Chapter 3The Script of Destiny

She frantically patted down her pockets and rummaged through her purse, her panic growing more visible by the second. Finding nothing, she grabbed my arm. “When you slapped me… did you steal them then? I swear they were in my purse when I grabbed my cigarettes! Give them back! They’re really important to me!”

I panicked too. Because I honestly hadn't taken them.

I held up my empty hands. “No, miss, I swear, I didn’t take them!” I was wearing a jacket with shallow pockets; there was nowhere to hide them.

She was clearly past the point of believing me. “You’ve been trouble since the moment you walked up to me. You don’t look like a good person. Hand them over now, before I call the police.”

“I really don’t have them…”

“I’m counting to three. And I really don’t want to get physical with you.”

I was getting desperate. I wanted to suggest we check the security cameras, but the alcohol had other plans for my mouth. “I’d only be interested in stealing them if you had a Black Card tucked inside,” I slurred. “It’s not like you’re the only one with a marriage certificate.”

I’m married too, you know! Who gives a damn about yours?

A cold, humorless smile spread across her face. It was the smile of someone who had just been pushed too far. “How did you know there was a Black Card inside?” she asked, her voice dangerously soft.

“So you did take it. And now you’re denying it. Fine. Fine.”

She pulled out her phone and dialed 911. “That card was for my husband. I have to give it to him tomorrow. I can’t face him without it.”

“Hey! You can’t just call the cops!” I lunged for her phone, but she sidestepped me. My momentum carried me forward, and I lost my footing, crashing to the ground. My face scraped against the rough concrete, and a sharp pain shot through my body.

By the time the fog of drunkenness and pain cleared, I was in a police station.