Fate's Return (Twisted Fate, Book 2)

Chapter Seven

The next time I decided to plan a run, I would make sure to drive there and run back. That way there would be no surprises I couldn't handle, though knowing my luck, this wouldn't happen again if I was prepared. No, it would wait somewhere in the cosmos of karma until it could catch me off guard. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fun for the powers that be.

I stood from the top step of our porch and brushed off the seat of my pants, then reached for the doorknob. Clenching my teeth, I tried to ignore the cold from the cement that had seeped through my wet clothes and jiggled the knob. I'd already wasted time walking around the house, checking each window to see if it was open, but had no luck—total karma after what happened with Gabe and Mike.

How many bad things had to happen before something good could arrive?

Where were my parents? You'd think that if they'd seen my car, it might have dawned on them to wonder if I had my keys, but no. I'd love to say my stupidity was a surprise, not that they should expect their seventeen-year-old daughter to be that irresponsible, but still. It wasn't the first time. Everything happens for a reason. Right. More like everything happens without a reason.

I jerked the handle right, then left, not caring if it broke and I had to pay to replace it. It could be added to the list of things I was going to have to dip into my savings for. First my iPod and then the door handle. I should just stay home until college starts.

If I ever met whoever oversaw this kind of stuff, I was going to tell them exactly what I thought of their so-called 'reasons'. I had faith only in that which deserved it. Destiny? Fate? A higher power? They all left me feeling pretty faithless, like their crap had built for so long, it was time to clean house.

Twisting the knob again, I pushed against the door with my shoulder.

Click.

The door handle turned to the right and I pushed harder, nearly falling to land on my face as it swung inwards. What the...?

Locked doors didn't open without a key.

For a moment, everything went white. I bent at the waist and reached up, holding my forehead with my hand, and held my breath as I waited for the dizziness making me want to throw up to pass. Twice in two days. Either I wasn't eating enough, eating something that didn't agree with me, or I'd developed an aversion to stress—things that I couldn't explain—that came with nasty side effects.

After five minutes, I stood straight and looked around as though some unseen force was responsible for what was happening. If I could locate what that was, I wouldn't have to question myself. But, of course, that wasn't possible. Giving up on what I wouldn't find, I leaned forward, grabbed the frame, and swung the door open and closed, never actually shutting it, so I could look on both sides. I tried five times, hoping to find something to prove I wasn't whacky, but nothing explained it. Finally, I locked the door, keeping it ajar with my foot, and found that it worked fine, so I ran to my bedroom and grabbed my keys, and tried again from the outside. Same thing.

Gabe was right—I'm not sane.

I locked the door as I shut it for the final time, and ran to my room to hide, turning on every light to keep the shadows from the cloudy sky outside from forming within. How could I explain it? It was senseless, impossible. But, seeing as I was inside, I couldn't deny it.

The door was locked, and I entered the house without needing keys.

***

Suzie showed up for dinner, timing her visit so that she wouldn't miss out on my mother's Saturday night 'menu'. It was the only time we ordered in, rotating who picked the restaurant, and the only rule was that it had to be delivered. Just to keep a balance of home vs. take out, my mother made dessert. Always.