The Karma Book

There wasn't a single soul around young Dominic Carter. His youthful soft brown eyes, yet hardened tanned skin stared at the small stack of two-hundred crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Flashes of memories from the days prior shook through his head. The strangers he met, the people he helped and hurt; there was a brief pause from his ever-racing mind. When was it his turn to see some type of good fortune? Was this little leather bound black notebook a curse or a blessing? He opened the small book again to the last entry.

The twenty-thousand dollars left by Mr. Robert Duncan must be placed at the corner of Main and 5th. Place it in a plastic bag behind the fire escape ladder in the alley next to the coffee shop for Frederick Petersons to later find.

The list of instructions started with the discovery of this weird notebook when Dominic tripped over a small hole while walking through his university's common yard. "The Karma Book," was slightly stamped on the front and when he opened it; the pages were blank. The first message didn't come to him until late that evening when Dominic needed something to scribble some thoughts. Before his eyes, words started to bleed through. In a fright he threw the little black book ten feet from him onto his small apartment bed. He crept the ten feet and picked up the book again. Perhaps it was an illusion caused by long nights of studying, the stress caused by continuously worrying about his family and money. He lifted the black notebook and opened it to the first page, in front of him still lay the words that magically appeared from a slow bleed of black ink on smoky colored paper.

Hello Dominic Carter, son of William and Maria Carter. Tomorrow morning before your first class, go to the university store and purchase one coffee with extra sugar and give it to the student sitting alone at the small table in front of the entrance. Her name is Claire Bennent.

Dominic stared at the page. Nothing more was written. He nervously closed and opened the book multiple times. There was no change. He thought perhaps this was a joke, a trick book of some sort. He tore the page out and threw it away in his emptied trash bin next to his small computer desk. He closed the book and reopened it. A blob of ink started to form on the newly restored first page as the words Hello Dominic Carter, son of… "Okay, okay, just let me think." Dominic said aloud as he now gently placed the book on his neatly organized desk. That night was a restless one. Thought after thought blew through his brain. He started to talk to himself out loud for brief moments. He thought that maybe a logical explanation might arise from his own words. "I'll just try it. I'll go get the coffee." Dominic laid his head on his old pillow, on his old bed sheets, on his uncomfortable mattress and fell asleep. The familiar sounds of police sirens and loud music once again serenaded him to a couple of hours of rest.

The day was riddled with random tasks. One after another the book wrote down assignment after assignment. Dominic was quickly getting hooked. This truly was "The Karma Book." The next day again was a rollercoaster of duties assigned by the tome. The requests were getting more personal, and some were hard to finish. One entry had him take a picture of a fairly obese man eating a large four-patty and four-cheese burger; and post the picture to his university's social media page under the hashtag, "fat and furious." He was disgusted at himself for obeying what the book told him to do. Dominic told himself that there must was a reason. Perhaps if he followed him and see if his life changed somehow for the better or perhaps, for the worse. Dominic received what he was now calling his "karma balance" in the form of a bank mishap, where the money in his account, somehow, vanished; leaving him broke. Shortly after that he was asked to pick a fight with a middle-aged gentleman who clearly never stood up for himself his entire life. The result from that was a slightly bruised cheek. If Dominic had followed that man back to his home, where he lived alone, with his German Shepard dog, in a one-bedroom apartment filled with pictures of who he considered brave men; pictures of fictitious heroes, WWII paintings, literary pioneers. He would had seen him pick up his phone, call his dead-end job, quit, and then see him open a large chest full of gorgeous pieces of self-made artwork. Dominic didn't know the outcomes to his tasks. In fact, the man just yesterday morning, who he helped catch his adulterous husband, ended in heated anger and after ten years of being together, finished in a hospital with a jealous lover.

The following day was worse than the previous. Every new task that the notebook wrote with that dark black ink had Dominic worried. He began to take notes of the people he was asked to interact with. He started to convince himself that he was taking the same amount of risk by doing what the book told him to do. He would try to track them down anyway he could. He got bold in his attempts. If he could somehow figure out how to follow them on social media, he did so like a crazed stalker. The book alleviated some frustrations when it specifically called the target person by name.

Locate the man named Johnathan Brookes in the Corner Bookstore and give him a note with the numbers 21-5-9-30-44.

Dominic would desperately find a profile of some sort, find links, talk to common friends; he needed to know what the purpose of these tasks were. Every completion gave or took something away. He sat and got inside his own head. Why were these people so important? Were they random or connected? Why was he being affected as well?

Multiple days, from sunrise to, at times, into the next morning. The notebook was consuming Dominic in ways that he was beginning to feel this cosmic sense of power and guilt. On his third day of following what the notebook required of him, he looked at the recently acquired bag of money left by a Robert Duncan. His bank notified him of the freak and erroneous deletion of his money, and reported that the funds should return as early as the next morning. Dominic thought to himself what if this was his final reward? He could use every cent of that twenty thousand dollars sitting on his bed. He researched the name Frederick Petersons. A well to do business owner who had some recent negative legal actions come into the limelight. To say he was rich, is an understatement. An owner of multiple businesses across the city, his lifestyle was grand as it could be in the smaller city they reside in.

"Why does he need this?" Dominic whispered to himself, then spoke aloud with confidence.

"I need this!" He shook the notebook, trying to receive some verbal response.

It was too late in the night to assume that he needed to complete the task right now. So he slept, dreaming of that money.

The next morning, no changes were made to the notebook's entry. Dominic was becoming a professional at this. He knew that if there were no changes to the recent passage, then he still had time to complete what the notebook desired of him. He took a shower, got dressed and headed to 5th and Main. It was a short walk from his apartment. He tortured himself mentally on what he should do. A man like Frederick Petersons did not deserve this random luck; but what would happen if he didn't complete the assignment? If he truly needed the money, he could easily sell one of his multiple cars, or even a small collectable trinket he was known to possess duplicates of. What if he was supposed to find the money and then randomly give it to someone else in need? Was he that generous of a person and just makes poor decisions while intoxicated?

Dominic sat at a bench on the corner of 5th and Main with a clear advantage point into the alley where he was supposed to drop off the money in the plastic bag he placed the crisp bills in. He tightly held the small stack of hundreds and walked to the alley.

He placed the money on the ground, behind the fire escape ladder and stared at it. He was so focused on the cash that he didn't realize that there was no one around him. As if the world depleted itself of all human life. It was simply him, and the money. A few seconds past and Dominic didn't move a muscle, he didn't even think to breathe as his body forcefully took a deep inhale. Before he could contemplate any further, noise in the form of a one-way conversation was heard behind the young college student. No longer in the internal monologue, he bent down and quickly picked up the twenty thousand dollars. A smile grew on Dominic's face as he stuffed the money back into his school backpack and briskly walked to the bench with the perfect view of the alley. He sat as he watched Frederick Petersons talk on his phone and almost trip on a small precise patch of cooking oil, most likely dripped from a trash bag, from the neighboring coffee shop. Frederick caught himself on the ladder, preventing himself from falling on the ground. Dominic couldn't make out what he said as cars now drove past the intersection. A large delivery van slowly drove in front of his view and with that, Frederick Petersons was gone. Dominic stood to see what direction he might have gone, but he lost him. He frantically tried to search for him again, but the sidewalks were now strangely full of pedestrians, walking in a out of stores, talking on their phones, some with their eyes glued to their screens. They seemed oblivious and almost programed. Dominic sat back down on the bench by himself and blankly stared at nothing.

He shook his head and peeked inside his bag. There, just where he stuffed it, was the plastic bag of twenty thousand dollars. Guilt washed over him. Did he steal someone's good fortune? Did he somehow mess up a perfectly timed and delicate sequence of events that needed to occur so that the universe could somehow receive balance? He opened the plastic bag further and touched the money. He wanted to make sure it was still physically there. With a quick glance, he searched for the black notebook. He pushed other things aside, he knew he put it in the bag before he left, he read the passage over and over again on the bench. It was no longer there. Dominic narrowed his eyes and never let go of the cash. He again searched for the notebook to no avail. He realized that this was it. He didn't complete the task as assigned. He continued to hold the money in his hands. He relaxed his sitting position and slouched a little keeping his hand in his bag. When he felt how ridiculous he must look with his arm deep in his school pack, he let go of his grip from the plastic bag of now crumpled hundred-dollar bills and took a deep breath.

He sat on the bench for what seemed like an hour until he was interrupted by an older woman.

"Excuse me." She said with a hesitation.

"Dominic?" She asked, scared of what the answer might be.

Dominic looked at her with a worried expression. "Yes." He replied.

"I'm supposed to give this to you."