Fates Rescue

By Grant Patrick Smith

With all the wonderful and strange things that go on in our world, have you ever asked yourself, Why do things happen the way they do? After all the crazy things that Ive done in my life, how is it that I am still alive? Was it coincidence that led me to meet the companion of my dreams? Or, How did I ever fall into this job? The answer is simple. Meet the Field Agents of Fates Rescue. Kyle, Tiffany, Winston, Allan, and thousands of other employees are those who are in charge of manipulating the fates of mankind.

The company, Fates Rescue, is the largest corporation in the world employing those in the afterlife, that is, those of the dead who choose to work. Twenty-seven years is all it takes with the company to secure their ticket to the final destination of heaven, or that is what we are led to believe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 1, 2006
• ISBN: 9781462835478

Grant Patrick Smith

Born in Sacramento in the late sixties, Grant Patrick Smith grew up in the Central Valley town of Modesto, California. Raised in a health club environment, Grant soon became an exceptional athlete, excelling in martial arts and having a brief stint on the men’s professional racquetball tour. He obtained his doctoral degree from Life West Chiropractic College in 1995 and then pursued diplomatic status with the International Academy of Medical Acupuncture. Grant makes his home in Arizona with his wife Tralonie and daughter Fallon. It took years of research for Dr. Smith to put pen to paper and form the book that you are reading today. Reckless Abandon is not only a story of change but is more of a transformation of the human soul. To awaken what lies dormant within us all. Because if one does not follow the path of potential, they may forever remain a whisper in the wind.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sound of car horns and diesel engines filled the

thickened air on a brisk and busy San Francisco morning. A hand painted sign hung over a set of wooden double doors reading Pappy’s Diner. The establishment had been there for nearly a hundred years and catered to many of the city’s locals.

A haunting creak escaped the metal hinges of the doors as a couple of seasoned truck drivers entered the restaurant. The entryway to the establishment reeked of cigarette smoke that had never left the diner since its opening. Used newspapers lay scattered in the waiting area on top of bench seats that had not been reupholstered since the Kennedy administration. The diner’s carpet was a dark crimson red that trailed off from left to right in a V fashion, the smoking section on the right and non-smoking on the left. Stains from the carpet raised a road map of history throughout the place guiding many of its customers to a Naugahyde booth and a full belly. And this morning was the same as many mornings before it.

Pappy’s Diner had been around the city since circa 1905 and had done little to change its appearance. Four generations had owned this diner and the same family still takes pride in its ownership. The diner had a legendary status throughout the years, being known for its traditional greasy spoon entrées, retro décor, and colorful staff. The place catered to all walks of life and beyond. It was a local saying that you never know what’s going to happen next or what you might get at Pappy’s Diner. The reference was not only to what you ordered (because what you got may not have been what you wanted), but was also to the clientele and wait staff.

Every morning there was a special waitress that worked the early shift and could be caught by the staff and customers waiting on tables in an out of the ordinary fashion. Whether she was talking to a wall or waiting on a table that had no customers, her presence was what gave the diner its character and kept the customers coming back.

The dishes clanged and the tableware chimed as a voice from the kitchen called out, Order ready, pick up! Music played in the background to the tunes of old blue eyes while waiters and waitresses scuffled from table to table clearing off their tips and setting the table for yet another hungry set of customers.

In the front corner booth of the diner stood Margie, one of the oldest waitresses that the restaurant business had ever seen. She came complete with orthopedic shoes, knee-high stockings, and a bouffant hairdo. Margie was every bit a part of the history of Pappy’s Diner as the dive was itself. The management kept her on the payroll because she was a good worker and gave the day a full eighty-percent just like the digits that stated her age on her driver’s license. She worked a hard day everyday, at least to the best of her abilities. Sometimes the other employees would make fun of her, teasing her about customers she waited on—that is the customers that she thought she was waiting on. It made some of the customers uncomfortable whenever she started taking orders from an empty booth that had in fact been empty throughout her shift. Eventually they would just laugh it off and view her behavior as an entertainment icon that was unique to the city.

But Margie the waitress didn’t do it all the time. Sometimes she took empty orders in the morning and sometimes at lunch. From the management and customers view, those odd moments struck her completely at random. She had done it for so long that the patrons and management took it as a novelty. There was no harm done and after awhile the owners believed that it was good for business. Nowhere else would you find a waitress like Margie.

She took her time with each group of hungry customers. No one had a love for their job like Margie. It was her calling just like the individual lives of the occupants that frequented Pappy’s. Once Margie was done taking her orders from booths one through five she cruised over to the empty table at the back of the diner and stood in front of the booth scratching a pencil to her notepad. She repeated the breakfast specials once, waited, took some notes, and then repeated the orders back just as if the booth was filled. The families and other customers would giggle and stare for a few moments but soon grew bored and back to their own business they would go.

So, do you want hash browns with that, Honey? Yeah, it comes with it, okay? I know, just like yesterday, everything on the side for Mr. Clean. How about you, hotshot?

She lowered the pad and glared carelessly at the customer who she saw clear as day (although was invisible to others) and waited for a reply.

Kyle looked up with the same cavalier attitude Margie had given and answered. I’ll have the number three.

Margie penciled in his order. You want chili on those fries like yesterday there, sport?

Kyle gave a surly grin and nodded an affirmative.

The booth had now been filled by four people that no one else could see except Margie. They placed their orders like the rest of the people who occupied the diner as they had done so many times before. Margie knew they were real but also knew that she was the only one in the diner that was capable of seeing the four who sat in that booth.

How about you princess? We don’t have any of that Perrier fancy water so you’ll just have to bare with the finest tap that San Francisco has to offer.

Tiffany sat back and folded her arms. Fine then, I want the special and I guess I’ll settle for your crappy water, with lemon.

Margie took her complaint in stride as she always did while Tiffany smirked a sarcastic smile towards the seasoned waitress.

How about you Shakespeare? said Margie.

Winston dropped his menu and patted his lapel. Three eggs, a lightly buttered muffin and your tallest glass of orange juice.

Winston always ordered with gusto and loved to roll his R’s when there was any time he felt that he was on stage or presenting something.

All right folks your order will be right up.

Margie shuffled the order in with her other orders so that she could confuse the cooks in the back who were on to her. She was too old to go around explaining what she saw but she still carried out her duties as a waitress for anyone who ordered whether other people could see them or not. If the management ever found out that she actually wanted the cooks to prepare something for what they thought were imaginary people they would cart her off in a heartbeat. There was no way they were making food for people who didn’t exist.

Margie was still sharp in the mind and did a great job of eluding them for years. It was one of the things that made her so special, besides the ability to see what everyone else couldn’t.

Pappy’s Diner stayed busy daily. It was a rare occurrence when the aisles and tables were not full of waitresses and customers who frequented the place or who were just in to see what an authentic greasy spoon was like. It was a familiar eating establishment that anyone could relate to. The diner was special to San Francisco because of a waitress like Margie but what she didn’t know is that there were others like her in many diners around the world. And there were many customers like Kyle, Tiffany, Winston, and Allan—nonexistent to most but very real and very much aware of everyone else around them.

Margie served up their order and laid the plates on the table. The plates displayed various colorful meals of eggs, potatoes, breads, and meats that stayed in their brilliance only for a moment before the occupants at the table touched them. The plates went from their natural vibrant colors to a dull pale white after passing through a field in which the customers inhabited.

Enjoy your meals folks. Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you. Margie scanned over the meal ticket from her notepad to see if the orders were correct and then laid it down on the table.

The check stayed visible through their whole dinning experience as it did every morning. The management seldom questioned the lone check that lay upon the back table each day. Eventually the check would disappear, but there were times in which the meal ticket would lay there for an hour or more waiting for someone to come and pick it up. The normal customers left the ticket where it was figuring that they wouldn’t play into Margie’s odd behavior and thus the ticket would lay there serving as a recent memory of the unique character of Pappy’s Diner.

Although she was different Margie was a good egg. It didn’t matter if the management was watching or not. Paying for the meals was never a problem because her customers were always good about that. As long as the management didn’t lose any money on the account that their waitress was crazy it was okay with them.

Why is it that every time you order potatoes in any way, shape, or form you have to have chili on them? Allan questioned.

Kyle raised a brow at Allan replying, I couldn’t imagine them without. Potatoes taste like crap without a load of chili on them. Besides, I need the rocket fuel for my bowels.

Tiffany closed her eyes tight. Come on Kyle. That’s just gross. Honestly, if I didn’t have to be here I would be as far away from your smelly ass as I could.

Allan frantically butted in. Now Tiffany let’s try to make the best of things. It’s probably going to be a while before any of us gets their ticket punched so let’s just try to be a little more tolerant.

Tiffany sat back in the booth and folded her arms once again. Winston, the fourth member, didn’t pay much attention to the other three. He kept his reading glasses low on the bridge of his nose and offered nothing to the conversation. Despite his clucking companions, Winston was, in his opinion, on a stage of his own.

This same scene had gone on for many years, where the constant bickering had worked itself up into a comical frenzy. It became second nature to them all, usually ending with a moment of silence then the reanimation of civilized behavior would soon come trailing behind. One thing was certain, they had to put up with each other because they could not be separated, not until their work was done and not until each of them had their final paperwork stamped. It was a long career when one worked for a company like they did but they and others like them found it all worth it in the end.

They went about finishing their meals in a civilized manor. Kyle, who wore most of his chili-cheese potatoes on the front of his shirt, let out a massive belch signaling the end of his eating event.

My complements to the chef, he said as he rubbed the stains of his shirt and then licked his fingers once again.

Tiffany rolled her eyes and tried to clear the awful image from her thoughts. She did all she could to paint a mental picture of a much more beautiful place in the times of her old life. The days of beautiful cars, giant homes and handsome boyfriends swirled around her head but once she opened her eyes the filthy horror had returned. Those days were long gone for Tiffany and now she was forced to sit across from Kyle the disgusting. He was a repulsive and vile being that had not changed one bit since the days that he took a physical human form. Those days were gone for all of them including the many of those who were like them.

Must you be like that? Tiffany asked.

Like what? Kyle replied, not having a clue how gross his mannerisms were to those around him.

Every morning we get together try to have a nice breakfast, maybe even some light conversation. Frankly Kyle, I can’t concentrate on the day’s schedule with your sloppy ass eating from the trough. For crying out loud, use a napkin every once in a while.

Allan jumped in. She is right you know, actually one bite and one wipe, one bite and one wipe. That’s the proper way to do it.

Kyle and Tiffany both raised their brows to Allan’s remark. Even Winston had trouble dealing with Allan’s overbearing anal retentiveness.

Why do all of you look at me like that? Allan asked. When I offer something it is meant to be constructive and educational.

Kyle and Tiffany just sat there glaring at Allan. Even Winston had dropped his book and flashed a sarcastic smile at him. Allan placed his hand inside his coat pocket, pulled out a scheduling book, and sat back.

We have work to do people or have you all forgotten your duties to the company? Now, has everybody finished? Or shall we wait and hose Kyle down before we take him out in public?

Tiffany stood up and put her sweater on. It doesn’t matter what he looks like because we’re the only ones who have to put up with him. Besides, there isn’t another Field Agent for miles and it’s not like it’s a big secret that Kyle’s a slob.

Kyle added a reply. You know, I’m still here. I’m sitting right here. So don’t worry about digging into me with your snide remarks.

Winston scooted out from the booth and straightened his vest and jacket. Now children let’s try to be adults and remember why we are here. Kyle, no more screw-ups this month, all right? Letting that young teacher get shot while you overslept caused a major infraction with the company and I will not have those negative marks on your record affecting our group. That poor young lad, what was his name, Erik Walker?

Yes, that is exactly correct, Allan jumped in.

By the way, does anyone know if he lived through the shooting? You know, once they’re dead there is no telling where they are going to end up. As a matter a fact, I heard that he did live, barely. Tiffany said.

And you know what? If I was that young Erik Walker and my fate mistakenly came to pass and I came to find out that a screw-up from the company wasn’t doing his job, the first thing I would do is find Kyle and beat him senseless.

Winston laughed at Tiffany’s remark and then went right back to Kyle who just glared at Winston like a teenager being scolded.

Look Kyle, I know it was not your jurisdiction and that assignments out of the Sector are rare but you must realize that we work as a team.

Kyle said nothing and acted as if he wasn’t paying attention to him. It’s your turn to pay, Winston, Kyle said as he straightened the sleeves of his shirt and walked to the front counter to grab a toothpick.

Kyle never took orders or criticism well from anyone. He even chose to hang around those who had the same attitude when he was among the living. One would think that death could give someone complete clarity. A conscious entity achieving oneness with the universe. That would be wonderful if only that were true. The soul is a curious thing. We can feel it and we know that it exists. From the first heartbeat and throughout our lonesome lives we can experience a constant change within us all. More or less it is the effects of aging and if we’re lucky, wisdom from past experiences. But the soul is that which parallels time and always remains the same even beyond the grave. Those like Kyle and the rest of the dead had nothing but a soul to live on and they were only as completely evolved as they chose to be.

Any individual can change, but it always had to be an act of the conscious will and some people simply didn’t want to put forth the effort. Kyle was just that sort of person, set in his ways and obviously unconscious in his decisions. He was only working with the other three because he had chosen to work for the company when the recruiters gave him the option. He had selected the only job that would guarantee him a sure passage to the next world and out of the between world, which was between the physical world and the next dimension. It was also the only job where you could get around having to change. Actually, it was the only job around. The job description was easy enough. You would manipulate and change the fates of the living in exchange for your own final passing to the next world. But it was more than that, much more.

Winston reached into his pocket and pulled out a fold of paper money. The check was taken care of just like any other tab that had to be paid by a physical being. He would pay like everyone else.

The money in Winston’s hand had a slight glow to it just like his skin tone. The paper was slightly transparent and ghost-like until he laid it down. As soon as the money was set on the table there was a small flash and then all at once the money became real to the physical world.

Are you going to need change, honey? Margie asked as she approached the table.

Winston shook his head. No my dear, he said as he headed out the door to meet up with the rest.

Thank you kindly! Margie hollered. She smiled and waved to the rest as the other restaurant customers looked on with bewilderment.

Sector 17

Chapter 2

Allan stood in front of the group holding a notepad.

Now, does everyone have their assignments? Is there any confusion? Do you all know where to go?

The other three smiled at Allan stifling their remarks until Tiffany spoke up.

Yes Allan, you’ve asked us the same three questions everyday, since the beginning of our employment, we got it. She straightened out her lapels and primped her hair. Tiffany stood there with her back to the rest of the men making sure they knew that she was ignoring them before she crossed the street and waited for the others to take their positions. Winston remained on the street corner while Allan and Kyle crossed over to the remaining empty corners of the intersection. Once they got to the sidewalk Allan continued on through the crosswalk leaving Kyle behind. They faced inward towards the intersection and simultaneously looked at their watches. When the clock struck nine they all turned away and walked down the streets increasing the distance from them all.

Although the agents all worked for the same company each agent’s individual assignments were constantly changing within the realm of their own expertise. It made the experience of working for the company more exciting and also kept them from going utterly insane. The assignments tended to be somewhat satisfying depending on which case they were assigned that day. It was a common sight when the assignments would somehow affect the agents but there were also agents who were numb to their tasks and couldn’t care less if any physical being lived or died. There would be times when Tiffany would meet up with the rest of the men in the later part of the afternoon or early in the evening and be totally radiant, feeling that she had a good day in contributing to the fates of man. Sometimes the assignments were so satisfying that it made the between life better than some of the days when she was alive. Naturally, there are two sides to every coin and the most common sight that the rest of the agents beheld was that young, beautiful Tiffany was a total bitch and was used to getting her way.

Allan remained as regimented as he always was. His personality had never changed since any of the others had known him. Allan had been with the company the longest. He had seniority in the group but nobody ever paid attention to the Team Leader rule and his management practices. He was by the book with everything in his life. His personal file was spotless with the company, as it was when he worked as a bookkeeper while he was alive. There were times that his mood would also be swayed by his daily work duties and he would bring it back to the table at Pappy’s Diner. These assignments entailed injustice, bullying or wrongful identity. It was true that his seniority had been ignored but he never forgot that there was a time when he too was the new guy and had to learn the ropes just as the others did when they came aboard.

They were all well-seasoned professionals now and although they despised one another they couldn’t help but feel a strange closeness and the knowledge that they were a part of the same team, trying to obtain a common goal. The Field Agents who sat at the same table that morning knew that eventually one of them would get their ticket punched and there was no doubt in their minds that Allan would be the next to cross over.

The agents worked in a part of the United States known to the company as Sector 17. To those in the physical plane the sector was merely the San Francisco metro area. They worked within the coastal boundaries of the city stretching from the eastern docks of the Potrero District all the way to Ocean Beach. From the Golden Gate to the southern boundaries of South San Francisco, although some of the city’s assignments took them into the east bay area on occasion. The sectors in California started from San Diego and stretched to the Arizona border and then worked their way up the state. The major cities with the greatest amount of population per square mile employed however many Field Agents that was deemed necessary.

Allan, Kyle, Winston, and Tiffany had worked the San Francisco area for many years and did a pretty good job of keeping the fates of millions of people running smoothly until it was time to turn away and let fate take its course. By comparison the San Francisco area was viewed by the company as having the greatest amount of incidents for a section that wasn’t all that big. Analysts with the company shared many theories over the years that it was the dense population of the city. Others thought that there was a vortex underneath the city that caused people to have more accidents than they would have normally had living in another part of the state or country. The other Field Agents with the company blamed it on the famous four who were assigned to that particular area, saying that they caused more harm than good but that they were really good at disguising their screw-ups. Most of the problems with the group came from Kyle. At times it was one thing after another and Kyle’s disciplinary record would just get bigger and longer. This gave the group a horrible reputation in which they lost all trust with their peers. There were times where Kyle surprised everyone and would actually do something humane. But those times were unpredictable and no one held their breath waiting for the next time when Kyle would decide to think about somebody else besides himself.

On his way down Market Street and to his assignment Kyle stopped at a food vendor and loaded up a hotdog with extra onions and sauerkraut. He pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet and with a glow, materialized them onto the metal lid of the cart. He continued to walk up the street to the nearest newsstand and picked up the latest issue of Penthouse Magazine stuffing it into his back pocket while he finished his mid-morning snack.

Kyle’s first assignment of the day was not more than a block from the newsstand where he got his daily serving of smut. He knew where all of the good newsstands were all over the city although he preferred the adult bookstores. Unfortunately for Kyle there wasn’t enough time for some cheap thrills while he was saving the first assignment of the day from a horrible death.

He stood patiently amongst a group of people who waited at the bus stop near the corner of a busy San Francisco intersection. His assignment was a twenty-four year old female with blonde hair wearing a gray overcoat. He approached the bus stop with his usual cavalier attitude. His tongue performed a disgusting ballet performance across his mouth while trying to save any of the shreds of sauerkraut from falling to the ground. Once his tongue retracted itself back into his mouth he focused on the young blonde woman and waited for the timing to be right.

Hey she’s not bad, he thought to himself as he checked her out from heel to hip.

Where’s the bikini blondie? he said out loud knowing that she couldn’t hear him.

Kyle noticed that her high heels were new and that the heel itself was extremely thin. So thin that her ankles were wobbling every time she took a step.

Stiletto heels, me likie, Kyle said in a fiendish manor.

There was no doubt that she was unsteady on her feet and those pretty little shoes would eventually be the death of her and that was exactly what Kyle was there for. Because in saving her life that young lady would go on to climb the corporate ladder and save her company from going under. She would then go on to be a very successful businesswoman. It would be years from now but the company that Kyle worked for couldn’t have something like death get in her way.

The bus rumbled up the street approaching the stop where the group of people waited. The driver of the bus had frequented the same stop day after day for the last fifteen years. Every morning the bus would stop at this location rather abruptly and sometimes one would even hear the screeching of the tires when they locked up and the bus would come to a halt. Today was one of those days. Traffic in the slow lane was clear which was unusual for a San Francisco morning. No pedestrians or cyclists had impeded the lane as the large bus barreled down the pavement like a Japanese bullet train.

Kyle stood at the curb finishing his hot dog and wiping off the mustard remains from his shirt. Though at times it appeared that he was ignoring her it was quite the contrary. She never left his peripheral field of vision especially when she turned to look around her and the fold of her jacket would open up. With each turn her jacket slightly swayed to the side to give Kyle a sneak preview of her neatly pressed, corporate style mini-skirt.

As the bus drew nearer Kyle’s young assignment lost her balance as her heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. The sleek and sexy shoes that were probably her pride and joy did her not one bit of good at that moment and would only be the end of her. She faced the small crowd of people in an attempt to regain her balance but her weight had shifted so much that the momentum of her body sent her falling backwards toward the street and into the path of the bus.

Kyle had one bite of his hot dog left and had no problem finishing it while he reached out and grabbed the gray lapel of the blonde woman’s jacket and pulled her back up onto the sidewalk.

Once she got her footing the bus whisked by and came to a screeching halt. The doors flung open and the bus driver came running out to check on the lady who had been swarmed by the crowd of people at the bus stop, asking her over and over again, Are you okay?

She fixed her hair and straightened out her coat, blouse, and mini-skirt. I’m all right, she said as her eyes caught a glimpse of a bright yellow substance on the tips of her fingers. She ran her hand down the front of her lapel where Kyle had grabbed her and found a smearing of yellow mustard left on her jacket. The lady remained standing there on the sidewalk with a confused look on her face while Kyle casually walked away and onto the next assignment of the day.

Chapter 3

Just outside of the Mission District, Allan’s first assignment

was about to get underway. At a nearby school there had been some trouble on the playground and Allan had orders