Fate's Exchange (Twisted Fate, Book 1)

Chapter Six

Rage burned through me again and my temper snapped. I wouldn't let the voice do this, not now when there was nothing left to lose. The hesitation the unknown had had me feeling dissipated, and I allowed the anger the voice had lit within me take over. I was dead. It wasn't like I would be made to suffer more than I already had.

"So, what, now I'm going to be judged on that? One mistake! Like nothing I've done until now matters? My intent means nothing to you, whatever the hell you might be?

"How can you ignore what happened? With all your powers and insight and I'm assuming goodness"—I made finger quotations in the air, as I really wasn't sure how good the voice was—" how can you let them go and then judge me? What gives you that right? At least my intentions were good. They wanted to hurt me. Worse, they enjoyed it. Now, not only are they not held accountable, but you helped them get away with it. Where's the fairness or-or... or the justice in that? That group will hurt someone else and you know it!"

I paced back and forth, each step taking another piece of my anger and throwing it into the vast whiteness overwhelming me on all sides. Pausing, I looked back at the image. There is no weapon. The voice had taken care of staging my suicide, but they'd forgotten to include a weapon? I squinted. Not even the rock. No trail of blood.  That was good. All I needed was a detective with a sharp eye and....

Were suicides ever investigated?

"Your anger does you no good here, Alyssa Frank."

My gaze darted around, the voice pulling me from my thoughts. "Then tell me, what would 'do me good'?" I rolled my eyes and slumped, defeated, and felt like I had just gone through the entire grief cycle in a matter of minutes. My gaze remained on the image.

Dead.

Alone.

It was all lies. A joke, just like my life, too short and unfulfilled to be considered anything else. How could I deal with this when the only reason I had accepted what happened was so that it would help others? It wasn't fair.

"To listen," the voice said in the lowest pitch it'd used since it had presented itself, almost as though stifling a chuckle. But that was crazier than waking after dying. Whoever—whatever—the voice was, it wouldn't know humor if it sat down for dinner with a court jester. Obviously, that was how medieval its mindset was because I was sure the voice wouldn't know who a modern-day comedian was.

"Then stop talking in riddles," I ordered.

I sucked in my breath, the fresh air sliding down my throat like an ice cube that hadn't melted: rough and cool, and hard to swallow. Why should I worry how the voice was going to react? It couldn't kill me or send me to my room. Hell, maybe, but I wasn't convinced yet. Besides, I'd already proven pain was nonexistent wherever here was. Give me your best shot.

"To take one's own life is an act against God."

"So is murder," I said without thinking, positive that God had nothing to do with what happened to me. If He could allow this? Well, that didn't say much about the possibility of there being a higher power. It was easier to believe that He didn't exist. "I wasn't thinking about God. I told you, I was trying to save myself. Jesus Chri—" I winced. "Sorry."

"Your actions may have been to save yourself, but you didn't regret them in the end. When you knew that death would come, you welcomed it." The voice paused, and the silence was a heavy weight on my chest. Every inch of my body was one great big raw nerve ending ready to sizzle whatever was ballsy enough to touch me.

"So?" I shifted. "I'm not a robot like you. I feel pain. Do I regret trying to save myself? No. Do I regret not feeling any more pain? Or fear? Or not gagging on the taste of my own blood? No, I do not feel regret. Not for accepting death when I thought I had nothing left to choose from. At that point, it was pretty inevitable, don't you think? I thought I was going to help the people they'd already hurt!"