Fate's Exchange (Twisted Fate, Book 1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Alyssa? Answer your father," my mother directed as my father watched me.

The woman from the evening news spoke in the background, once again detailing the attacks Josh and his friends had just begun. It provided a timeline, at least, but left me confused. I shook my head. How was I at the supper table, once again reliving the argument that lead to being grounded?

I died.

What happened to the layover in the clouds?

It was easier to know where I stood when I talked with the voice before being sent back to life, if talking to thin air could be considered comforting. Maybe the voice didn't have anything to critique this time around. Was it because I didn't want to die? Or because I was mad about it. A terrible thought occurred to me, which I wanted to deny even though that wouldn't make it any less true.

Would I have shoved Tina aside if Mr. Tinsley had gone for her instead?

As much as I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, I didn't think so. Tina was my best friend, and I loved her, but I couldn't help someone who didn't want to be saved. It was hard to digest. I chose to not think about it, which was easier than admitting that I didn't know—or knew but would never, not in a million years, admit.

 "Okay." I pushed my plate away and began to stand as I looked between my parents. "You want a reason for why I've been cutting class, and I swear I have one, but I can't tell you what that is. It's awesome, though, I promise."

"That's not good enough."

"I know, Dad, but that's what I have for you now. I know you're about to ground me for a month and then Mom's going to narrow it down to a week with no phone, and that's fair," I rushed. "But I won't break a friend's trust to avoid being grounded."

"We would never tell someone that you broke their trust, Alyssa," my mom said.

She looked up as I stood to my full height, a mixture of shock and hurt on her face. If I could do things another way, I would. But I was too confused to try to explain it. Three deaths were two too many. Now I was just pissed off, sick of whatever cycle I'd gotten stuck in, and felt like screaming, "Let me stay dead or tell me what to do!"

Of course, with only my parents to listen and think I was crazy, that would be useless.

I sighed. "They would know if I did, okay? So I can't."

"Alyssa—"

"Dad, I'm serious. I want to tell you, I do, but I can't. Do you want me to betray a friend? Is that the kind of daughter that you raised?" I raised my eyebrow at him and watched as he went from being angry to being confused, then finally, becoming resigned.

"I'm going to my room now," I said quickly before my father's emotions morphed into parent mode again and he started to demand an answer. "If Tina calls, tell her I'm grounded and that I'll see her Monday morning, okay? Goodnight." I walked out of the kitchen before their shock wore off and I was detained for questioning.

Closing my bedroom door, I leaned my back against the wood and sighed. Perhaps I should have looked in the library for how to parent a parent. Some philosophy or something. Hopefully, my parents would remain too shocked with my reverse psychology long enough for this 'chance' to run its course. Then I wouldn't have to worry about it because they'd forget the conversation that we'd just had.

It wasn't something I could dwell on right now. Confused, I ran over to the mirror and stared, turning this way and that to inspect my body with a sense of déjà vu. Once again, just like the first time I had returned, nothing had changed. I looked up and saw that my journal was how I'd left it that morning, identical to what I'd found with each return. I wore the same clothes, every accessory matching what had been worn the first time that I'd been grounded.

Had I been given another chance after failing too soon?

Was it compensation and if so, did it give me less than a week this time?

Or had the voice tired of my insolence?

*****

An hour later, I sat at my desk and stared at the monitor of my laptop, drumming my fingers against the top of the desk with an irregular rhythm. One thing had changed. It was baffling and so irrelevant, I had no clue where it fit. Beside my computer and on top of my school textbooks were the books I had checked out of the library—an act I had to complete this time around.

Choosing to take that as a positive sign that I had been on the right track, I opened a new search engine on my computer but then paused. How would I search for aliases? Looking up the plural form of the word brought up definitions. 'Choosing an alias' described picking an online persona or pseudonym. 'Legal aliases' wasn't much better, though there were sites that defined what it was and then proceeded to detail the legal repercussions of changing your name to escape the law.

Why was I looking up aliases in the broad sense when Tina had told me what names Mr. Tinsley had used?

That made it so much easier. Fun, even. Every name she had provided generated multiple responses, but given Mr. Tinsley's fetish, combined with his skill, it was as easy as breathing to narrow it down. The pieces fell into place and I hit print. It would mean nothing when I outed him if I couldn't provide proof verifying the facts against the identification in his possession, but all I needed to do was suggest to the right person—a teacher accused of a sexual relationship with a student was grounds for investigation.

I pulled up a fresh Word document and began typing as a plan formulated. This time would be different. I was done analyzing right from wrong. That wasn't me. Who cared what others wanted or expected? It was time to do what I wanted and, right or wrong, I would just live the week as though it was my last.

Maybe it was this time.

Mr. Tinsley needed to be taken care of or I would never be able to move past it, but it had to be done in a way that didn't hurt Tina. I was still pissed that I had died for her and she had had the audacity to stick up for him—how could she choose him over me? If Tina didn't care about herself, that was fine. I tried. She might not know it, but I had died trying, and she hadn't given a damn. I couldn't sacrifice any more time trying to protect her. Now I only cared about the other girls he'd done it to, and all the girls he would do it to if nothing was done.

If I could stop that, I could be free to live without the weight of guilt.

It had been my plan from the start, but all the crap with Tina and Mr. Tinsley had gotten in the way. That's what I had told the voice I believed in—to live for yourself was the only way to lead a full life. So that's what I would do. I would let go of my inhibitions, my fears, and my insecurities. I would forget about the fact that I was living in the last moments of my life, and just live like it was my final encore before the stage went dark. Take advantage of knowing I could try anything, and then enjoy trying to do it.

Why not?

What happened to having fun? Why shoulder all this responsibility for someone who didn't give a 'you-know-what' about herself? I hadn't chosen this; it had been chosen for me. So, what was the best way to let go of the burden? How could I deal with this in a way that made everyone happy? Except for Mr. Tinsley, of course—he deserved tortures I hadn't yet dreamed up.

What would accomplish that and leave me the freedom to live?

My fingers couldn't type as swift as my thoughts generated. Finishing so fast I would have made my Info Processing teacher proud, I hit print with a smile and attached the enclosures which would provide a detailed summary of Mr. Tinsley's fraudulent background.

Right or wrong, it was the perfect plan.