Meeting Destiny



  MEETING DESTINY

  Destiny Series, Book 1

  2nd Edition

  Nancy Straight

  Copyright 2012 Nancy Straight

  ISBN: 978-1-4507-2109-7

  Acknowledgements

  Meeting Destiny would not have been possible without the support of several incredible people. Rebecca Ufkes’ enthusiasm and insight were invaluable; she provided the encouragement I needed to write the story. Ryan Lemire and Julie Kabalka read and provided much needed feedback to make the story believable. Linda Brant edited the story and polished it until it shined!

  The amazing cover was designed by Joy Stroube at dreamscapecovers.com. The model on the cover is Mihaela Voicu.

  Finally, my husband Toby has been supportive of my every adventure. My deciding to write and publish a book was no exception.

  Thanks to you all!

  Chapter One

  Seth stopped by to get a salad halfway through my shift – it’s one of the only things he’ll eat from the menu. “I’m hitting the library. You need a ride home tonight?”

  I shook my head, “No, I’ll catch a ride with Melissa. Call me later?”

  “Sure, but it’ll be late.” He leaned across the counter, “I miss you already.” He’s the sappy romantic type. Seth and I have lived next door to one another our whole lives, our moms were best friends in high school, and we’ve been dating, I guess, since middle school. As I watched Seth make his way to the parking lot, I saw someone coming through the door who made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  I watched the man closely, not paying attention to the order monitor or anything Melissa said. He must have felt me staring at him because he caught my gaze for a second. Neither of us moved. He stood two steps inside the doorway as if arguing with himself whether he wanted to be here.

  The man had bushy brown hair that looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days and likely not any kind of shampoo in weeks. His hair lay in all different directions. It looked dark brown, but I couldn’t tell if that was really the color or the grease from neglect. His face looked like leather, covered in stubble, with deep crevices from the sun and a sunken in cheeks. He was slender and tall, easily five eleven, maybe an inch or two taller.

  His clothes were a mess. He was wearing a dirty white t-shirt hidden under a thick green winter coat. The coat looked like the old Army jackets from the sixties with a large silver zipper. The coat’s length hung well over his thighs. It was unzipped and hung over blue jeans that were too long and too big for his frame; maybe at one time they fit his waist, but that was at least twenty pounds ago. His appearance made me think of a homeless person, maybe an addict whose addictions had shrunk his body, maybe a vagrant happy to find a decent pair of jeans from Goodwill.

  His appearance didn’t disturb me nearly as much as his expression. It was as if he were looking through the people, like the people in the restaurant didn’t actually exist. The hair on my arms joined the hair on the back of my neck, all at attention. I felt uneasy: I don’t know how I knew, but I knew this man was trouble.

  I scanned the room and saw several tables had opened up. It looked like there were maybe twenty customers, not nearly as many as just fifteen minutes ago. All seemed to be oblivious of this newcomer.

  “Lauren!” The voice caught me off guard and quickly brought me back to reality. Melissa looked frustrated with me, “I need four fries and two cheeseburgers.” From her stare, she must have had to repeat herself. I watched as the customer wearing the green coat moved from the door to her line. I put the fries and cheeseburgers on the tray and pretended to be looking up at the order monitor.

  Embarrassed, I managed, “Sorry, I must have been daydreaming for a second.”

  Only two orders were in line. A woman in her late thirties, who looked like she had just left an office, had her four-year-old son in tow. The four-year-old was babbling as if he hadn’t been able to talk all day. I only vaguely heard his questions, “Mommy, can I have a toy? Can I have a boy toy? I don’t like the girl toys. Remember when I got a doll? I want French fries. Can I have chicken? Mommy…”

  The green jacket guy was bad news, and I knew I had to get Melissa away from the counter, even if only for five minutes. Before the exhausted mom could place her order, I tapped Melissa on the shoulder. “Hey, Wanda wants you to go inventory the freezer.” I am a horrible liar; I made a conscious effort not to make eye contact with her. I just needed her out of the way until the green jacket guy left.

  “No way, I didn’t bring a coat. I’m not doing the inventory.” She blasted this louder than I had expected, and I winced, turning around to see if Wanda had heard the exchange. Wanda was assisting the drive-through and luckily paid no attention to the two of us. “Besides, I did it last week and did a miscount - too many beef patties on this week’s shipment. Wanda told me not to do the inventory alone again - ever.”

  I needed to make this sound good, so with as forceful a voice as I could muster, I looked straight into her eyes, “Look Melissa, I’ve got plans tonight and can’t work late. You can’t handle the front by yourself. If we’re going to get out on time, you have to figure out how to do basic math and get a count on the freezer!” My angry voice devastated my upbeat friend, and the hurt on her face was as clear as if it had been written in marker. “Just go.”

  Stepping to the register, I put my back to Melissa, betting she would depart without any argument. I took the order for the mom and son while watching every move from the man in the green jacket. He was looking around wildly at each of the exits, over his shoulder, through the windows; I did my best not to catch his eye again. Rather than piecing their order together and going on to the man in the green jacket, I waited for their order to be complete.

  I took a deep breath and told myself I was overreacting. He didn’t force his way to the front of the line. If he were really dangerous, he wouldn’t have acted like a normal customer. It’s not like I haven’t served people who were poorly dressed and in need of better hygiene. I tried to tell myself that he was just a hungry man in need of a shower.

  No, if anything, I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and every fiber of my being told me this guy was bad news.

  As I got the exhausted mom’s to-go order, I was thankful that she was as anxious to leave the restaurant as I was for her to get away from the man standing two feet behind her. Her son continued with an endless string of questions, although I believed she was tuning him out as well as I was. The working mom thanked me and walked straight to the nearest exit.

  My stomach felt like I had eaten a rock - or maybe a whole box of them. The ache from my stomach now joined the tiny hairs on my neck and arms that hadn’t relaxed since this stranger walked through the door. My heart started racing so fast that I could actually feel my pulse through my skin.

  With as cheerful a voice and smile as I could produce, I finally looked at the man and asked, “May I take your order?” This was the first time I had made eye contact with him since he first stepped through the door.

  His hands were in the pockets of his jacket. He broke eye contact and looked at the menu behind me. In a hushed voice, he whispered, “I sure am hungry.”

  Rather than a smart response like, “Well duh, this is a restaurant,” I waited patiently, plastering the most pleasant look on my face that I could find.

  My heart refused to slow down. “Take your time,” I answered as casually as I could. I looked down at the register, thinking too much eye contact might agitate him. I realized that by now Melissa was safely in the freezer, probably pissed, but at least she was safe. Five minutes after this guy goes, I’ll go back and apol
ogize to her. I’ll explain that I’m really a lunatic instead of a jerk.

  “I know what I want,” his voice boomed. I looked back at him; before my eyes reached his, they stopped at his waist where I could see he had a gun. I stared at it as he slid it back into his pocket. I was thankful he had only shown it to me and hadn’t brandished it, sending the customers into a frenzy. Knowing the potential horrific outcome, I was relieved that it was just he and I who were aware of his gun. Unfortunately, he was the only one aware of his intentions.

  I kept my eyes trained on his pocket. Without looking back to his face, I asked, “What can I get for you, sir?” My voice didn’t crack, and I gave no indication of the fear that enveloped me. My reaction, or lack thereof, might have surprised him a little.

  He paused, eying me carefully before he demanded, “I’d like some food and any cash you have in that drawer.” I could see he was pointing his gun through the pocket of his jacket as he motioned to the cash register.

  I finally broke my gaze from his jacket, remained as calm as I could, and answered, “Okay sir, le’ me get your order.” Not wanting to take a chance at him staying here one second longer than he needed to, I grabbed a smorgasbord of food from the counter: chicken sandwiches, fish sandwiches, double cheeseburgers, hamburgers, fries and onion rings. I grabbed a handful of all the condiments in the bin and put it all in our largest to-go bag. Moving to the register, I reached for the “cash sale” button when I heard the same high-pitched voice I was certain had just left the restaurant.

  “Hey! I didn’t want a girl toy. I’m a boy.” The child was notably upset, but I didn’t take my eyes off the man with the gun. I reached under the counter to get the boy a new toy. My fingers struggled to find the large toy box without the aid of my eyes showing them the way. I grabbed a handful of them and passed at least five to the boy without even looking at him.

  The man with the gun was infuriated. In a thundering voice, he shouted, “What the hell are you doing? You’re ignoring me to give this little brat a toy?” His voice was fierce, and his look vicious.

  Quietly and only to the man, “It’ll only take a second.” The toys were already in the boy’s hands, “and he’ll get out of the way.” The man’s uproar caught the attention of several of the customers, as well as Wanda, the manager on duty. I knew if Wanda saw anything she didn’t like, she would be at my side in the blink of an eye.

  I didn’t break eye contact with the man and made my body language as relaxed as possible. In the most cheerful tone I could project, “I’ve almost finished your order.” I wondered to myself if it sounded too strained? I was sure it did. I willed in my mind for Wanda to stay where she was.

  Wanda must have heard what I had just told the man, but thankfully she didn’t come to my assistance. I knew she was watching closely, but at least she was watching from a distance. I didn’t dare turn around to see.

  “I want a robot. I already have all the cars. Can I have the blue robot? My dog chewed up my other one, and I really liked it. It was my favorite.” I felt his hopeful smile beaming at me.

  His mother appeared behind him, “Frank, don’t be so demanding; she doesn’t have a blue robot, and she’s very generous to give you so many toys. What do you say to her?” She smiled at me, oblivious of the danger in a green jacket.

  The little voice responded, “But I already have all these. I want a blue robot.” The sweet expression that was there a second ago evaporated.

  Without breaking the gaze of the gunman, I answered the boy, “I’m sorry. That’s all we have. Have a good night.”

  The child stomped his foot and screeched, “But I already have all these!”

  His mother was obviously accustomed to his tantrums and did her best to get him away from the counter without a full-blown melt down. She called, “Goodbye, Frank, I’m leaving” and started walking to the door. The child erupted with tears, screamed, and threw his body at the counter.

  I saw the man rotate his body toward the child, the gun drawn in full view of the restaurant. His fury wasn’t masked. I didn’t think: I just reacted. I leaped over the counter between the furious gunman and the unruly child.

  It sounded like a door slammed. The noise must have rattled the gunman as I watched the fury on his face melt into sudden fear. When I first got over the counter, I wasn’t able to stand upright immediately. I’ve never been all that graceful, and leaping over a counter made me a little woozy. I could see the confusion on his face as my body was clearly protecting the child. I used as authoritative a voice as possible. “Leave the boy alone. I’ll give you what you want. You don’t need to use the gun.” He looked at the child on the other side of my body, but then returned his wild gaze to me.

  The gunman opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes were wide. I wasn’t sure but guessed in that second my sudden movement across the counter must have been more graceful than I realized. I must have thrown him off guard. “You can put your gun away; I’ll give you the cash, just don’t hurt anyone.” My voice was forceful, and I realized instead of moving away from him, I was actually leaning into him as my volume increased.

  All the fear and anxiety I had felt disappeared. It was replaced by a new wave of confidence. I knew it was likely short-lived and probably a byproduct of all the adrenaline I had pulsing through my bloodstream. My only priority was the safety of the people in the restaurant; I considered moving toward the cash register but believed that might be too offensive of an act. It was bad enough that I was leaning toward him, no sense making him think I intended to tackle him.

  Much to my surprise, he put the gun back in his pocket and turned away from me. I was vaguely aware of the customers who had dived to the floor, trying to locate whatever protection a table might give them. I heard several screams, but they seemed so distant. The man grabbed the bag of food from the counter, and in one smooth motion, rotated his back to me and was out the door in seconds.

  Frank’s mother had been at the opposite door from the one the robber had just run through. When I looked at her again, she was standing behind me screaming. Why would she scream after the man left? I didn’t believe anyone had even paid attention to the man but me; hearing her screaming after the fact was just plain weird.

  Wanda ran from behind the counter, phone in hand as she ran to the door he had just bolted through. She reached for the deadbolt latch and turned it. She grabbed her keys from her pocket and locked a second lock into the floor, nervously jerking it into position. Then she pulled the wire mesh from the ceiling down to the floor, and locked it the way we would if we were closing the restaurant.

  She sprinted past me, pushing the screaming mother out of the way. Wanda nearly yelled into the phone, “There’s been a robbery at Tasty Burger, 1545 North Main Street. Send the paramedics.”

  She was obviously not thinking clearly. She had asked for paramedics when she should have asked for the police. As I thought about it, the paramedics were a good idea: the child’s mother was still screaming with loud sobs behind me. She must have gone into shock or something.

  I was in awe of Wanda. How did she know to react so quickly? The police must show up automatically for a robbery. They’ll think this is a waste of time when they find out the robber only got away with $30 worth of food and condiments. The thought of explaining what happened to the police made me laugh – not many folks get held up for cheeseburgers.

  I realized that Melissa was still in the freezer, and I needed to go tell her what happened. I started to go around the counter as Wanda finished locking the second door the same as she did the first. This whole effort of locking deadbolts and engaging the high security doors took less than forty-five seconds. I’d never seen Wanda move so fast. I caught Wanda’s eyes as she was walking to me and told her as quietly as I could, “I’ve got to get Melissa out of the freezer.”

  Wanda g
rabbed my arm to stop me. “Let’s get you to a booth and elevate your leg.”

  Confusion must have spread across my face as I stared at her, “My leg?”

  Wanda very gently picked me up, my head and shoulders resting over one arm and my legs draped over her other. Wanda was wicked strong. How had I never noticed before?

  I didn’t understand why she was carrying me to a booth. I looked at my leg, and all I saw was crimson. Still confused, I looked over my shoulder for a broken ketchup bottle that I must have knocked over. Then the realization hit me: that crimson was warm and wet on my leg. It was my own blood.