Karma Incorporated

By Gillian Zane

All Five Karma Inc. Books in One Volume! The completed Urban Fantasy series together in one.

Karma’s a bitch...and her name’s Cassie.

Working for Karma Incorporated might sound like the best job in the world, but there’s one really big catch: you’ve got to die to get it. Cassandra Mercier died at the ripe old age of twenty-one and is now gainfully employed by the Afterlife Corporation as a Karma operative. Her job duties include manifesting bad karma on unsuspecting victims.

Books included in this volume:

Cheat (Karma Inc. Book 1)
Shark (Karma Inc. Book 2)
Liar (Karma Inc. Book 3)
Creep (Karma Inc. Book 4)
Crook (Karma Inc. Book 5)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gillian Zane
• Release date: Feb 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370036868

Gillian Zane

Gillian Zane has been writing fiction stories since she was first able to put pen to paper. She has published a few non-fiction books in her field of study, which is Art, but finally, after all, these years her first fiction novella is being released. Gillian is obsessed with anything that gives her a thrill and feels adding romance to any storyline is a good thing. She was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She lives with her husband, too many animals in a little house that has way too many books.

Book preview

Book I

Cheat

Cheat by Gillian Zane

Two wrongs don't make a right, but three rights make a left.

Anonymous

1

Dead is as Dead Does

Iwasn’t much of a pool person before I died. Hanging out on a plastic pseudo-bed dressed in a scrap of material wasn’t my idea of a good time. Don’t get me wrong, that little girl inside that wanted to fit in wanted to be a pool person. She wanted to be that confident chick who could rock a thong and sip frozen alcoholic concoctions with no discomfort or self-doubt as she paraded around a chemically induced, crystal blue watering hole. Reality was, though, I just wasn’t that type of girl. Plus, they had this thing called the Sun and it had a tendency to turn my skin from pasty white to bright red, no matter how much sunscreen I slathered on it. And well, hot and outdoors were overrated .

Now, those types of things didn’t matter. Because of the dead part. It had its perks, the dead part, I mean. Sometimes.

There was no need for sunscreen anymore. No need for fans, or air conditioning, I didn’t notice temperatures as much. And it was hard to be self-conscience when you were pushing up daisies. Who cares if you’ve got a little too much junk in your trunk? You’re dead. What does it matter?

That’s what the logical side of my brain told me. But, I was still slightly uncomfortable lounging by the pool with the rest of the dead souls that made up my department.

Boss wants to see you, Cassie. Jerome, one of my co-workers, strode in from the back of the apartment complex. He said this as he was pulling his shirt off with a quick move and then threw it on an available lounge chair. He executed a perfect dive into the waters of the pool and when he came up and saw me still sitting there he nodded his head and pointed to the front office as if to say, get moving. I slammed my book closed and put it to the side, getting up from my poolside spot with only a few exaggerated sighs.

Everyone was staring at me, probably wondering if I had done something wrong. I was the new girl; they didn’t know me that well yet. The pool was the main point of congregation for our team, so the whole group was here. Everything that happened, happened around its sparkly blue waters. It was like the undead water cooler.

When the boss called, you went. Or so I was told. And from the looks on everyone’s faces I wasn’t hopping to it quick enough. I was the latest addition to this strange crew and I was only now getting the hang of things. I didn’t like being a rookie and I didn’t like not knowing things.

When I joined the team they told me I had been dead for about a year and a couple of months. Dead and buried, or so I assumed, who knows, they might have cremated me. Sprinkled my ashes on some far away mountain top. Or dumped me in a deep lake. My overactive brain had cooked up all kinds of different ways I might have gone out. But, the weird thing was, I couldn't remember what actually happened. All I could recall was the last two months. That left a whole year of being dead that I couldn’t remember. Everything before these last two months was a blur; even my life was a blur. Everyone reassured me this was normal, but it didn’t feel normal. Nothing about being dead felt normal. Truth be told, it was strange as shit. A missing year. What the hell had I been doing during that time? No one told me. I got the impression that no one really knew, even the boss man. I wracked my brain trying to remember something, anything, but it was useless. It was like that year didn’t exist. One day I was alive, and then the next thing I knew I was sitting in an office being interviewed for my job in the Afterlife Corporation. They called it processing.

2

Process This

Two Months Earlier…

S o, I’m dead.

Yes. Dead.

Like dead, dead?

There is no more dead, than dead.

Then why am I talking and standing and shit?

Welcome to Afterlife.

Why do you say it like that?

Like what?

Welcome to afterlife. Shouldn’t it be the afterlife, as in a place? Like the Great Beyond, or some other crap like that.

Well, it is a place, but it’s also a proper noun. You know, like you wouldn’t say welcome to The Heaven would you? It’s Afterlife. Not the Afterlife. Are you always this way?

What way?

Never mind. The man shook his head and shuffled through a few papers on his messy desk.

I looked around the room and tried not to fidget. I didn’t know how I had gotten here. I didn’t know what had gotten me here either. One minute I was– well, I wasn’t too positive what I was doing before this. I knew I was doing something, though. Then, after whatever it was I was doing, well, I was here. I might have been at the lake. Yeah, the last thing I remember was a lake. Or wait, maybe a party. Yes, I remember a party. Then I’m here, sitting here in this uncomfortable chair.

If it wasn’t for this overwhelming knowledge that I was dead, I would probably think I was alive and kidnapped or something. But the dead part was hard to deny. It was a truth that I knew in every pore of my being. I’m dead. This is what dead feels like. It was a certainty.

Being dead sucked so far.

And if I was dead and this was the afterlife, or Afterlife, whatever you wanted to call it, I probably needed to make a good impression. The most important interview of my life, right? This guy was probably like Saint Peter, or something. Was it Saint Peter that handled the pearly gates thing? Heaven’s bouncer? I tried to remember my catechism classes. It was useless; my brain was muddy and slow.

I did remember them teaching us that when you died you were asked a bunch of questions about your life to see if you could go into Heaven. Like an interview. And this certainly felt like an interview. Even though this was not what I would have pictured to be the pearly gates. Far from it, actually.

The room I was in was sterile. It had a low rent business office feel to it. It was giving me the jitters in an uncomfortable way, like I was about to get scammed out of my retirement plan, or sold a time share. If I was being honest with myself, I was scared out of my mind. Which I tried to do often, be honest with myself that is, I could lie to everyone else, just not to myself. That was my motto. Or so I though. I couldn’t quite remember.

This office that was drab as drab came, made me feel all kinds of uncomfortable and jittery, I could admit that easily. Was this a test? How I react to my surroundings? I had to play it cool.

The walls were stark and bare, painted white with beige industrial carpet under my feet. Gray filing cabinets lined the back wall and a beat up desk sat in the middle of the room taking up a lot of space. The man, who hadn’t introduced himself, and I was having a really hard time thinking of him as Saint Peter, sat behind the desk and stared at me through tiny eyes. He was as drab as the room. Middle-aged, washed out brown hair, normal features and normal business casual attire.

Is the Afterlife all like this? I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I couldn’t take his stare. I realized too late that I had used the.

Like what? He looked at me quizzically. I would have thought he was used to questions if this was his job. Welcoming dead people seemed like it would be nothing more than answering question after question.

So, so, I don’t know, businessy. I waved at the room indicating the drab look.

Oh, no. This is processing.

So, this is a part of afterlife, you process people that are…

Newly deceased, he finished for me.

Dead.

Yeah.

So, where am I being processed to? And are you Saint Peter?

"Uh no, oh God no, he’s like the top exec around here, he doesn’t process, that would be crazy, err, that would be stressful. Why would you think I’m Saint Peter?" He laughed like I was the dumbest thing to enter this room.

Hate to point out the obvious, but I’m kind of new at this. I tried to not sound sarcastic but everything I said usually came out with some kind of sarcastic tone. It was a personality failing of mine, or perk, depending on which end of it you were looking at.

Quite right, yes, right, you are new at this. Well, I guess we should get on with the processing, right? He moved around a few stacks of papers and picked up a pen. "So the processing thing, as you call it. Basically, the question is where are you going to be processed. It’s a choice. A choice that’s up to you."

Is Heaven available? I laughed, but deep down I didn’t believe that was possible, at all.

Nope, he said with a chuckle.

Oh. I had expected that answer, but it hurt to hear it. It was like a big stop sign thrown in my face. You suck, no Heaven for you.

I can’t confirm or deny that Heaven even exists. He smiled to soften the blow of ruining all of my hopes and dreams in one tiny pop-culture reference.

I thought I would get all the answers once I died. I tried not to look too let down. The man looked like he was about to have a coronary from all my questions.

It’s a common misconception about Afterlife.

Well, that blows.

It is what it is. He should be wearing a shirt that read ‘shit happens’ instead of the stupid short sleeve button up he wore.

So, where do I go then, Hell? I shuddered thinking about that option. As a living person, which seemed so long ago, but really might only be moments in the past, I hadn’t been one to think much about death and the afterlife or things like that. I was only twenty-one, at least that’s what I believe I was. Things were a bit fuzzy, but twenty-one felt right. Twenty-one was young. I was young, I shouldn’t be dead. I should be at a party. Yes, a party. Again, that felt right. The fuzzy didn’t feel quite so fuzzy anymore.

As a living breathing human, I had believed thoughts about Heaven and Hell were for the old and infirm, those who made wills and had retirement plans.

The type of people who contemplated death and the goings on after one kicked the metaphorical bucket. People like me didn’t think about death, they thought about living. Death wasn’t on Cassandra Mercier’s mind, a girl who had her whole life ahead of her.

What a thing to get wrong. I was probably going straight to Hell.

This seemed more of a certainty than any kind of reward, or perfect afterlife. When I was alive, I was what my priest would call a C&E Catholic. I went to church for only the major holidays, Christmas and Easter. And I certainly never prayed, unless I was feeling really depressed and needed something. I had been raised Catholic, but had decided along the way that being religious wasn’t my cup of tea. When I was alive, stuff like that didn’t seem important, or from what I could remember. Now it seemed like the most important thing in the world.

"Oh, no. You wouldn’t be here if you were going there. He pointed down. At least I don’t think. I don’t know much about the lower floors. I do know they exist though, I can confirm that." He nodded and winked, which was rather creepy. I tried to keep my inner thoughts from showing on my face, but I could feel my eyes widening.

Upper floors too, he went on. They go up and up, if you get promoted, you know. But, I don’t think that’s Heaven. He paused to see if I was going to say anything, but I didn’t want to interrupt his information dump. Stay quiet and people have to talk.

This is my opinion, so don’t quote me on it, he placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward. I ducked my head and leaned in a bit closer too.

If you tell someone I’ll deny it, he looked at me crossly and I nodded. As a member of Afterlife, you only know about the floor you’re currently assigned to and the floors you’ve come from. But, I’m in processing so you know, he shrugged and smirked like he had all the knowledge. The lower you go, the more hellish your job, the higher up the easier and more perks you get. You always want to go up. I’ve worked with people that have come from the upper floors. Demoted is what they call it. They don’t talk about it and I can’t tell you much about it because I don’t really know. Lower floors though, I’ve come up from the lower floors. Those aren’t as fun. The higher the floor, the better the job. Lower floors can be awful. He shivered and I tried not to get up and make a run for it. Could I opt out, invoke my Fifth Amendment rights? Did I have any rights?

"What can you tell me about what’s going to happen to me?" I said with emphasis so he could maybe get to the point. I decided it was best to figure out all my options before making any hasty decisions. Maybe if I knew more about my situation I could figure out a loophole. I was a pretty good problem solver.

You have a choice.

Okay. I didn’t want to act like I was prodding him for more information, but this guy seemed to be stalling or trying to be mysterious on purpose. I thought it was a good idea to be on my best behavior and not throttle the guy, but he was seriously screwing with my mental stability with all the mysterious half-answers.

You can get a position in Afterlife, or you can go into Limbo. It’s the choice we all get at the end, at least if you come through processing. Think of it as a work release program, working for Afterlife, that is. You either work it off or serve your time in Limbo.

Position? Limbo? When in doubt, repeat what the drab dude says.

Yes. You can accept a position in Afterlife and you have the opportunity to move up, make your work program easier, the higher you go the better the positions you get, like I said. Or you can go into Limbo and serve your time in stasis.

Wait, I don’t understand. Serve my time?

Ok, lemme start over. Pardon me, I’m new at this. You’re one of my first, he laughed nervously.

Really?

Yeah, well, technically you’re my first.

Oh, I don’t know how I feel about that, I said chewing on my fingernail nervously. I was about to be processed into eternal damnation by a guy in training. I was screwed. I bit down too hard on my nail, splitting it and ripping my cuticle. The dull thrum of pain had me wincing and staring down at my thrashed nails. I hadn’t chewed on my fingernails in a while, or at least I thought I hadn't. Old habits were hard to break, even ones you couldn’t remember.

Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of training. He steepled his hands and nodded to reassure me. So, where were we?

Time served, I prodded morosely.

Yes. You would have to serve your time, in Limbo. It’s like a holding pen. You’ve accrued a lot of negative energy in your lifetime and that has to be worked off- I waved my hand to cut him off.

Wait, negative energy? What is that?

Metaphors, use metaphors, he said more to himself than to me. Negative energy is the bad stuff you’ve done in your life. Like crimes. If you were being sentenced in a court, they would look at your crimes and the judge would tell you how much time you would have to spend in jail once you were found guilty. Your negative energy is the negative things you did while alive, you have to work it off. Pay for your crimes, so to speak. You pay for them by serving time in Limbo, think of it as jail. Or you work it off by taking a position in Afterlife, think of that as a work release program. The Powers That Be have a formula to figure out how much time you have to serve in Limbo. Your Afterlife position is based off merit and accomplishment. The better you do, the quicker you get promoted, so you can drastically reduce the time you have to serve.

What’s the formula? And who are The Powers That Be? Is that like God? I asked.

Uh, wait, let me see, about that formula. He shuffled through some papers on his desk. The Powers That Be, that’s just a phrase we use around here. Again I can’t confirm or deny anything, but there is a place outside of Afterlife, in charge of Afterlife. This is what a lot of people assume is Heaven, but no one knows. The orders and rules all come from there. The Powers That Be make the rules. We have to follow those rules, so maybe someday we can transition out of Afterlife and go to the next place. We don’t know who it is, or what it is, or if there are many or just one. Or at least, I don’t know, some might. The Powers That Be could be God, or Allah or Buddha, or all those Hindu deities that I really don’t know the names of. Here it is! He held up a paper from his desk. The formula. Hmmm, he frowned at the paper. It is, negative energy accrued, times years of life, subtract positive energy and multiply that by the number of days remaining in the current cycle…

Wait, what does that mean? Current cycle? And how do they know how much negative energy I’ve accrued? I threw up my hands, confused by everything this man was saying.

Oh, the current cycle will end when this particular crop of humans expires.

Wait, this crop? What does that mean? I whined. I should probably just give up. I wasn’t going to understand this, and it seemed liked it was the goal of this man to confuse me even more. I dropped my head into my hands.

They don’t explain that kind of thing to processing. He chuckled that smug chuckle again. And the current cycle end date, that is a closely guarded secret, above my paid grade. He tapped his forehead with a smile, but looked wistfully at his papers.

This is so bizarre. I thought I would get answers and now all I’m stuck with is more questions. You can't even tell me if God exists. I shook my hand and looked down at my ragged fingernails again. I must have been chewing on them a lot, they were a mess. How did I even have fingernails? Wasn’t I supposed to be translucent with chains or something? Or really, wasn’t I supposed to be my perfect self, didn’t they say that in all those Heaven is real documentaries? As I stared down at my fingernails and thought about my perfect self, my fingernails thickened and straightened out. A perfect manicure.

My head was about to explode.

I decided to focus on something that I could quantify. This Limbo thing. I had to get my head on straight. So, what would my sentence be in Limbo? I slid my hands out of sight and looked up at the man. I didn’t want to stare at my perfect manicure and contemplate that madness.

Five million, three hundred eighty-six thousand, two hundred seventy days, oh and six hours.

That’s like thirteen thousand years? I gaped at him.

You did that math in your head?

I’m good with numbers, I said quickly. How much negative energy did I rack up? Was I really that bad of a person that I had to serve thirteen thousand years in Limbo to pay it back? How do they even know?

Well, you weren’t that good of a person, all that negative energy, he chuckled. They have a way of monitoring these types of things. Don’t ask me, though…

Yeah, above your pay grade, I scoffed.

Look, young lady, you have choices in life. Make a good decision, your positive energy grows, make a bad decision, negative. Looks like you made a few bad decisions in your life. That fucking chuckle again. I wanted to reach over and choke the air out of his throat. Obviously I was used to making bad decisions if violence was my usual reaction.

Thanks, I huffed and crossed my arms, sitting back in the chair. That was a rather insulting statement. Kind of like bringing up a girl’s weight in casual conversation. It didn’t seem like a good idea for polite company. Every moment spent with this drab guy was making my head hurt and my homicidal tendencies more pronounced.

Granted, the average Limbo sentence is about ten thousand years, so you’re not that bad.

Not feeling better. I sat forward and glared at the guy, shifting in the uncomfortable chair.

I should warn you that in Limbo you would lose your physical form and be in limbo for that time. No sight, hearing, taste, touch, an endless non-sensory loop. He held up his hands and did quotation marks when he said limbo. Like that would explain everything. Would kicking him in his drab knee earn me more negative energy? I restrained myself.

That sounds horrible, I said.

Yeah, it does, he agreed with a nod and more shuffling of the papers.

And my other option is a position, what, like yours? Doing something like this? I motioned to the office and his messy desk. This seemed like Hell.

Yeah, you would work at Afterlife. You would specifically work for Karma Incorporated, that’s where they have you slated to report to if you choose to work for the company.

Karma Incorporated? I looked at him questioningly.

One of our divisions in Afterlife, it’s quite a posh position. I’ve been on the wait list for a while, the Cincinnati office, he said with a quick nod. The admin office for the entire company is a few floors up from processing. Again the nod, like I knew what the hell he was talking about. So that meant my position was better than this drab office? Meaning my negative energy was better at death than Mr. Drab here, and he had supposedly worked his way up to these offices? He must have been a douche when he died. I could so see that. He wasn’t much better now, honestly.

Is it like a special position? I asked. I liked special. Yeah, I was one of those. Everyone wanted to be a special snowflake.

I would say so, I would love to work there. You’ll be a Karma Incorporated operative. It’s like a special agent, but without the acronym, the badge, and well, you don’t risk your life or anything because you’re already…

Dead, I finished for him.

3

Look at Me Now

Present Day

Y ou wanted to see me, Brandon? I refused to call him boss like the rest of the undead Scooby gang he had under his employ .

Yeah, I did, sit down, Cassie. He motioned to the sofa in the center of the room. I was still getting used to being called Cassie. I hadn’t been called that since grammar school. He insisted on it here, though. I couldn’t be Cassandra. Cassandra was dead. I was now Cassie.

Brandon was like the cute older cousin I never had, well, maybe more of a friend. Because I could technically hook up with him. If I was inclined. Which I wasn't. He was man scruffy in the kind of way that was endearing when you first get to know him, but find aggravating if you get into a serious relationship with him. He was currently dressed in jeans and a tee that read, ‘I saw that – Karma’ and his light brown hair was sticking up this way and that. He wore glasses, even though he didn’t need them. He had confessed to me that they made him look professional. Obviously that was the only area he wanted to look professional because his brown flip flops did nothing for that particular case. I wanted to straighten his hair and make him change his pants; he had that effect on me. He brought out the protective mom gene that I thought was non-existent. I restrained myself though, he didn’t like fussing.

I sat down instead, like he wanted me to. The sofa was a comfy overstuffed monstrosity that took up most of the room. Brandon usually worked from a recliner off to the side of his office slash living room, his feet propped up and his computer on his lap. I sat down at the end and tucked my legs under me; his tone had been sort of ominous so I tried not to fidget. I wondered if I could get fired from this job when I had barely even started.

If I got fired, would I go down a few floors, as the processing guy had hinted at? Demoted was the term he had used. I tried to think if I had done something that warranted going to Hell. Nothing came to mind. I had kept my doucherbaggery to a minimum. I had actually tried my darnedest to do a good job. But, did the people in Hell realize they were douchebags? They probably all thought their behavior was justified, or right. Most douchebags were clueless as to their status in the human population. That’s how they lived with their doucherbaggery. I couldn’t be a douchebag. I was self-aware. I was a self-aware little snowflake. And I could keep myself in check. Or so I told myself every day.

I was still only in my bikini, which was a shit move, if I thought about it. Who shows up for a meeting with their boss in a bikini? I didn’t even think to change since I was comfortable in almost anything. I could sit here naked and not feel uncomfortable. I tried not to give a lot of thought to that, thoughts sometimes led to changes, and I didn’t want my bikini to suddenly disappear. It was bad enough getting fired while wearing a bikini, if I were to suddenly be nude that would take things to a whole other level.

I think it’s about time you got your own case. Brandon’s voice shattered my inner crazy. You’re ready to be a full-time Karma Incorporated operative.

4

The Bitches of Afterlife

Two Months Earlier… again.

Y ou’ll be like a member of the SEAL Team Six of Afterlife, the drab little man said. It was obvious he was trying to push me to this decision. I didn’t think I had much of a choice, no matter how hard he sold it to me. What was my other choice? Oblivion for fifteen thousand years? It wasn’t that hard .

SEAL team? Like going in and killing bad guys? Do Karma operatives take out bad guys, like kill them? If they do, they’ve been slacking on their jobs, ‘cause I know a lot of assholes that should have been taken out a long time ago.

Bad analogy, he frowned and tapped a finger on his desk.

How about we stop with the analogies and just shoot straight? I think I can follow along, I said in a perky tone to soften my criticism.

Right, okay. So, you get the negative energy thing? I nodded to keep him moving along. Well, yes, the living build up negative energy, through their actions, thoughts, and even things they fail to do. At some point in a person’s life, they might come on the radar of Karma. I don’t know how, so don’t ask me. He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to ask that exact question. They just do. And that is when a Karma operative is sent in. They have to offset the negative energy by delivering a punishment.

I would dish out bad karma?

Basically, he shrugged.

That sounds kind of cool, actually. I sat back in the chair, forgetting my earlier panic.

There’s a lot involved, and Karma is one of the closest divisions to the living world, so you would be manifested as a living person. You can feel pain, be injured, that sort of thing. And they require you to do certain things that you might not like. A lot of hands-on things. He said it with raised eyebrows, which had me wondering what kind of hands-on things were involved. They usually choose candidates who don’t have a lot of empathy and tend toward the judgmental spectrum.

So the bitches of Afterlife, I laughed. He winced.

Everyone has their place.

Do they teach you that in processing school?

See, you’re made for the job, he said glibly. He didn’t smile with his joke.

I guess I am. Where do I sign up?

So, you'll do it? He asked.

I nodded yes.

I just need you to sign a few documents, contacts, that sort of thing. He stood up and went to a filing cabinet. He struggled with something and I tried to peer around him to see what he was doing, but he turned around and quenched my curiosity as he revealed a monstrous stack of paperwork.

A few documents, I grimaced.

Well, it is the rest of your known existence, we have to be thorough. I expected another one of his chuckles, but he stood there, dead pan, staring down at me. I have a special pen for you. He pulled out a fancy looking ballpoint and pushed the first stack toward me. I gulped as I read the first line:

I, Cassandra Mercier, do hereby pledge my soul, and Afterlife existence to Afterlife Corporation for no more, or no less, unless parties involved come to a further agreement (see index 89150984, section Z9) for the total sum of fifteen thousand…

Afterlife Corporation

Holy shit, I breathed.

Just sign, Cassandra, it’s either this, or Limbo, and we both know you don’t want that.

Yeah, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?

So, sign. You’re either in or out, Cassandra.

I signed.

5

Ready to Roll?

Back to present day…

Brandon took me by surprise. My own case? He did not just suggest that. I wasn’t ready. There was no way I could be ready .

You don’t want me shadowing Tiffany anymore? I asked stupidly because I didn’t want to repeat his statement like some daft chick.

I don’t think you need to, she said you basically have things down, and your reports are showing intuitive judgment calls. You can’t learn that type of thing with on the job training. I think you’re ready. The Powers That Be agree, they sent in your first case ten minutes ago.

Okay, if you think so, I mean, if They think so. I had been shadowing Tiffany, one of the more experienced operatives, for the last two months. I was learning the ins and outs of being a Karma Incorporated operative. There wasn’t much to it. The majority of the job was based off judgment and experience, intuition as Brandon had called it. Those things would only come in time, or so Tiffany had explained to me. Most of my training had been Tiffany giving me pointers on how to manifest things, what was allowed and what wasn’t. Manifesting was how we created things to get our job done. I could make things happen, almost like magic, if I thought about it hard enough. She had also told me that most operatives trained for at least a year. It had only been two months.

I hadn’t gotten the hang of manifesting. And it was a priority when dishing out karma, which was my job and number one priority. If I saw someone in need of a dose of karma, I thought of a good punishment and made it happen. I could do the small stuff, but complex and multi-stage events were still above my reach.

I also wasn’t that familiar with all the rules. Tiffany would mention them when she thought of them. There were very few rules, or so I was told, which technically made things easy, but breaking them could result in some heinous repercussions. What if I didn’t know about one and broke it by mistake?

I don’t know, Brandon. I don’t think I know everything. Do you really think so? I repeated.

Yeah, I do think you’re ready. C’mon, go get dressed. Wear neighborhood bar attire and I’ll meet you in your room in an hour with the details of your case.

Sure, I replied and stood. I was apprehensive about this. I didn’t know what to think. I had really thought I was about to be fired. Then his words sunk in. An hour? Did he mean I was getting a case right now? Would I have to do it all on my own, right at this very moment? Would I be working it today? I didn’t know if I was ready for something like that. My stomach churned as I left his office. It was the first time since I had died that I felt unwell. I guess nerves were still in play even after death.

I looked back at him one last time as I exited his office. He was typing away on his laptop. He looked up and winked.

You’ve got this, Cassie.

Maybe, but I wasn’t sharing his confidence. My own case. I was going to be on my own to dish out a bit of karma. This was no joke. I could do some serious damage to someone. This was life and death kind of stuff. Hit the karma too hard and the guy or gal would end up in a coma, or missing a limb. Hit it too light and they won’t learn their lesson, so my efforts would be useless.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, not willing to let self-doubt freak me out. Brandon had said I had intuition. Natural instincts for this job. I stopped and glanced around the courtyard outside Brandon’s office. It was lush and green. There was a small fountain in the corner that had a calming effect. I had this. I could do this. He was right, I was ready. Even Tiffany said I was doing a good job. That I knew what people deserved and was creative with my delivery. I headed to my apartment with confidence and a little more wiggle in my walk. Two months and I was out of training. I was good.

All the Karma, Incorporated operatives for this region lived out of an apartment complex that everyone jovially called, Casa Karma. Original, I know. It was a three story square complex, typical of something you would see in the suburbs hugging the interstate. The non-typical thing was that it was partly located in Afterlife, the physics of which I was still trying to wrap my head around.

Brandon, the guy with all the answers, had described Afterlife as a dimension that hugged the living world, like a second layer. But, I couldn’t think of it as a flat plane, the dimensions had different depths and there were other dimensions beyond the two I lived within. They all intertwined. Like a cosmic knot. But Afterlife and the living world were the most intertwined. Parts of Afterlife crisscrossed with the living world and other parts were far removed. Brandon confirmed to me that Hell does exist and is part of the Afterlife dimension. But it was located as far from the living world as possible.

He couldn’t confirm the other place though, which was disappointing, but logic dictated that with one there had to be the other. And the place I currently lived within could only be likened to purgatory. It was all speculation though and I was putting my own pseudo-Christian belief system on this, even though the belief in Karma is a Hindu belief if I remember my high school world religion class correctly.

When I had asked Brandon about the religious aspect, he had shaken his head with a shrug. The karma concept we enforce here is loosely based on the living concept of karma, which is more internalized. The concept of karma within the religious aspect was about finding your best self and working through your own negative energy. That self-aware thing that seems to be a hard concept for a lot of people.

Our division is the closest to the living world since we interact with them on a regular basis. It is our job. Our apartment complex is the closest we get to the living world, since it rides both sides of the dimension. The majority of the building resides in Afterlife, but the front lobby area has multiple doors leading to certain places within the living world. It’s how we enter the living world and do our job.

There are many parts of Afterlife. Many divisions and branches of a large multi-tiered entity. Brandon had told me there was redundancy on top of redundancy within its dimension. Whole divisions dedicated to the tiniest aspects of death. Our division even had teams of administration workers who made our lives easier. We would never see them, but Brandon assured me they existed. It blew my mind. But, if you had billions of souls that needed something to do, you had to find work for them. The only part of Afterlife I’ve seen is processing and this apartment complex. Brandon told me this was a good thing. The job as a karma operative leaves me firmly rooted in the living world and I should keep it that way.

I thought about what the others had told me about Afterlife. Each one of my fellow Karma operatives had their own opinion, but the majority was of the same opinion. We had it good in Karma.

It’s a good thing, Cassie, you don’t want anything to do with Afterlife. This isn’t my first Afterlife job, Tiffany had told me while on our first case together. We had been sitting in the mall, watching a group of teenagers who were practicing their pick-pocket skills.

What were you before this? I asked.

I was basically a prison guard. I had to escort certain unruly souls to different areas of Afterlife. The lower floors. We kept them locked up in these holding areas while waiting for processing. They never explained why. I think it was because they were all newly dead, the majority of them were out of it. Some were angry, others were out of their mind crazy.

That’s probably where I was between my death and processing. I can’t remember it at all.

I have a few weeks between my death and processing too, Tiffany agreed.

This wasn’t a few weeks for me. I think it was close to a year, I’m not sure though, not about the date I died.

You’re the first person I’ve talked to that’s had these kinds of issues, Cassie. She looked at me with pity and I scowled. It was a sore subject that I couldn’t remember. For most, it’s a few weeks and they only have memory issues with the last few weeks of their life. It usually lines up with their death. Like if someone had a nasty form of cancer, their memory will be spotty about the end. Someone that dies from an accident won’t remember the accident. It’s sort of a blessing. I died in a plane crash. I don’t think I would want to remember the plane going down.

Every time you guys tell me more about Afterlife, I get more and more confused. I’m trying to align it with some kind of religion. I was thinking Hindu at first, since we are Karma, Incorporated, but that makes no sense.

Yeah, I wouldn’t even try, hun. It doesn’t align with anything, we’ve all tried. You were what, a Christian? I nodded my head. Yeah, well, I was a Buddhist, nothing lines up. I thought I would be done with the corporate world when I died. Seems I was really wrong since death seems to be the biggest corporation out there. And there wasn't one religion while I was living that said death was a Fortune 500.

But, for what gain? Why the capitalism? I asked. There didn’t seem to be a point.

Souls, Tiffany answered simply.

6

The Basics

My apartment was on the second floor of the complex, so I hurried up the stairs to change. The whole complex was set up in a square, with the front doors of each unit facing inward toward the pool and the backs of the apartments facing outward to the beyond. The only access out of the complex, into the living world, was through the lobby. A door in Brandon’s office supposedly led to Afterlife. When I had first arrived, we walked directly into the courtyard and pool area. I have never been able to find that door again, though .

My biggest learning curve as a Karma Incorporated operative was the manipulation of the world around me. I was a being of Afterlife now, which threw out the rules of physics. It had something to do with energy and that I technically wasn’t made from matter anymore, having shed my material form with death. And now that I was comprised of this energy, that Tiffany called dark matter, I could control and manipulate similar energy around me into anything I wanted by willing it.

It sounded easy in theory. It wasn’t.

There were also limits, some guiding factor that everyone I asked couldn’t name. A rule book. It was easier to manipulate things in Afterlife. I could conjure up anything I wanted, but the moment I set foot within the living world, if it wasn’t related to a case, it was going to dissipate. I hadn’t put it to the test, though. I was barely managing little things. Like my apartment.

Tiffany and Fallon, two other Karma operatives, had helped me set up my apartment. It had started as a door with empty Afterlife space behind it. It was a freaky experience. Try imagining nothing. It doesn’t work. You imagine an empty room, or space…there is always something. My door led to nothing. I had to create my space from the dark matter of Afterlife. I had to make it form to my will and take shape. To make it form to my will, I had to concentrate and will it into existence. Kind of how I willed my nails back to their healthy state in processing. It was easy in theory. It would come as second nature in time. Or so they told me. The two girls flexed their undead muscles by showing me how to form a room, how to change the colors of my walls, the size of my bed and even adding a kitchen, but I never quite got the hang of it.

Start small, Tiffany had said. Start with a window.

I opened the door to my apartment and my eyes were immediately drawn to the wall of windows at the back of my front room. It was the best view in all of Paris. My windows looked down on the dark waters of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower sparkled in the background. It was a scene I had never witnessed when I was alive. Now, I had the pleasure of looking at it from afar. But only from the other side of a window. If I were to open my window, I would see nothing. It wasn’t real. But it felt real on this side of the glass.

I glanced down at my watch. It would be right around sunset in California. I placed my palm on the glass of the window and thought San Francisco over and over again in my head. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t get disoriented and when I opened them I was looking out onto the Bay as the sun was setting behind the iconic view of the bridge.

I was getting better. It had taken me twice as long to get the view of Paris this morning. I watched as emergency vehicles sped across the bridge, heading to some unknown emergency. I had never been to San Francisco either. It had been on my bucket list. But, I hadn’t checked off one thing on my bucket list. The joys of dying at twenty-one.

I had been lying to myself about being used to being dead.

It still didn’t sit well with me. Especially when I caught sight of myself. My shimmering reflection in the glass gave me chills. I wasn’t Cassandra anymore. I didn’t look like myself, I didn’t feel like myself. I was something else, something new, something I wasn’t used to. It was odd.

You can’t be yourself anymore, Cassie, Brandon had told me the first time I glanced in the mirror in his office. You’re dead.

He was right. Cassandra Mercier was dead. I had to get over it.

I walked into the spacious master bedroom, coming face to face with the new Cassie. The girls had insisted that I have a wall of floor to ceiling mirrors.

You’ll need to be aware of how you look before you leave, always check the mirror. Back and front, Cassie, Fallon had told me.

I didn’t like looking at the new me, even though I had to admit the new me was rather attractive. It just wasn’t me.

The new Cassie was a few inches taller. The new Cassie had long brunette hair, which could be changed easily while in Afterlife. The new Cassie was slim and had a mouth that was turned down in a perpetual pout. My eyes were the only thing that I recognized. They had stayed the same. Same green color, same shape. It was true what they said about eyes being the window to the soul. They would never change.

I dug through my closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a dressy blouse. I smelled like sun and pool, so I jumped into the shower to wash off. It took me very little time to get ready, being on this side of Afterlife. You didn’t need much makeup if your skin was perfect and hairstyles were simply a matter of willing them into existence. It was boring, but time effective. Technically, I didn’t even have to shower since any smell or any imagined grime was all in my head. Manifesting because I expected it, not because it actually happened.

I glanced at myself in the mirror again. Everything was in place on this stranger. I slipped on a pair of heels, which will never hurt my feet, and walked out of my bedroom that I didn’t need to sleep in.

Brandon was waiting for me in my front room. He had pulled something up on my personal computer. This was my first time using the thing, since this was my first case. I referred to it as a computer lightly, it was a panel that took up a third of my front room wall and was controlled by our will. Another thing I hadn’t gotten the hang of quite yet. Brandon had told us that we could will anything into existence as long as it had been invented in the living world. The computer was one of those perks, some crazy NSA tech.

Case 101, Mercier, Brandon said to my wall, the background color faded to a light gray and a folder appeared, pulsing slightly. He touched the folder and a series of files appeared. He touched one, titled Summary, and it enlarged. A picture spun and zoomed in. The picture was of an attractive man in his late twenties, early thirties. He had the look of a free spirit. His hair was long and almost touched his shoulders, falling in waves around his face. He had sexy bedroom eyes that were a bright shade of blue and his lips were turned up in such a way that made him look like he was about to break out into a fit of laughter.

He’s pretty, I said.

He knows it too. Meet Bishop, Bishop Klein. He’s the bartender at the Spotted Calf.

I’ve been there a few times, I mused. Knowing that I had, but not able to focus on any particular memories.

He’s been the bartender for the last six years.

I don’t remember him. What’s his issue? I asked, touching the wall and bringing up a packet that was titled Negative Offenses. The list was long and went on for page after page.

"Top offenses includes stealing, cheating on his girlfriend, who’s pregnant with his child for a bonus, and he’s thinking about venturing into pharmaceutical sales. If he goes down that route, he’ll not only ruin his own life, but that of his unborn child’s, and his