Carter parked the red Volkswagen Bug in front of an apartment complex somewhere in Fountain Springs. There were a couple of cars parked in front of the stark-white wooden porches. The building looked ancient with dirty white ledges and old canopies jutting from the rafters just below the mold-gray roofing while an American flag hung from one of the porches, perhaps in place of a drape.

"Just remember, if Mrs. Moseley tells you anything that has got to do with future and fortune and things like that, don't take it seriously. I remember the first time Lindsay invited me here."

He flinched appearing to have a terrifying flashback I was afraid he would pee his pants.

"She warned me not to go out of the house on my ninth birthday or I'll lose my legs. As it turned out, Mom got me a couple of tickets to the amusement park for my birthday and I don't want to make her feel bad so I went and passed the day inside the Horror House with Lindsay. It scared the hell out of me... I mean the losing my legs part... not the Horror House," he said clearing his throat as he killed the engines. "And whatever happens-"

"Whatever happens, don't attempt to eat her oatmeal cookies if I don't want to throw up for three days straight," I muttered finishing his own sentence for him. "Got it."

Carter told me that Lindsay's mom tells fortune and sells lucky charms for a living, which was pretty obvious since I almost got strangled by strings of lucky charm beads dangling down the doorstep as we entered their apartment.

Waving golden cat statues, Buddha figurines with freakishly creepy smiles, mini totem poles, dream catchers, Swarovski crystals, miniature indoor fountains, wind chimes-name it and they got it.

With a ton of lucky charms sprawled about everywhere, I began to wonder how Lindsay and her mom manage to get from place to place without doing a head butt match with the lounging Buddha. It must be a family talent.

Mrs. Moseley ushered us to the living room and offered a seat after she picked up all the red Chinese tassels lying about on the sofa. She was a petite middle-aged woman with big blue eyes and curly blond hair tied up in a messy bun. Her fingers, neck and wrists have more crystal and beaded trinkets than all the jewelry I owned in my entire lifetime.

"Lindsay will be out in a minute. Cookies?" Mrs. Moseley gave us a kind smile, setting a plate of oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies for us.

"No thanks. I just had a late lunch so..." Carter said almost immediately as he eyed uneasily on me as if saying, "Eagle one, the plate of evil had landed on the coffee table. I repeat, the plate has landed" or something like that.

Roger that. I cleared my throat and gave the blond woman an apologetic smile.

"W-we brought mango tarts for Lindsay," I said handing the box to Mrs. Moseley which the woman took with a smile, my hand inadvertently touching hers.

"Thanks Aramis," said Mrs. Moseley.

"H-how'd you-"

"Know your name?" she leaned closer to me and whispered, "I know many things."

Carter squirmed on his seat and threw me a meaningful look as if to say "I warned you".

"I'll go check on Lindsay," he muttered anxiously. Before I could even open my mouth to protest, he limped toward Lindsay's room after tripping on a huge jade elephant.

With a grave look on her gentle face, Mrs. Moseley stood beside me and without a word, took my hand. She ran her index finger along the lines of my palm for several moments before she gazed at me with perilous dark eyes.

"Aramis, do you believe in fate?" she muttered, her fierce blue eyes boring into mine.

"I'm sorry, but I don't really want my fortune read." I tried to yank my wrist from her grip but it didn't even break her concentration.

"You can't escape. No one can escape from fate. Your time is up. Your end is near, Aramis Rayne. Whatever happens, don't cross the gates. Don't let go of your body or it will be the demise of all that is dear to you," her voice wavered as she spoke with such conviction. A tear rolled on her cheek, perhaps with pity as though she had just seen all the unbearable sorrows of humanity.

With a muffled whimper, she let go of my arm and sagged on the couch. Her whole body was trembling as she buried her face on her hands.

"W-what do you mean?" I managed to say with a tiny voice. "Mrs. Moseley, what do you mean? You're kidding, right?" I half expected her to yell "You're punked!" as the hidden camera men swarm to me to film how punked I got. Unfortunately, there was no camera crew hiding behind the giant love duck statues sitting near the window.

She looked at me with her clear cerulean eyes and blinked another tear. "Go, live until you can. I'm afraid your life might end soon."

My heart pounded inside my throat. "That... that's not true," I choked on my words, as I fumbled for my bag and headed for the door.

"You can't escape from fate, Aramis! No matter what happens, don't crossover! Don't cross the gates!" she bellowed after me as I hurried down the stairs, to the front porch and down the sidewalk.

I took in a dose from my inhaler. I knew Carter told me not to listen to Mrs. Moseley's predictions but it still scared the hell out of me. Nervously, I paced the sidewalk trying to recall my way home but my thoughts were as scattered as the clutter in Lindsay's house. I ended up slumping weakly on the steps of one of the front porches of the apartment complex.

"Are you okay?" Carter came panting. "Wait. Whatever Lindsay's mom told you, don't take it seriously. Look at me. I still have both my legs-"

"Can we please go home now?" I said trying hard to keep my voice from breaking.

He sat beside me, letting out a sigh. "Lindsay's probably up there waiting for us. Don't you have something important-"

The rest of his words were drowned by the loud screech of tires against the road. Next thing I knew, a familiar yellow Land Cruiser skidded to a halt in front of us. The door next to the driver's seat swung open.

"Hey," Vincent said from the driver's seat. He opened his mouth, hesitated then muttered something under his breath. He spoke as he stared intently on the steering wheel. "Your dad wanted my dad to tell me to tell you that your dad's okay."

"What?" I blurted throwing him a confused look.

He pitched back a frustrated glance at me before he resumed staring at the wheel, cursing in a hushed tone.

"Don't make me say it again. Get in. I've come to fetch you," he muttered glumly. For a minute I gaped at him wondering how he would look without the permanent angry look on his face. "And it isn't a request. Get in now or I swear I'll get a burlap sack and stuff you in it," he added, phrasing the words like he was talking to some sort of imbecile.

Carter clenched his fists but didn't say a word. He knew better than to mess with Vincent.

"See you tomorrow," I said to Carter before I got in the vehicle.

He looked surprised, shaking his head as if to warn me. But then I thought I was going to die anyway. At least it was a tiny bit better than going home on feet. Plus I got the feeling that Mrs. Moseley would bust out the door and scream "You're going to die!" anytime soon. Anything to get out of here.

"It's about time. Before I'm old," Vincent snorted quietly as though he just recalled a private joke about being old. I didn't quite get the joke.

"Ugh. What's so funny? And don't say nothing because I swear I'd punch you so hard," I demanded losing my patience.

With that, he sniggered again and said, "Your face," before he stepped on the accelerator. In a matter of seconds, the speed gauge was already over ninety and we swerved from one street to another, like a maniac just broke loose from hell-which was partly true.

I would retaliate but I was too engrossed with hanging onto my seat for dear life. Maybe I would die because of this moron.

All the while, he kept holding back a smirk, perhaps to annoy me. Then he turned to face me looking all serious. For once, I thought he was going to say something sensible.

"Isn't Aramis like a boy-name? When I say Aramis, I couldn't help but think about a smelly old musketeer with bread crumbs all over his scraggly beard. You know, the one in the old books," he blurted with a maniacal chortle.

"Very funny," I muttered with sarcasm. "You watch too many movies. For your information, Rene d'Aramis de Vannes was the most loyal to his friends among the musketeers."

"But still, so old," he scoffed.

"My mom had a thing for old things." I found myself smiling at the memory of Lisanna. "That was before she passed away. The truth is she was expecting a baby boy. Unluckily, the baby turned out to be me. But as frustrating as it was, she gave me the namesake," I said in a matter of fact tone.

Being named after an old man hadn't really bothered me at all. No one had really asked (or laughed) about it before. I never talked about Mom to anyone either. Even to Dad, so I was really surprised that I was able to talk so freely about her around Vincent.

In silence, Vincent just nodded contemplatively and fixed his eyes on the road. He didn't say he was sorry for my mother's death nor other comforting cliché lines like someone else probably would. Perhaps he already experienced death enough to realize that saying those things wouldn't help at all.

He didn't make any more annoying remarks either. Maybe underneath all that obnoxiousness, he had a sense just when to quit.

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