Destiny

I regret not acting quick enough. Then again, I should be better at recognizing red flags. It's not my first rodeo with someone like you. You tried to outsmart me, which is something that you should never do. I still think back to the day of our first encounter. I didn’t know your entire story, but you were desperate to know mine.

It was a cool summer Thursday when we first met. It was a quarter until six, and I had taken my weekly trip to the bookstore after work. As I was in the middle of shopping, the scent of pomegranates mixed with berries had swarmed the bookstore's ambiance. While my nose was trying to trace the source of the sudden fruity smell, you quickly approached me out of thin air.

Your long and straightened hair was black with silver highlights. You wore a gorgeous rose quartz necklace around your neck. You had a fresh manicure: silver tips, nude base. Your lips were freshly glossed as they curled into a warm smile. You told me your name was Destiny. I told you mine was Faith.

Your tone was cheerful. You had this bright and bubbly aura around you that captured the curiosity of every stranger that passed by. You told me you were new to the city. As we talked, strangers would approach and compliment you on whatever they admired about you: bright eyes, pretty smile, alluring essence.

You mentioned that you were looking for some fun things to do over the weekend. I suggested tomorrow night's silent disco at the skating rink, or Saturday's summer festival at Canyon Park. We immediately exchanged numbers once you saw what was in my basket: a physical album from one of my favorite DJs: Phoenix Ascendant. We both rave about our favorite songs before you get a notification on your phone. You told me it's your mom, and that you promised to call her around this time.

You placed down your basket of things and called your mom. My intuition got the best of me, and my eyes looked inside. I saw a black book, but the bright yellow box of Rider-Waithe Smith tarot cards was what stuck out to me the most. I shrugged it off and picked up a few more things before waving you goodbye.

Friday night, I went to the skating rink. I earned a promotion at work, and I wanted to celebrate with my friends. The DJ had called people up to dance around the rink. My friends and I skated towards the center, and our dancing managed to gather a crowd in which I spotted your face. Your body swayed to the music that pulsed through the headphones. I pulled you into our dance circle. I won't lie: you were dancing your ass off. I wasn't the only one that noticed.

Even though my headphones cancelled out the external noise, I could sense the hype and anticipation around us. Everyone was raving over the mystery girl with the new groove. Even my own friends were asking about who you were. When I told them about our meeting at the bookstore, they were eager to get to know you. They invited you to get dinner with us, and you immediately accepted.

One hour later, we were all sitting at In-N-Out Burger. We all got to know each other while surrounded by fizzy drinks, double-doubles and animal style fries. You asked everyone questions, mainly names and zodiac signs. My friends weren't too closed off about the specifics either. Your knowledge of the stars and astrology drew everyone into you. They gave you their full birthday details. I casually mentioned that I was a Pisces. You jokingly called me the psychic of the group.

The table laughed. I awkwardly let out a few laughs and got a few pats on my shoulders. Eventually, I brushed it off. The comment was just a joke after all. I did notice that you were a bit quiet about your own personal life. It's understandable: you wouldn't want to be too open to a group of people you just met. All you said was that you work as a financial analyst for one of the bank branches here.

You asked us if we hung out this often. Before I could answer, my friends spoke up for me. They mentioned my promotion, and your eyes lit up when you found out, and forced me to come out about my professional life. You kept complimenting after our friend group dynamic after that. I made a mental note as I ate the rest of my food. That night when I came home, some of my friends were privately texting me.

They asked me what I thought about you. They were concerned that I appeared too standoffish. I was honest with them. I thought you were pretty cool, but I reminded them that I hate talking about myself too much when meeting someone. My boyfriend Hunter, who's usually home around this time, sent me a text. He got called in to cover someone's shift, and he wouldn't be back until early morning. I texted him goodnight before heading to bed.

Around seven-thirty am Saturday, Hunter came home. He always has the whole weekend off, which means we have every weekend for each other. I was pleased to feel his warm embrace, and his morning forehead kiss brought a smile to my face. I turned to face him and snuggled into his chest. He sleepily talked about our weekend plans before he said something that caught me off guard. He told me that the two of us had a new neighbor right next door, and she happened to know me.

I asked if our new neighbor has dark red hair and a rose quartz ring on her right ring finger. Once he confirmed the details, I knew he was talking about you. I figured you're one or two floors above or below, but I was wrong. You were right next door. He says you probably saw his lock screen when he dropped his phone. That must be how you recognized me. Those were the last words Hunter mumbled before he fell asleep.

Around two pm, we were ready to head to Canyon Park. We were excited to see Phoenix Ascendant headlining tonight. He finished booking round trip train tickets while I was securing the front door on our way out. That was when I heard your voice calling out to us. You had a wagon full of grocery bags and were quick to greet us.

While you chatted away, my eyes trailed towards the content of your grocery bags. Lemons, a pad of post it notes and some fresh herbs and spices. The rest of your haul is some fresh produce, different meats, and a few snacks. There was a small and brandless paper bag whose contents were secured with bubble wrap. My wandering eyes caught your attention, and you told me it was a Mason Jar. You said there was a homemade jam recipe that you wanted to try, and I took your word for it.

Before Hunter and I could leave, you told us how excited you were for us to be neighbors. My mouth blurted out an invitation to dinner Sunday night. It was my turn to host the monthly dinner party, and I thought the girls would be really excited to see you there. You excitedly agreed before going into your apartment. Hunter said it was nice of me to be neighborly, but my headaches and chest pains said otherwise.

As Phoenix Ascendant was closing out their set that night, my heart began to feel heavy. I didn't have too much festival food, but my body felt uneased. My boyfriend quickly noticed and took me away from the crowd and to a secluded spot under a large palm tree. He could still feel my pulse when he checked. We decided to head back to the station early and avoid the oncoming rush of traffic out of the festival.

My boyfriend and I made it home safe, and he looked after me most of the night. I spent the night drinking decaf teas while me and my boyfriend watched a movie. We both fell asleep around the halfway mark. I slept peacefully going into Sunday morning, my mind kept feeding me small flashes of white until my dream state gave me a setting for my dreams tonight.

I was sitting in a large movie theater, and an illuding motion picture started to play in front of me. There was a black and white countdown before a vision started playing. It was you. You were standing in your kitchen, cooking a lasagna for the dinner party. Your cooking was precise, and you made sure to add a specific measurements of each ingredient. As the meat sauce was slowly cooking, you added in a few drops of a red substance that I couldn't identify. It did look like a darker colored hot sauce. You stirred the pot and repeated the same incantation three times over while the meat sauce was still stewing.

"Take my current life, and swap it with Faith,

I'll harbor her blessings, friends, and soulmate,

To my ancestors, please grant my plea,

A rookie enchantress named Destiny."

You wrote down my name with and put it in that same Mason jar I saw last Saturday. You placed a dead roach inside, squeezed some lemon juice inside, and added a few drops of vinegar. You sprinkled some red pepper flakes and chili powder before adding a few dashes of hot sauce. You wrote down the same incantation and placed the paper inside. Finally, you sealed everything in some rainwater from the storm that poured outside your window.

You wrapped the jar in aluminum foil and placed it inside of a flimsy retail bag before placing it in the freezer. As you slammed the freezer door, my mind jolted me awake. Technically my alarm did. I was back in the comfort of my room. I spent that entire Sunday cleaning house while Hunter was cooking in the kitchen. The night came quicker than ever.

The house was cleaned. My friends and their partners had gone to pick up some last-minute things before heading over. Hunter and I were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. You came and dropped off a lasagna before heading back to your place to get ready. I had finished cleaning house and was about to start cooking myself. By seven pm, dinner was ready.

It was twelve of us sat us around the living room. You watched everyone else indulge in your homemade lasagna as you called it. You smiled as your cooking was showered with compliments. You also made sure Hunter and I finished our portions before you started eating the rest of yours. You took one bite of the lasagna. I watched your mouth slowly chew the bits and pieces before swallowing. It was like a switch went off in your head. Minutes later you threw baseless accusations at me. You said I switched out your lasagna for another one, and I demanded that you prove it.

You went all over my kitchen to look for your lasagna that I supposedly switched out. You threw things while you shouted at me, attempting to humiliate me in front of my friends who eventually got up to intervene. The shouting was stopped by the collective whiff of subtle smoke. There was a fire in my kitchen.

Firefighters were called. Hunter and I started evacuating everyone. By the time police showed up, the entire kitchen and living room were engulfed in flames. After everyone was questioned an hour later, you were kicking and screaming as police carried you away in handcuffs. Everyone gave statements, pointing you out as the main instigator. The fire was caused one of the lit candles that you threw.

A year after the fire, I watched you nervously tap your fingers against the defendant desk as jury members returned to their seats. When everyone was settled, the judge asked if the jury had reached a decision. The foreperson stood up, and chills filled the air as he read the verdicts aloud. The repetitions of the word guilty after each verdict were like a knife to your throat, but to me they were warm blankets that soothed my heartache.

Your reasoning behind everything? "The lasagna was supposed to work. It always works." Your voice holds no sympathy. The words seamlessly flow out of your mouth and into the mic for the entire courtroom to hear, and they're appalled. Your eyes stared down towards the floor, and you cried to yourself before being taken away in handcuffs.

It's been two years since then. Within those two years, more stories came out about you. This isn't your first time doing something like this, but it might be your last for a while. You should've never mentioned you were from South Carolina. You were the reason behind the death at a high school in Greenville. The school was different from the one I went to.

The victim came from a lower-class background, but she had the most promising future. She was the top of her class with rumors of hard-earned scholarships and an acceptance to her dream school. You and your high-status hierarchy were only six paces behind her, but that wasn't enough for you was it? Media reports are back and forth. One half uses your actions to push an anti-witchcraft campaign while the other side tries to go back to the root of it all: social hierarchy and academic jealousy.

Hunter has become my husband. We moved out of the city and into the suburbs. It's a nice house with enough rooms for guests and any surprise family members. I should know since I've been carrying one for almost twelve weeks now. New home, new cars, and new chapters are on the horizon for the both of us. We've even got a big, four-legged protector with us. He’s a three-year-old named Xander.

I’m unloading groceries into the groceries. That’s when I see it. Sitting in the very back of the freezer is a plastic bag. Inside is a mason jar wrapped in foil and encased in a polypropylene bag. I open the bag and unravel the foil. I can still see the chili flakes, and the chili powder has given the contents a spicy red color. As I hold the frozen jar in my hand, I think back to the first day we met and the red flags I've collected since then.

Your bright aura and fruity fragrances didn't take away from the aquamarine stone with the small black dot in its center. I know a snake eye ring when I see one. The tarot cards you picked up weren't big enough to mask the big black witchcraft book in your basket. I was there to pick up some new tarot decks anyway, so it was just a reminder of the things I needed. That first meeting was just red flag number one.

You led every conversation with detail on Friday night. Your eyebrows would furrow at the sound of every birthday uttered in your direction. I was planning on keeping mine a secret until one of my friends decided to be the bearer of the news. Your eyes and subtle head nod told me you kept a mental log of that night in your head. You nearly jumped with excitement when you heard about my promotion, and you kept saying how you wish you had a friend group like ours. That night was red flag number two.

The weekend was the icing on the cake. Your grocery haul was typical for a priestess practitioner, but the dinner party was where my suspicions reached an all-time high. You were adamant on everyone eating your lasagna, and you weren't sly about giving Hunter one of the bigger pieces. The dreams I had the night before only confirmed what I had suspected in the beginning. I had to switch out your lasagna for good reason.

You were desperate to come inside before you left, but Hunter was assertive enough to take the lasagna off of your hands. I’m thankful for that because you definitely would’ve seen the backup lasagna that I was putting together. I followed your exact recipe minus the mysterious red substance and the incantations.

I snap out of my daydreams and look up to see Hunter quickly approaching me. He takes the jar out of my hands and carefully places it on the counter before asking me what I plan to do with it. I plan to empty it and clean it out. It could be useful for another time. He playfully suggests that the moment in question could be as soon as next week, and he gives me a cheeky smile.

I ask Hunter if he wants me to do a spell for him. He says he'll tell me more later. Instead, his arms embrace my upper body, and his fingertips graze the diamond ring on my marriage finger. He kisses my shoulder and starts telling me that we've got a future to plan for. I rub my belly. We’ve got a baby shower to plan for, and a nursery to set up. The rune necklace that I wear eases my mind.  

Since you went to prison, I haven’t had any dreams about you. They mostly vary. If they aren’t about me and Hunter, then they're a reflection of the movies and tv shows I fall asleep watching. If it wasn’t for that dream, I don't think I would've ever been able to catch your true intentions, Destiny. Never try and outsmart a witch like me.