God's Name is Robert

There was a girl walking down the sidewalk, when a strong sense of deja vu washed over him. He never met her before in his life but he could tell you everything about her. Her name was Claire Warren and she was 22 years old. She had a good, comfortable amount of money because her father gave it to her to get her on her feet until she started making her own money. She was in L.A. because her agent got her an audition to play some lady in a chick flick movie. 

He never saw her before that day but he knew all her features by heart. She had long blonde hair in a high ponytail and blue eyes that seemed as cold as ice. She was too thin and had high cheekbones. She always wore heels and an orange trench coat (even when it was warm out). She had a tiny, unnoticeable scar on her forehead. 

As she was walking, with a hint of a smile ghosting her lips, he knew what was about to happen and he figured out why he knew so much about Claire. 

Ahead of her, a man was trying to pull a desk up with old rope through an apartment window because it didn’t fit through the door. He knew this man’s name was Peter Beers. He knew all about Peter, just like he knew everything about Claire. He was young, just out of 5 years of college, and he was working odd jobs to pay rent for his apartment. He was at 6 feet and 3 inches, had greasy black hair that he combed back, brown eyes, and was scary looking to a normal person. He wasn’t the smartest person in the world and had a bit of an accent.

And he knew Claire was about to walk right under the desk as the rope snapped. 

Instinct kicked in and he ran across the street. Claire was just about to step into her doom, when he shoved her out of the way onto her butt. He might’ve shoved her a little too hard because she screamed, “What the heck!?” as little tears started to form at the corners of her eyes. 

Behind them, he heard the sickening sound of the desk crashing against the cement with a humongous “SMACK!” and Peter’s voice yell, “Oh crap!” A small smile rested with an uncomfortable feeling on his lips as he looked down at Claire. At first she was angry, but her face morphed to terror as she saw what could’ve happened to her if he hadn’t pushed her. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, when Peter’s voice interrupted them, “Is everybody ‘kay down there?”

He yelled back, without looking away from Claire, “Yeah, we’re all good down here, Pete!” 

Peter responded, “Oh, yeah, ‘kay, ‘kay good. Wait, how ya know my name, man?” 

He decided not to answer Peter. 

Claire opened and closed her mouth a few times before he spoke for her, “Yeah.”

He held out a hand to help her up. When she was back on her feet, shaking like a leaf, she shook her head a few times, “H--” she started. Then she thought for a moment before eyeing him suspiciously, “Who are you?” 

“Nobody,” was his first response. Then he rolled his eyes and said, “My name is Robert.”

Claire and Robert ended up walking to a coffee shop that was right down the street. It was called The Cup. It wasn’t the best coffee shop on the block, but it was the closest one. 

They sat down at an outside table. Claire had a venti triple latte mocha with skim milk and an extra pump of chocolate, while Robert only had a black coffee. He rolled his eyes as she ordered her coffee, thinking that of course a girl like her would have such a complicated order like that. 

They sat in silence for what felt like an hour, when it was really only a minute or two. Claire felt awkward and wanted Robert to say anything, literally anything, but Robert felt no pressure to even open his mouth. He knew she had questions, but he didn’t feel the need to answer anything that she hadn’t asked him out front. He was always a quiet man, never saying more than he needed, so this was no trouble for him. 

She took a sip of her complicated coffee, and looked down at her hands. “So.”

Robert wasn’t surprised she was the one to talk first, “Yeah. So.” 

Claire looked up to meet Robert’s eyes. It wasn’t romantic, but they both felt something there when they looked at each other. It was frighteningly familiar. 

“How did you push me out of the way in time?” she finally asked, her heart beating ten times its normal rate in her chest. 

Robert took a sip of his black coffee, and leaned back in his chair. His hands shook a bit. He rubbed his chin, which had a little bit of unshaven stubble on it, and was deciding between telling her the truth or not. On one hand, he could lie. Say it was all chance and he was acting on adrenaline or some shit like that. Or, the other hand, he could tell the truth but risk her thinking he was completely crazy. 

He decided to go with the truth. If she thought he’s nuts and runs, who cares? He saved her and that is what is important. 

“Well…” he hesitated, “Well, you see… I knew to push you out the way the same way I know that you have no siblings and you broke your finger when you were in the third grade and you want to act because your dead grandmother said you’d be a great actress and you hate coconut in chocolate and--”

“What the heck?!” Claire interrupted. 

Robert shrugged, as if what he said was no big deal, although what was going on was starting to scratch that part of his brain that made him want so scream. He had to take a few deep breaths to calm down.  

Claire put a hand through her hair and took a shaky breath, “Ok, so you’re mind reader. A future teller. Whatever.”

Robert shook his head, “I don’t think so. You see, I didn’t read your mind or tell your future or any bullshit like that… I wrote you.”

“You what?”

“I wrote you. I created you. You are a character I made in my story.”

Silence. This was the moment that he expected her to leave the table and never talk to him again. Which would be fine by him, this whole situation was starting to make his skin crawl. 

Instead, she said, “You… wrote… me… Uh huh, sure. That doesn’t make sense!” She threw her arms up in the air as if that gesture would explain exactly how unbelievable everything that was happening was. 

“I’m just telling you what I know.”

“Which is?”

Robert cleared his throat, “I started writing this story, okay? And in the beginning, a character I made up named Claire Warren, an upcoming actress, gets crushed to death by Peter Beers. Then the rest of the story follows what happens to Peter. You, Claire, are supposed to be dead in my story.” 

“You made me up? But how is that possible?” 

He shrugged again. “I’m as confused as you are.” 

Claire chewed on the inside of her cheek before taking another sip of her coffee. She started blinking faster and breathing heavy. “This is too insane. It can’t be real. No this is all fake. You’re lying to me!”

Robert found that he didn’t care whether or not she believed him. She was safe, so his story wasn’t going to happen so it didn’t matter anymore. Plus, he didn’t want to have anything to do with this lady or this situation. If he stayed, it would make everything too real. He didn’t want to think of the possibility that he might have a new power of life and death. And he was starting to feel a tension rise in his gut. He couldn’t stand to look at this girl any longer, or else he’d snap. He was starting to lose it.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” he grumbled, ignoring Claire’s face that was still full of shock. 

“No. No! Wait! You can’t drop a bomb like that then leave!” Claire pleaded him to stay. Maybe she expected him to have more answers or just wanted someone to freak out with. Either way, Robert wasn’t interested anymore. He didn’t care that he might have a new power to make things come to life, or whatever was going on. He just didn’t give a damn anymore. If he did, he would freak out more than Claire is. He had to detach himself from the situation before he lost his mind. And what would come of talking more about the horrid situation, anyways? They weren’t going to get answers by chatting. 

“Have a nice life, Claire,” he said as he walked away. She, surprisingly, didn’t try to stop him. 

As he walked, he thought of Claire and Peter. He thought of how messed up everything was. How could he write his story now, knowing that it’s possible whatever he writes comes to life? How could he live with himself? How could he ever write again? Wait, what about the other people he has written about over the years? Has he ruined people’s lives with his stories? He needs to find the other people and find out if he killed other innocent people! (Because in almost all his stories, someone died. He was morbid and sick in that way.) 

He kept shaking his head, trying to get these thoughts out of his head. He didn’t realize he was mumbling under his breath, “Stop… It didn’t happen… Everything’s fine…” People started staring at him as he sped by. He started chewing his thumbnail, a nervous tick he had since he was a child. Goosebumps started to paint his skin as he thought deeper and deeper about Claire and Peter. 

He was walking for a good long while, trying to get rid of any thought of Claire and Peter and what happened, when a noise caught his attention. The noise wasn’t just one noise. There was a screeching noise and a large “BANG!” It was coming from the way he came, where Claire was. A sickening feeling pumped itself into his stomach, and he ran towards the noise. He ran as fast as he could, hoping that what he was predicting was happening wasn’t actually going to happen. 

Sweat was dripping from his brow and he was panting like he had ran for his life when he got to the source of the noise. Then, his heart broke. In front of him, was Claire. He guessed she was walking across the street when Peter hit her. Peter hit her with his car and killed her on the spot. Her body was laying in front of the car and blood was everywhere. Her limbs were angled funny, obviously broken, her eyes were opened, looking right at him with a blank stare. He could picture her annoying voice yelling at him, telling him that this was all his fault. He swore he actually heard her talk. 

Peter was out of his car, crying, while the police and an ambulance showed up to the scene. Of course, that would be useless. Claire was long dead, and there was no way someone could save her. 

A soft laugh started to escape Robert’s lips. Slowly it grew louder and louder into a vile laughter that made everyone around him glare with disgust. He had to hover over his knees to try and gain back his breath. 

“She died anyways!” He yelled with glee, “I killed her anyways!” 

He laughed and laughed, tears starting to well in his eyes, until his voice got hoarse. No one knew that, instead of the crazy and insensitive person they all thought Robert was at the moment, he was actually feeling dread and despair and guilt. 

“I killed her! Ha! I killed her!”