The Cost of Free Will
Man willingly makes choices that flow from the heart, and sin can be attributed to these desires. James 1:13-15
“God damn it!” Meaghan threw the envelope on the desk and sucked the paper cut on her index finger.
I forgave her irreverence of my name, as I always did, and sent a healing aura to her pulsing digit. She pulled the finger from her mouth and smiled. Meaghan was about to face darkness for the first time in her charmed life, and I couldn’t interfere. Free will forbids me ever since humans became their own moral agents back in the garden. I could only watch, even as murder was in the air.
- God
“What happened?” Meaghan’s assistant Clare asked as she came into her office.
“They might as well make envelopes out of goddamn razor blades,” Meaghan said. “Clare, can you finish up this letter and get it in the mail? I’ve got to get to the train station.”
“Absolutely,” Clare said.
Clare was well aware that Meaghan had a train to catch. She was the one who had taken the call from their advertising agency’s corporate headquarters in Boston. The big boss needed to meet with Meaghan about a project for an important client. Clare had cleared Meaghan’s calendar for the next couple of days. She had reserved two tickets on the train from Central Massachusetts, where they maintained a small satellite office, to North Station in Boston. She had even gone to Meaghan’s apartment and packed her bag for her.
Meaghan rushed by Clare, grabbed her luggage, and shouted down the hallway. “Cam, are you ready? We’re going to be late.”
“I’m with you,” Cam said as he came out of his newly acquired office. He ran his fingers through his sleek, stylish hair and pushed his black designer frames up the bridge of his delicate nose.
Clare stood in the doorway of Meaghan’s office with a sour look on her face. She took her laser pen from her pocket and flashed the red dot on each of their backs as they exited.
“I’ve been at this advertising agency longer than Cam,” Clare muttered to herself. “He doesn’t deserve a promotion or a new office. Or the right to exist, for that matter.”
*
Dear Roger,
I’m flattered by your offer, and under different circumstances, I might be tempted to take you up on your proposal. But I have to decline. I’ve decided that Alex is the best choice for me. I hope we can still be friends, and that you will continue to have Ace Advertising do your ads.
Sincerely,
Meaghan Stuart
“Sincerely,” Clare scoffed. “Has Meaghan Stuart ever been sincere about anything in her life?” Clare put the letter in an envelope and licked it shut. Then she headed to Roger’s Deli for lunch, with the letter in hand. Roger had made an agreement with Clare a couple of months ago: for a free lunch every day, Clare would tell Roger what Meaghan was up to.
*
“Hi, Roger.”
“Hi, Clare.” He looked towards the door. “I was hoping you were my lovely Meaghan?”
“What a fool,” she said quietly under her breath. “I’ll have chicken salad with lettuce and swiss cheese on wheat.”
“Sure thing.” He got the cheese from the deli case. “What’s Meaghan up to today?”
“She left on a business trip for a couple of days.”
Roger sighed.
I had been watching Roger closely for some time. He was in his mid-thirties, and his dull brown hair was already receding. Roger had never married or had children. Work had come first. Meaghan was the girl of his dreams, and he would do anything to get her. Alas, each one is tempted when he is carried away and enticed by his own lust. ~God
Clare watched Roger remove the wrapper on the cheese and manhandled it onto the slicer. She observed with interest as his rounded hips moved with the rhythm of the cutting blade. Finally, Roger placed the cheese on wheat bread and spread his signature chicken salad on it.
“Here you go.” Roger handed Clare the neatly wrapped sandwich. “Anything else?”
“Not today,” Clare turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot. Meaghan left this letter for you.”
Roger grabbed for the envelope. Clare held it out of his reach. “First, tell me the secret ingredient in your chicken salad.”
“Argh,” he said. “A teaspoon of almond paste.” Clare smiled and handed the envelope over the deli case. Roger snatched it up and hurried to the back room.
Roger held the letter in his shaking hands, reading it once quickly and then again slowly. Finally, he crushed the paper into a ball and buried his face into it.
The bell over the front door rang, and Roger gathered his composure. A well-dressed middle-aged woman stood at the counter.
“Good afternoon, Roger.”
“Hello, Mrs. Larson. What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I can do for you, Roger.”
“What do you mean?”
“My stepson, Alex, is captivated with Meaghan Stuart.”
“I’ve heard the feeling is mutual.” Roger hung his head.
“Alex doesn’t deserve a woman like her.” She looked at Roger through the deli case. “Meaghan Stuart needs a man of substantial stature to keep her content. A man more like you.”
Roger’s jaw dropped. He sucked in his soft midsection and puffed his chest. “I’m glad you see it that way, Mrs. Larson.”
“So, Roger, it is in both our interest to fix this problem.”
Recently she had overheard her stepson plotting murder—hers. Barbara planned to turn the tables on him. She just needed to trick Roger into helping her. Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Larson left the deli with a smug look on her face.
Barbara Larson was not unknown to me. She had become a cold-hearted widow. Dear Barbara had married young to a man with a son and had never really taken to the role of mother. Barbara had a way of interpreting my words to meet her needs; ‘prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.’
- God
*
Clare was reclining in her chair, chasing a fly around the room with her laser pen. “I’ll get you, you little bugger,” she threatened. “If I had my paintball gun, I’d spatter you to the wall.”
The phone rang. “Good Afternoon, Ace Advertising, Meaghan Stuart’s office. May I help you?”
“Hi Clare, it’s Alex,” he said in a low sultry voice. Clare sat up and dropped the laser pen on the floor.
“Hi, Alex.”
Clare’s thoughts were drifting. She was picturing Alex ripping his pants off in one swoop like a Chippendale dancer. Clare had seen him on the dance floor with Meaghan at last year’s Christmas party. She knew he had some great moves.
“You know that Meaghan isn’t here, right?”
“Yes.” Alex laughed. “Actually, I called to talk to you.”
“Me?”
“I’m trying to make plans for a surprise birthday party for Meaghan.”
Clare rolled her eyes.
“I figured you would know the best day to plan the event since you organize her whole schedule. I don’t know what Meaghan would do without you.”
“Nice of you to notice, Alex.” Clare beamed. “I’d be glad to help you. Give me the guest list, and I’ll do all the legwork.”
“That would be great, Clare.”
“No problem, Alex. I’ll come by on my way home from work today and get the list.”
“I’d like to have the party as soon as possible,” Alex said.
“She gets home from Boston tomorrow evening. So Saturday night would be perfect. I’ll get to work on it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great. Meaghan won’t have time to suspect anything. Thanks, Clare.”
Clare hung up the phone and smiled. She crawled under her desk and retrieved her laser pen. The fly buzzed past her, and she honed the laser beam on it.
“Bang,” she said to the fly. “You’re dead, just like Meaghan Stuart. She won’t have time to suspect anything.” Clare laughed. “And I’ll get Cam at the same time.”
*
Roger washed the slicer and wiped down the stainless steel counters just like he did every afternoon at closing. His mind was racing with thoughts about his meeting with Mrs. Larson. He took off his apron and hung it up by the door. “Mrs. Larson’s stepson, Alex, wants to kill her and inherit her estate.” He shook his head. “I have to protect my Meaghan from that rotten apple. Mrs. Larson will expose Alex’s plan, and I will defend her. Then Meaghan will know that I’m the man she can trust with her heart,” Roger told himself.
I watched as Roger wiped the sweat from his brow and placed his fedora on his head. Roger locked the deli door and headed home to wait for Barbara Larson to contact him with further details. Poor Roger was bargaining with the devil and didn’t sleep well that night.
~God
*
Clare locked up the office and headed to Alex’s house to pick up the guest list. She knocked on the front door of the Larson mansion. Alex’s stepmother, Mrs. Larson, opened the door.
“Hi, I’m supposed to pick up some papers from Alex tonight.”
“Alex was called into his dispatcher job at the police station.”
“I’m Clare—”
“I know who you are. You’re the handmaid to that evil witch.”
“I take offense to that, Mrs. Larson.”
“I’ve known Meaghan Stuart for years, and she has always gotten her way. I’m going to put an end to her selfishness if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I didn’t take offense to what you said about Meaghan, Mrs. Larson. In fact, you and I are on the same page, so to speak,” Clare said. “I don’t like being called her handmaid. After all the things I’ve done for her, she overlooked me for a promotion and chose kiss-ass Cam instead.”
Mrs. Larson stretched her swan-like neck. “Well, maybe I’ve misjudged you, young lady. Perhaps we can help each other.” She held out her perfectly manicured hand and guided Clare into the house.
Clare left the mansion an hour later with a satisfied grin on her face and a cashmere scarf around her neck.
*
The next morning, Clare went to the office early, eager to get started on the party plans. Clare ordered the cake and called Roger to tell him he would be catering the event. Clare and Barbara Larson were now on a first-name basis.
“Barbara hates Meaghan. I hate Meaghan and Cam.” Clare recited in a sing-song voice. “We can get rid of two birds with one stone at Meaghan’s surprise birthday party.” Clare laughed. “That will be a surprise.”
Clare was humming with excitement. When the phone rang, she let it go to voicemail.
“Clare, it’s Meaghan. I thought you might be in early today. I need to ask you something…”
“Meaghan,” Clare answered breathlessly. “Is everything alright in Boston? You’re still coming back tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, I’ll be back. Everything is fine. Well, not really.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s probably nothing, but on the train to Boston, Cam said some things that bothered me.” Meaghan’s usual self-assured demeanor wavered. “I thought if I ran it by you—well, you read people better than I do.”
Clare looked stunned. “Sure, Meaghan, what did he say?”
“It wasn’t exactly what he said, more like how he said it.” Clare listened as Meaghan told her about the conversation. “Do you think he was hinting that Alex is interested in someone else?” Meaghan asked.
Clare put the phone on mute, leaned back in her office chair, and let out a loud laugh. Then, she composed herself and turned the speakerphone back on.
“Meaghan,” Clare said. “It sounds like Cam is trying to steer you away from Alex because he’s interested in him.”
“Cam? Interested in Alex?” Clare could hear Meaghan’s mind trying to put two and two together. “You mean Cam is gay?”
“That’s what it sounds like.”
“And Cam thinks that Alex is gay?”
“He must believe there’s a chance.”
“That bastard, Cam. I could kill him.”
Clare hung up the phone. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
*
Barbara Larson drank her afternoon tea and looked pleased. “My stepson is planning the party of his demise,” she said to her yellow canary. “Roger is such a buffoon.” She held her teacup to her lips. “He’s the perfect scapegoat for my plan.” The canary started singing. “I tricked the fool into believing that if he defended me from Alex, that he would be Meaghan’s hero. But I wasn’t completely sure he had the guts to pull the trigger.” The bird fluttered in its cage. “Then, as luck would have it, Clare appears at my door.” She raised her teacup to the canary. “And Clare likes to shoot things.” Barbara Larson’s mouth curled into a Cheshire cat smile. The canary was silent.
“I’m glad I never got rid of the WWII Japanese officer’s pistol that my late husband purchased on eBay. ‘These guns killed more Japanese officers than we did,’ he used to say. I have no idea what he meant, but if it kills my conniving stepson and his she-devil girlfriend, then it will have done its job.”
*
That night, after Alex left for work, Barbara Larson put the gun into a shoebox and called Roger to pick up the package. She instructed him to bring it to the surprise party the next night. Roger drove with the shoebox on the seat beside, checking his rearview mirror repeatedly. Roger had never even held a gun before.
“I can’t believe that Mrs. Larson talked me into this hair-brained idea.”
His heart beat fast with thoughts in his head of Meaghan running into his arms. He continued home with a dreamy look on his face.
*
Meaghan and Cam caught the 6 P.M. train from Boston. Meaghan sat in the seat across the aisle from Cam and watched him out of the corner of her eye. Cam sat casually in his imported Italian three-piece suit. He texted on his phone while his expensive loafers tapped to some unheard beat.
They arrived at Union Station at 7:42 P.M. and went their separate ways. Snowflakes dotted the evening sky, and evil swirled in the air of Worcester, Massachusetts.
*
Early that evening after Roger had left with the gun, Barbara Larson poured herself a glass of brandy and inhaled its rich aroma. The doorbell rang, and her eyes sparkled when she peeked out the window. A tall, dark figure ran his hand through his hair.
“Well, hello, Darling,” she said as she opened the door and let him in. “I’m glad you stopped by tonight. I’ve missed you.”
He brushed his lips against her cheek and walked to the front room. He removed his coat and threw it on the couch. “How do you plan to show your appreciation?” he asked.
“Oh, I have plans for you,” she said.
The young man left just before Alex returned home from work.
*
“Alex, are you cheating on me?” Meaghan demanded as soon as Alex picked up the phone..
“Meaghan? What are you talking about?”
“If there is another woman—or man—in your life, I want to know.”
“Woman? Or Man? Meaghan, I don’t know what has gotten into you. It’s you and me, remember the plan? “ He cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered into the receiver. “We’re going to get rid of my stepmother tonight, and we’ll be rich.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, I can’t talk right now; she’s here. I’ll fill you in when I pick you up at eight tonight. Wear a dress.”
Barbara Larson silently pushed the disconnect button on the phone in the kitchen at the same time that Alex ended his call with Meaghan.
“I have other plans,” Mrs. Larson whispered. “the two of you will never see a penny of my money in hell.”
*
Roger worked all day Saturday at the deli. Between customers, he prepared the buffet for Meaghan’s birthday party that night. Roger diced up the roasted chicken and added his special ingredient. On the surface, he appeared calm if it wasn’t for the beads of sweat forming on his brow.
*
“Mother.“ Alex had showered and dressed. “I’m on my way to meet Meaghan, and I can’t seem to find the cashmere scarf that she gave me.”
Mrs. Larson held a glass of wine to her lips. “I don’t know, Alex. I’m not familiar with it.”
“Why, Mother, your memory is failing.”
“I remember what’s important.” She sipped her wine.
*
Clare had the decorations packed in her car, ready to go when Mo let out a long low howl. Sadly, Clare misinterpted the message.
~God
“What’s the matter, Mo?” He howled again and went into convulsions. “Hang on, Mo. I’ll bring you to the emergency vet.”
Clare looked around for something to wrap him in. She grabbed the cashmere scarf and hurried with Mo to her car. Clare made a space for Mo amongst the party decorations. He howled all the way to the vet. Clare checked her watch as she drove like a maniac through the streets of downtown Worcester. It was two hours until the party. Someone blew their horn at her. She realized it had gotten dark, and she turned on her headlights. Clare parked and ran into the vet with Mo.
***
Roger arrived at the empty hall. He worked nervously, covering the serving tables with paper tablecloths. Then he went back to the van to retrieve the box with the gun. Roger took it into the hall and stashed it under a small table against the wall.
***
“One hour and one hundred dollars later,” Clare said as she exited the emergency vet with Mo sleeping in her arms. The vet had given the cat a shot to relax him and removed a large hairball. “Mo will be fine. Just let him sleep off the sedative,” the vet said.
Clare placed Mo carefully in the back of her car and turned the key. Nothing. She tried again. In her haste, she had forgotten to shut off the headlights. She hit the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “What am I going to do now? The party starts in one hour.” Her phone rang. It was Roger.
“Where are you? I’m all set up, and no one is here.” His voice tremored.
“I’ve got my own problems, Roger. I’m stuck on the corner of Belmont Street and Skyline Drive. My car battery is dead. Can you come and get me?”
“Now?”
“No, just stay there and wait for the guests to arrive. Then, you can entertain them.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She hung up the phone. “Roger hates cats, Mo. I hope you stay asleep so I can sneak you into his van.”
*
Roger found Clare and helped her move all the decorations into his van. He jumped into the driver’s seat and started it up. Clare went to her car for the last item. She discreetly scooped up Mo in the scarf and put him in the back of the van. When they got to the hall, Clare retrieved Mo and took him inside before Roger saw him. She was looking around for a spot to stash the cat when Roger came in the door with an armload of decorations. “This is perfect, Mo,” she whispered. “You can sleep here.” Clare pushed him under a small table next to the hidden shoe box.
Clare got the decorations done just as the first guests arrived. She looked around futilely for Cam. Clare looked distressed when she saw Roger was standing near Mo’s hiding spot, breathing deeply and puffing on his inhaler.
*
“I planned a surprise birthday party for you. Of course, the real surprise will be when the balloons start to pop, and nobody realizes that it’s bullets flying.” Alex had picked up Meaghan at 8 P.M. and filled her in on the plan.
Last week on a slow night at his dispatch job at the police station, Alex had come across a file on Cam Nelson. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Cam had a criminal record for weapons possession. Alex confronted him, and Cam begged him not to tell anyone, fearing he would get fired. Alex saw an opportunity and asked Cam if he was a good shot. “The best,” Cam said. “I’m an expert marksmen without a conscience,” Alex told Cam how he could buy his silence.
Alex and Meaghan entered the hall to the yells of “Surprise!” Meaghan smiled with fake astonishment
“Stick with me. When the bullets start flying, we’re out of here,” Alex said.
Clare stood near Roger and waited for the cue of Barbara running into the room screaming that she had proof her son was trying to kill her. When Roger picked up the gun, Clare would go into her stealth mode. Clare knew how to move like a ninja from her experience at the paintball course. She shook her arms loose in anticipation of running behind Roger with lightning speed, wrapping her arms around his body and aiming the gun at all three targets, Alex, Meaghan, and Cam. Then she would hit the floor before anyone knew what happened, leaving Roger standing with a smoking gun. Clare looked over at Roger, getting paler by the minute, and hoped he wouldn’t pass out before the action began. Finally, the music started, and Clare dimmed the lights. She checked on Mo and saw the box with the gun stashed under the table.
“If I have to take matters into my own hands, I’m prepared to do it.
Mrs. Larson ran into the room screaming and waving a paper that she claimed proved her stepson Alex was plotting to kill her.
“Wow, she gets into her part,” Clare said and looked around. “Where the hell is Cam. He’s going to ruin my plan.”
Everyone gasped as Mrs. Larson tripped, fell, and hit her head on the stone fireplace. Blood poured from a deep gash in her skull as she sunk to the floor. Clare turned to Roger and watched him put his hand to his throat. He collapsed against the table, pulling the cloth to the floor with him, exposing Mo.
“Meow?” Mo said into Roger’s pallid face.
“A cat?” Roger wheezed. “I’m allergic,” he said and gasped for air.
Meaghan’s heels banged hard on the floor in Clare’s direction. “What the hell is my cashmere scarf doing wrapped around that cat?” Before Clare could say a word, Meaghan stabbed her finger into Clares’ face. “Did Alex give you that scarf?”
“NO,” Clare said and backed away.
Meaghan came after her. Clare put the small table between them. Meaghan pushed it out of her way and kicked the gun with her foot. Clare froze. Meaghan looked at the weapon with a slow understanding of what it was. They both dove for it at the same time. Meaghan got it first and aimed it at Clare, who crawled backward into Roger’s body. There was a mass exodus of party guests.
“Meaghan, what are you doing?” Alex asked.
Meaghan turned the gun on him. “You gave this bitch the cashmere scarf I bought you,” she said. “And she used it for her cat.” She let out a cry.
Alex put his hands around the gun that Meaghan held. Clare scurried further away.
“Meaghan,” he whispered. “Look, my stepmother is dead.” He pointed to the bloody body. “I will inherit all her money, and we can get married.”
Meaghan smiled. “I have one last thing to take care of.” Her smile faded as she looked at Clare. “You’ve always wanted my job, my man, and my life.” Meaghan lifted the gun toward Clare. Mo flew through the air, slicing Meaghan’s cheek with his claws. Meaghan screamed, and the trigger of the gun clicked.
The celestial clock of time paused for a long second. Mo suspended in the air, Clare’s mouth was agape, Alex’s eyes were wide, and Meaghan had a blank stare. A massive explosion broke the spell. Pieces of smoking shrap metal flew through the air from the exploded pistol. Clare ducked behind a table, and Mo slid across the wood floor. Then there was silence. Clare peeked her head around and saw Meaghan and Alex slumped in a twisted pile. Roger’s lifeless eyes stared back at her, and Barbara Larson lay in a pool of blood.
“Oh My God,” Clare said.
Ah, yes, this is the time I usually hear my name. When the creators of their own behavior and determiners of their own destinies see the errors of their ways, they call me. But alas, it’s always too late. I can’t change what is. Yet the night was not over. Fate had one more twist.
~God
The door opened and Cam came in, carefully stepping over Mrs. Larson’s dead body, avoiding the puddle of blood. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the mess that was Alex and Meaghan for the exploding gun. Pushing his glasses up his nose, Cam glanced at Roger. Then he walked over and stood beside Clare. “Guess I missed a good party.”
Clare blinked in shock. Cam grabbed a finger sandwich from the table. He took a large bite and chewed heartily. “I’m glad I talked the old bat into signing her will over to me before she bit the dust. So I don’t have to be her sugar-baby anymore.”
Clare squinted. “You and Mrs. Larson?”
“Yeah, how do you think I could afford all these designer clothes? It certainly wasn’t on the wages that bitch paid me.” He pointed at Meaghan’s body.
“I thought you and Alex…”
Cam laughed and stuffed the rest of the chicken salad sandwich into his mouth. “Not likely. These sandwiches are good.”
“Roger’s special recipe.” Clare looked at Roger. “At least I got his secret ingredient before he died.”
“Well, there’s only one loose end left.” Cam took a pistol out of the inside pocket of his Italian suit and looked at Clare.
“What do you mean?” Clare backed away.
“You’ve always wanted my job.” Cam’s lips were swelling, and his speech was odd.
“What’s the matter with your face?”
Cam felt his lips and grabbed at his throat. “Were there nuts in that chicken salad?”
Clare smirked. “Almond paste.”
Cam collapsed to the floor. Mo crawled out from under the table and slid into Clare’s lap.
“Meow?”
*
Clare was still sitting on the floor holding Mo when the police arrived. “I don’t know how this all happened,” she cried.
The paramedics wrapped her and Mo in a blanket and brought them to the ambulance for evaluation while the detectives accessed the scene.
After about an hour, an officer came out to talk to Clare. “Our preliminary investigation indicates that this was a series of unfortunate circumstances,” he said. “A male victim with swelling of the mouth and lips had a card in his wallet indicating nut allergies. Mrs. Larson hit her head against the stone fireplace and broke her neck. The other male victim had an empty inhaler in his hand, so we assume he had a severe asthma attack. It could have been triggered by anything.
Clare hugged Mo tighter.
“Meaghan Stuart and Alex Larson were handling a dangerous antique WWII Japanese pistol that exploded and killed them both. The only gun of its kind documented to be in this town is registered to the Larsons.” The detective squeezed Clare’s shoulder as she sobbed.
“You were just an innocent bystander,” the officer said.
Clare hugged Mo and walked away from the ambulance hiding her smile.
It was true, Clare didn’t kill anyone, but she wasn’t completely innocent. Clare was morally responsible for her behavior, and thus did have a hand in the outcome, therefore compromising her soul. And there, my dear people, lies the cost of free will.
~God