimes to think.

I sat on the landing and wiped my eyes. I kept thinking about how useless I was. Annette’s words shouldn’t have hurt me as much as they did, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. Maybe she was right. Maybe I had chosen the wrong profession.

It’s not fair, I said. I wish I could go through life and be mean to people without facing consequences.

At that moment, a pile of boxes tumbled over, and glassware spilled out. I jumped up and scanned the darkness, but I didn’t see anything. Maybe it was a rat. I got goosebumps, but at the same time it felt as if the temperature in the attic rose ten degrees.

I turned to go downstairs, but a tall, red-skinned demon in a suit and tie was standing in front of me. He had a long tail with a spade tip, and it circled behind him like an enchanted cobra. I nearly fainted when I saw him.

I accept your offer, the demon said, grinning. His voice was deep and rich. Annette is a real bitch, isn’t she?

I must have been hallucinating.  How’d you get in here? I asked, blinking hard.

He straightened his tie and extended a hand. Forgive me—I slide between dimensions so much that I often forget human formalities. My name is Ladouche.

You’re a demon, and I shouldn’t be talking to you.

But we just made a deal, Bebe. We’ve got to talk details.

I never made a deal.

A minute ago, the demon said, didn’t you say that you wanted to ‘go through life and be mean to people without facing consequences’?

Yes, but I wasn’t serious—

Sure you were. Besides, I’ve already granted your wish. He gazed downstairs. I’m tired of watching humans betray each other.

He put a finger on the banister and it burst into flames. The fire tore down to the first floor, where an attorney was standing with his elbow against the banister, talking on a cell phone. When the fire singed his elbow, the attorney leaped away and shouted every curse word there was, but for some reason, he never looked upstairs.

The banister returned to normal, and Ladouche laughed. From now on, you can do whatever you want. Be mean, ruin someone’s day. When you do, I guarantee that you won’t get caught.

W-why would I want to do that?

He grinned again and closed his hands into fists. Because you need your job; because you want revenge; because Annette will do this to you again if you let her.

No.

She isn’t the first, Bebe. Shall we go through the list of the three hundred and seven people who have manipulated you throughout your twenty-six years of existence?

Seriously? That many people? I didn’t want to believe it; I didn’t want to believe that any of this was happening.

Ladouche must have sensed my disbelief. How about Jessica Ramirez, who threatened to spread false rumors about your nether parts if you didn’t do her contract law homework?

She still failed, you know.

Or Manny Singh, Ladouche continued, who fooled you into trusting him, only to betray you during your legal internship? But for him, you would have obtained a full scholarship to law school. That was a seventy-thousand dollar mistake.

How do you know that?

I know everything, and I also know this: the number of manipulations you will experience in your life will increase five-fold if you do not accept my offer.

This is insane.

I’ll show you something insane, Ladouche said. He snapped his fingers, and a holographic screen hovered between us. Annette was on it; she was in the managing partner’s office.

If this is true, the managing partner said, She has to go. We need Tucker.

You know me, Annette said, I wouldn’t come to you if it weren’t important—and true.

No, I said. She can’t be—

The screen disappeared, and Ladouche frowned. In a few minutes, you’ll be unemployed. How’s that for insanity?

I backed away and shook my head. Fine. I don’t have anything to hide. Yeah, I kissed him. That’s not a crime, and if they fire me over some stupid firm policy, it’s just as well. It’s not worth the struggle.

Ladouche’s eyes burst into circular flames. You’re pathetic. What will it take for you to stand up for yourself?

I don’t know, but revenge isn’t the answer. I was not going to give in to his temptation.

Funny! Where’d you learn that? Church?

I put my hands to my head and tried to shake him out of my vision, but he wouldn’t go away.

Go home, then, he roared. Cry yourself to sleep, like you do every time someone exploits you. When you wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll realize that Annette is twelve thousand dollars richer, and that your only chance for a promotion is gone. You’ll have to go to another firm and start over. It’ll take years, and along the way, others will use you, too. You’ll look back on this moment and think, ‘I should have listened to Uncle Ladouche. I should have gotten my revenge.’ But by then, I’ll be helping someone else and will have forgotten you entirely.

I backed down the stairs, too afraid to take my eyes off him, but he kept stepping toward me.

If you don’t stand up for yourself, Tucker will never notice you.

That’s none of your business, I said, trying not to show that his words stung. You have no right to comment on my love life. Please leave, or I’ll call the cops.

Ladouche bowed, scowling at me all the way down, and then he vanished, leaving a veil of golden smoke in the air. It choked me, and I had to run downstairs to escape it.

The managing partner was waiting outside his office as I came down the stairs.

Bebe, we need to talk.

I couldn’t deal with getting fired on top of everything else that had happened, so I pretended to keep coughing and ran past him, ducked into my cube for my purse, and kept running all the way out to the parking lot.

***

My mind was on autopilot as I drove home. The sun was setting behind the city skyline, and it lit the horizon with an orange and pink fire—the kind of fire I felt inside as I thought about Annette. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

And Ladouche—as if the day couldn’t get any stranger. Was he real? Could his promise really be true? I had to admit, it would be nice to push Annette out of the third floor window, and shrug my shoulders to the police when they asked me who did it . . .

I heard a horn and glanced up; an SUV was barreling toward me. I screamed as its headlights brightened the interior of my car. I froze as it loomed near, but at the last second, I jerked my wheel. I lost control as my car zigzagged across the intersection and jolted to a stop on the side of the road, facing oncoming traffic. I heard a BOOM, and saw the SUV on the other side of the road, against a guardrail. The driver, a woman with long hair, rubbed her forehead as smoke rose from the hood.

I looked back at the traffic signal and my heart stopped. My light had been red.

A squad car pulled up behind me.

Crap.

The officer was at my window in an instant. He wore a tan uniform emblazoned with the Hanover sheriff star. He tapped the window with his knuckle, and when I rolled it down, he hooked his fingers in his belt and rocked on his toes as he spoke. You okay, Miss?

Officer, I’m so sorry—

For what?

I ran the red light. I handed my license to him, but he wouldn’t accept it.

No, the other car ran the red light. I saw it.

But—

I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

He tipped his hat and left me dazed. The accident had been my fault; it was obvious. Why hadn’t he given me a ticket?

I heard an erh-hm —Ladouche was in the passenger seat, reading a newspaper with a photo of the wrecked SUV on the front page, with a headline that said, UNINSURED MOTORISTS ON THE RISE! PROMISING ATTORNEY NOT AT FAULT, GETS HUGE SETTLEMENT.

Pretty impressive, yes? he asked, folding the paper neatly into compartments.

I nearly jumped out of the car. Seriously, stop appearing like that.

Of course you ran the red light, Bebe, but no one will ever know.

How could you? I cried. Look—that innocent woman is going to get a ticket because of your trick.

Stop worrying about other people. He waved his hands and the windows frosted over, preventing me from seeing out. He shoved his face in front of mine and said, Are you going to get your revenge or what?

You and revenge! What makes you think I want payback?

I’m giving you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re going to ignore it? Hmph. Go ahead and add this moment to your list of greatest regrets. Farewell.

Ladouche began to dematerialize, but something deep inside me wanted him to stay. I was too upset to think clearly, and I gave in to my emotions.

Wait, I said. Do I really have immunity?

He rematerialized and nodded.

I’m not a vengeful person, I said. I just . . . I just don’t understand how she got away with it.

Ladouche leaned in. It’s not your job to understand.

I stared at the frosted glass and tried to ignore my conscience—it was surprisingly easy. I accept.

He disappeared, but his laughter lingered as the windshield defrosted.

My mind kept settling back on Annette and her smug smile. Embarrassment welled up in the base of my stomach and gushed into my mouth; I wanted to hold it in, but I couldn’t. I screamed long and loud, and when I stopped, I was shaking. I had never let my feelings out like this before, and it scared me.

What was I going to do? I had to make a decision.

~ I went to Annette’s house.

~ I decided to wreak havoc from afar.

SORRY!

You didn’t make a selection. Go back to the previous page. Otherwise, you may get lost.

I drove to Annette’s subdivision, a quiet suburb on the north side of town, and I parked at the beginning of her street. I cased the area: houses were lit up here and there, and families were watching TV in their living rooms and eating dinner at their kitchen tables.

I reached into the backseat of my coupe, grabbed my black hoodie, and pulled it on. It was baggy and broke up my shape. When I pulled the hood over my head and checked myself in the rearview mirror, my face was so shadowed that I could hardly see my eyes.

I got out and started walking. With every house I passed, a streetlight flickered on, and a few stars twinkled into the dark blue sky.

I passed a lawn where the sprinklers were running. A woman walking a dachshund waved at me from the corner, but I stuffed my fists inside my hoodie and turned away, trying not to think.

Annette’s ranch was on the dead end, lit up like a gingerbread house. Her silver SUV was parked in the driveway, and the garage was open and empty.

I rested against a streetlight and wondered what to do next. Through the kitchen window I spied Annette, who was dancing around in her pajamas with a wooden spoon in her hand. She stirred a pot of boiling water, then spun about the kitchen and sang into her spoon as if it were a microphone.

Seeing her made me clench my fists and close my eyes. There was harshness in my throat that I couldn’t swallow down. I skulked away from the streetlight and crouched behind Annette’s SUV. I remembered that I had a pen in my pocket; I pulled it out, twirled it between my fingers, and—with a strength I didn’t know I had—stabbed the rear passenger tire several times, until air whistled out.

The street was still dark, and no one was around. I eyed my handiwork with satisfaction, but then my thoughts kicked back in.

That’s it, Bebe? Anyone can slash her tires.

I felt pangs in my stomach and knew that I had to do something else—something worse. I wanted to call her, but I didn’t want to use my phone.

I heard a chirp coming from inside my pocket; I reached down and pulled out a cheap cell phone. It was the pay-as-you-go type, the kind that gave detectives headaches because it was untraceable. I flipped the cover up and saw a text message on the screen that said, Happy calling! –L.

It was creepy how Ladouche could read my thoughts, but convenient.

I dialed Annette’s number, and her cell phone vibrated across the kitchen table. After several rings, she wiped her hands with a dishtowel, screwed her eyes at the screen, and answered, irritated. Hello?

I spoke in a squeaky voice. Mrs. Farwell, this is Glenda from Hanover Hospital. Your husband has been involved in a car accident.

Annette screamed so loud that I had to rip the phone away from my ear.

What happened?

He was struck by a drunk driver. We’re not sure if he’ll make it. Please hurry.

Click.

Annette stood in the kitchen as music swelled around her, and after a moment, she frowned and began to call someone on her phone.

No, she thinks it’s a prank. She’ll call her husband, and then she’ll know.

I did the only thing I could think of; I kicked over a trashcan.

Annette was outside immediately with a chef’s knife in her hand. Who’s there?

I saw her phone screen; the connection was almost complete. Then, it was as if I were watching myself: I felt my hand on a large rock, watched it trail through the air and strike Annette on the forehead. Her phone shattered on the asphalt.

Annette screamed, but the street remained dark; no one had heard her. She scrambled into the kitchen and ran out with her car keys, whispering, Oh my God. When she noticed the flat tire, she fell to her knees and cried.

I came from around the SUV and stood over her. My voice came out low and strong, nothing like my usual mousy tone. This moment is an indicator of your fate.

Annette crawled backward, but I kept stepping toward her. There’s no one to protect you now, no one to shield you from the horrible things you’ve done.

Who are you?

Who aren’t I? I asked, stomping my foot. I speak for all the people you’ve ever taken advantage of. I feel so sorry for you.

Annette wiped a thin line of blood from her forehead. You don’t know me.

Fark you and your arrogance, I cried. I know you better than you know yourself—there’s not much to know.

Annette withdrew; she collapsed onto her back, as if my words had been roundhouse kicks. She stared at the stars and breathed rapidly.

I hovered over her and shook my fist. We’re even, you evil birch. I backed away, and then I ran, slipped into the night as darkness protected me like a jacket. As I made it to my car, I heard sirens wailing, and I felt comforted that the police would never find me.

***

I felt like singing as I skipped into the law firm the next morning. Tucker held the door open for me, and after we passed the secretary’s desk, he hung his gabardine jacket on a coatrack and straightened his cuffs. He saw me staring at him—I couldn’t help it—and he smiled until the skin near his eyes wrinkled. I wanted to throw my arms around him and plant a kiss on his lips. After all, I was going to get fired today anyway.

Good morning! I said.

I assume you didn’t hear about Annette.

Just what I wanted to hear. Is she okay?

Not really. Her house burned down.

Her house burned down?!

Tucker was taken aback. She left some salmon in the oven. Someone played a prank on her and she forgot about it. The house went up like a roman candle.

I punched him on the shoulder. You’re lying.

She’s at the hospital, he said, looking at me with those caramel eyes.

Why is she in the hospital?

That’s the sad thing, he said, rubbing his shoulder. She was cooking an anniversary dinner for her husband—he came home just as the fire started. He tried to put it out, but he was burned.

Stop it. Just—stop it! I put my hands on my ears and sang. La la la la laaaaa—

It’s a shame, he continued. They just found out they were expecting. Oh, come on, are you going to sing forever?

When he stopped speaking, I sighed. Much better.

He didn’t take his eyes off me. The news reports say it was a black male, you know.

I snatched my purse and flew out the door. I stopped in an alley and began to cry. I didn’t want this. I just wanted plain vanilla revenge. With her twelve thousand-dollar raise, Annette could have afforded new tires. And Martin, I never wanted him to get hurt. Gosh, I didn’t even know him.

I never should have used those powers that Ladouche gave me, I said. I wish them away.

There was a smacking sound, and Ladouche was sitting on a dumpster with his legs crossed, eating an apple. What’s with the remorse? It’s so out of character compared to last night.

I wasn’t myself.

Of course you were, Ladouche said. You reached deep inside yourself and found a darkness you didn’t know you had. You surprised yourself—hell, you surprised me.

I was supposed to get revenge on Annette—not her husband.

Oh, yes—Martin, Ladouche said. He flicked the apple and clucked his tongue. That’s what happens when you try to be a hero. I hear he’s going to need a skin graft. A skin graft, ha ha!

I turned and walked away. We’re done, Ladouche.

He disappeared in a puff of smoke and reappeared at my side with his arm resting on my shoulder. He had a contract in the other hand. He pointed to a clause highlighted in red.

I ripped up the contract without reading it. Don’t talk to me ever again.

Ladouche shrugged, and the contract rematerialized in his hand. No, read it. I did something for you—I gave you unlimited power beyond your means, helped you fulfill your darkest desire. Now you’ve got to help me.

Let go of me. I’m going to turn myself in. I dialed 9-1-1, but a machine answered and said, We’re sorry, but the number you called is no longer in service . . .

I dialed the police, the fire department, city hall. All were out of service.

Phone service sucks in this city, Ladouche said, laughing.

Ladouche, what do you want?

You’re going to help me ruin more lives. He frowned. There are three people in this city that I just can’t ruin, curse their little hearts—three people whose light I cannot extinguish.

Why don’t you do it yourself?

Because I can’t get near them. The purity of their souls repels me. But you . . .

I won’t kill anyone on your behalf.

He appeared by my side and took my elbow. Who said anything about murder? I simply want their souls, Bebe.

You’re not making any sense.

You’re going to crush their optimism. You see, you’re such a good person that they’ll never see it coming. One act of random cruelty is all you need.

Why don’t you do it?

Because their souls repel me. I can’t touch them or anything that belongs to them. But you can.

I tried to shake myself from his grip. But what about my own salvation?

I’m a demon. What do I care about salvation?

And if I don’t do it?

Ladouche shrugged. He pointed to the law firm, and the front wall of the building became invisible so that I could see inside. Tucker was sitting in his office, talking on the phone. If you do not perform, I will take his soul in exchange for your inaction.

I lose either way.

Then I suppose you should start preparing for a life without love.

Ladouche twirled his finger, and white light emanated from Tucker’s body. He twirled his finger faster, and the light pulsed brighter. You have three seconds before I rip out his soul.

It wasn’t fair for Tucker to suffer because of me. I imagined Ladouche doing horrible things with his soul, imagined all the things that might never be between us. It was too much.

Stop. I’ll do it.

The white light returned to Tucker’s body, and Ladouche clapped his hands together with glee. I knew you’d do the right thing, Bebe. Really, you’ll find that taking three souls is quite easy.

Shut up and tell me who these people are.

CHAPTER COMPLETE!

~ Continue.

SORRY!

You didn’t make a selection. Go back to the previous page. Otherwise, you may get lost.

I drove to Annette’s subdivision, a quiet suburb on the north side of town. I parked outside her house, a ranch on a dead end street, lit up like a gingerbread house. Her silver SUV was parked in the driveway, and the garage was open and empty. I rolled down my window and heard wind chimes singing from the front porch.

I cut off my engine just as a squad car lumbered down the street and passed me. I looked the other way as the officer turned around at the dead end, drove back up the street, and disappeared around a corner.

Through the kitchen window, I spied Annette filling a metal pot with water. She was dancing and singing to herself as she broke spaghetti over the pot.

I tried to think what kind of prank I could play without looking like a dork. I sat in the car for a while until I thought of something. I giggled to myself as I dialed a number.

Plenty O’Pizza.

Hi! I’d like to order ten pepperoni pizzas.

Name, please.

Annette Farwell. I told him to deliver it to a neighbor’s address.

We’ll be there in twenty.

I dialed another number.

Fireside Pizza.

Ten pepperoni pizzas, please.

I kept calling until I had ordered seventy pizzas. It was going to be A-W-E-S-O-M-E, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to see how far I could go. I looked around my car, and saw the newspaper that Ladouche had been reading. There was an ad for a suicide hotline; I dialed it and pressed through the prompts until a woman answered.

Hello, my name is Beth and I’m here to help.

You couldn’t help me if you tried.

What is your name?

Annette Farwell. You’ve probably heard of me. I’m an attorney and a shark. I steal from people, and I hurt those close to me.

You did the right thing by calling. You really did, Annette.

I just want attention. I don’t want to, to do it, but I want people to forgive me. I don’t want to be lonely. I’ve done so many horrible things. Today, I stole a job from a co-worker. I got a twelve thousand-dollar raise that should have been hers. And you know what? It bothers me how little I care.

You must care if you called.

Funny. If you slapped me, I swear that I wouldn’t feel it. It’s like I’m Godzilla and everywhere I go is Tokyo, and even when I’m crushing thousands of people with every step, all I can do is roar and enjoy my power.

That is . . . quite the analogy, Annette.

The only way for me to feel anything is to give myself the ultimate pain.

That’s not the answer.

I pretended to choke up. I’m cooking salmon tonight, and I think this will be my last dinner. I should just leave the oven on, and, and . . .

Is that what you really want?

How do I know? I ordered pizzas for everyone on the block; they can enjoy my last supper with me. Soon, the street is going to light up with delivery trucks.

Why did you order so many pizzas?

Because maybe, just maybe, I can redeem myself with pepperoni.

It didn’t make any sense at all, but it sounded good. For a moment, I felt as if I were Annette.

Just then, a pizza truck careened onto the block and parked at the house next to Annette’s. A lanky teenage boy jumped out, lugging a tower of pizza boxes. He rang the doorbell, the house lit up, and a confused man answered the door. When the pizza boy demanded payment, the neighbor shook his head.

More pizza trucks appeared and parked in the driveway of every house on the block, and soon, all the neighbors were on their lawns, whispering to each other.

The delivery drivers clustered together on the sidewalk, gesturing toward Annette’s house. They filed up to her porch and rang the doorbell as the neighbors watched.

I leaned my head out so that I could hear.

Annette threw the door open, eyed the crew from head to toe, and scrunched up her nose.

One of the boys stepped forward. Miss, what kinda prank are you trying to pull?

You look like the prank to me, Annette said.

You ordered seventy pizzas.

Seventy pizzas, Annette said, enunciating every syllable. Why would I order seventy, cheap, greasy pizzas?

Dunno, but you’ve got to pay us.

Annette cackled and slammed the door in their faces.

The pizza boys murmured amongst each other, and the squad car that I saw earlier pulled into Annette’s driveway. A burly officer stepped out and surveyed the block—the pizza trucks parked haphazardly on the curbs, the pizza boys standing in a circle trying to figure out what to do, and the neighbors scattered across the yards with their arms folded. He cursed when they told him what happened.

Matches the call, he said, putting his hands on his hips. Looks like she also called the suicide hotline.

Annette opened the door when he knocked.

Officer, thank God you arrived. These—people—showed up at my doorstep saying the funniest thing.

Did you order these pizzas? the officer asked.

Don’t be absurd.

"Did you make any unusual phone calls tonight?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

I would.

God, all the questions! I’m so sick of meddlesome neighbors and bullshit like this. Sometimes, I hate my life—

I laughed aloud, but I covered my mouth.

The officer grabbed her arm gently. It’s okay, honey. I’m not going to hurt you. Sometimes life can be hard, but you can talk to me . . .

I had seen enough. I drove away and smirked into the rearview mirror until Annette’s house was out of sight. It might have seemed silly, but I had gotten my revenge, and I felt so much better.

***

I felt like singing as I skipped into the law firm the next morning. Tucker held the door open for me, and after we passed the secretary’s desk, he