That’s when it hit him. He’d reached out to Morris. That could have looked as though he pushed him. Then he hadn’t done anything when he’d blanked out for how long he didn’t know. Anyone watching would look at him and put two and two together and come up with him as a killer. That was funny and ironic.

No, not funny. Terrible.

Should the police discover his escapades around Orelia, that he’d been at two of her talks, one easy to prove because he’d been carted off to the hospital, there was their case delivered on a platter.

He told himself he was being overly extreme. Nothing really happened that was in his control. His innocence would shine through.

The voice disagreed.

Nope, you look guilty and that’ll be the verdict.

He imagined the detectives going through Morris’ business contacts. Who had a reason to kill him? Ah, William Barnes. Top of the list. Ironic he’d be number one again.

She knows what you’re doing, Morris had said just before he fell.

Could she know about him and his pranks? Come on, that’s what they were really. Just nuisance games. Could this whole thing have something to do with her? Had she somehow willed this god-awful scenario onto him? If only Morris had given him more with which to work.

Get away, forget me, forget… please, you don’t want to mess with her, wasn’t much help. In fact, he was now in a worse position than before he came down to the river.

He decided he’d heed one piece of Morris’ advice: to get away. As he thought that, he felt a mass in his pocket. With everything, he’d forgotten he’d even had the damn gun. God, he really had lost his marbles carrying that thing around like he was Clint make-my-day Eastwood.

His thoughts were clearing now though. Keeping his back turned from the camera on the path light, he pulled out the gun, stared at the weapon, before flinging it as far as he could into the river. It flew in a graceful arc to plop into the water; ripples shimmered outward from the entry point to be gobbled up by the swirls.

Tomorrow he’d decide on the next move. Maybe he’d dodged a bullet or the arrow of destiny (my, he was poetic at times). All he knew was Orelia was somehow involved. Morris had said so, and William knew too because until she’d entered his life, nothing even close to these disasters had ever happened to him. He should take his very-ex-agent’s advice and get as far away from Orelia as possible.

As he hurried into the welcome darkness of the tree-lined path, mindful of the security cameras, he thought of the onslaught of bad luck she’d sent him. Maybe nowhere on Earth was far enough. Maybe his misfortune was a heat-seeking missile of doom, already targeted and on its way.

35

The argument began as arguments do, over something so small and inconsequential that Nem couldn’t remember the exact beginning, even a week later.