Chapter 8 - Collin

Idon't stay the night at the cabin I rented, I just drive home.

I'm an idiot. Why the hell would I think that Lowyn McBride would just jump in bed with me? She was never that kind of girl, so of course she's not that kind of woman, either.

We did have sex as teenagers. Once. Just once. The presentation was five stars. We went camping up in the hills above Disciple. There's a little waterfall up there that empties into a small pool and in the early summer, when the temperature is rising and the air is getting thick with wet heat, the water is still very cool to swim in.

The Revival has lots of tents. Hundreds of them, maybe. They are not the modern pop-up kind, but the old-timey canvas that comes with wooden poles and requires rope, stakes, and patience.

But if there is one thing every kid in Disciple knows how to do it's put up a fuckin' old-timey tent. So we took it up there, and we brought lanterns and candles to put inside, and we took our sleeping bags and spent the night up on the hill.

And if Lowyn really did save all my stuff in that room, then the memories of this night are in there too because we took lots of pictures of that date.

It was the first time for both of us, so naturally I was way too excited and she never got past anticipation.

I smile at this. Kids, man. We don't know shit when we're kids.

But I did know one thing—she was special and she deserved that beautiful night, even if my performance and skill weren't quite up to par.

"So. Are ya feeling dejected?"

I look over at Amon, who is sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep because we are now driving back to Johnson City, Tennessee, so we can meet with former one-time country-music star Sassy Lorraine. I'm not sure if Lorraine is her real name and Sassy is just a descriptor, but it doesn't matter. She told me to call her Sassy.

I told Amon the whole story when I approached him about her kidnapping job this morning. Then I got a call from Sassy asking if we would come meet her in person. So here we are.

"I'm not feeling dejected. I just should've known better. I treated Lowyn like she is just any other woman and she's not. She's different. She's always been different."

"Ya wanna know where I think you went wrong?"

"Why not. Tell me."

Amon points at me. "You should've offered to go pickin' with her."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because pickin' is something she loves. And she was already out on the road. All travelling alone and shit." He leans back in his seat. "Nope. I would not let my woman go out on the road alone like that."

"She's not my woman."

"When you're away, she's not your woman. But when you're back, Collin, she is your woman. Even if it just means she's your responsibility."

I stare at him for as long as I can before I have to turn my attention back to the road. "Who are you and what have you done with my man-whore best friend?"

He chuckles a little. "We're home now, Collin." Then he sighs. "It's all so fuckin' different than every other place on earth. After what we've been through, I feel protective of these hills and these people. It hasn't even changed, ya know?"

"Yeah. I've noticed."

"It's all so fuckin'…" He puts his hands out in front of him like he's trying to capture the proper descriptor between his palms. "So fuckin'… good."

All that drama for the word ‘good.' But he's not wrong. I'm sure we've got our share of liars, and cheaters, and thieves around here, but I'm also fairly positive that we've got less than most.

"I even called up Jim Bob."

"What?" I almost slam on the brakes. "Why the hell would you do that?" Jim Bob Baptist has been the mayor of Disciple for more years than I've been alive. He runs everything to do with the Revival. We do have a city council, and they vote on shit, but it's pretty much a dictatorship around here with Jim Bob at the top.

Amon is still talkin'. "Because I love it here. I'm happy to be back. I'm glad we chose this place and I'm gonna settle down here and raise me some little asshole kids one day."

I just shake my head at him as I laugh.

"Anyway. Next time she goes out on the road, you need to go with her, Collin. We both know that the world is a dangerous fuckin' place. And while I would generally call the Trinity area safe, your woman is driving clear across Tennessee." When I look over, I find him shaking his head. "Nope. I've heard about Tennesseans."

"Shut up."

"I've heard the rumors of what goes on down there."

"You're stupid. She's been doing it for years, apparently. I'm sure she's fine." And just as I say that my map app tells me that the driveway I'm looking for is coming up on the right. We turn in and come face to face with a formidable wrought-iron gate.

Amon whistles out his first impression, which is one of appreciation. "We're gonna charge this one double, right?"

I don't answer him. Just buzz my window down and press the call button. No one asks questions, but they don't have to because I've already counted up three separate cameras, one of which is staring right at my face from the other side of a teeny-tiny hole on the keypad.

The gates open and we pull forward up a long blacktop driveway that leads to an impressive stone house. Sassy Lorraine greets us from under a nice portico, waving her hand, a smile on her face.

Two hours later we've secured the information for the recon, Amon is in love with Sassy's missing dog—which is one of those pocket chihuahuas that wears clothes—and we're also on our way home.

Amon brought his laptop, so he's already putting together a plan to bust the dog out of a mansion in the Bahamas.

"Hey."

Amon doesn't even look away from his computer. "What?" His fingers never stop tapping.

"You never said what you're gonna do for contribution."

"Oh." He pauses his typing and looks at me. "Security, of course."

I shoot him a look. "Please tell me?—"

"Listen." He puts up a hand to full-stop me. "It's what we do. One or two guys making the rounds every weekend, it's not a big deal."

"He's gonna pay us? Because we don't live in town, Amon. We're not gettin' a share of nothin'."

"It's not exactly profit share, but you're wrong. You'll see. Just talk to him about it. And don't say no just to be a dick. Hear him out."

I let out a breath.

"Will you do that, Collin?" Amon studies me. "Just… hear him out?"

"Why should I? I don't want to be a part of it."

"You say that?—"

"Because I mean it."

"You say that because this town left a bad taste in your mouth when you lit out. But now that you're back, can't you at least admit that there's parts of it ya missed?"

I sigh again. He's not wrong. I did miss Lowyn. And the memory of her as she played her part in the Revival. And I did leave here with a wad of money in the bank. More than most eighteen-year-olds have, thanks to profit share.

Some years the profit share is real good. Last time I checked there were a hundred and twenty-seven people playing their part in the Revival and every man, woman, and child inside Disciple town limits gets a percentage of the profits. Babies and children under eighteen get what you'd expect. It comes out to a couple thousand dollars a year after all is said and done. It goes straight to the bank, of course. Ya can't touch it until you're eighteen. But when you're collecting that profit-share money your entire childhood, it adds up. Amon and I both had over thirty-seven-thousand dollars when we left.

It's enough to get started in life. Take the money and run, if ya want. Plenty of us did that.

But some people stick around, buy a little house, start a little business.

I guess that's what Lowyn did with hers.

Married men all get one percent of net and everyone else over eighteen gets point two-five percent and it is not uncommon for the Revival to net several million dollars a year. Hell, there were some years back when I was a kid where we got up in the ten-mil range. That means the married men get between twenty and fifty grand a year. Which isn't making anyone rich, but it's paid lump sum on January first and that money sure starts the new year out right.

It's not just money though, it's hope. If you had a bad year—if you were struggling—you always knew that on January first you had a fresh start comin'.

Plus, every man in town, even Jim Bob, has a day job. And if you ever find yourself lacking, this town will take care of you. So being in the Revival does have perks. Being a married man in the Revival even more so.

Still… "Amon, there is no way that Nash and Ryan are gonna agree to work for profit share."

"Nope, they're not. They're not even invited."

"So it's us? Me and you? Every fuckin' weekend? Amon, how do you not remember what it's like to be in the Revival? It takes over your life. I don't wanna do it."

"It's not every weekend. Things slow down in the fall and we get all of winter off. It's not a bad deal."

"What if we're busy? We're just starting our company."

"Yeah, but you're not going on any jobs—you're running things. And I'm not going on any jobs—I've got the dogs. We'll be here. And besides, Lowyn will be there too."

"That's not making it better. Now we're gonna have to contribute something crafty to her fuckin' booth! I still have nightmares from those non-stop fucking craft projects in high school."

"You do not. And anyway, Lowyn made all yours for you after you turned thirteen. She'll make them for you again."

"You don't know that. And it's not the point. I specifically told you that I didn't want to be a part of the Revival. You should not have spoken for me."

"What do you think of this drone?" He simultaneously changes the subject and turns his laptop so I can see the screen.

I state the obvious. "You're changin' the subject."

"It's twenty-five thousand. But we'd use it again. It's got a payload of nearly fifty pounds." Amon's big plan is to do recon for a few weeks, then fly a drone in, pick up the dog, and fly away. He's convinced this is gonna be no big deal.

"The dog weighs five pounds. Why do we need a drone that can carry fifty?"

"Because we can expense some of it. And like I said, we'll use it again in the future. That's a guarantee. You know how they come in handy. We've got plenty of money, so I'm gonna get it."

He plops his laptop back down into his lap and starts typing again.

He's right about the drone, I just feel like arguing with him because I'm pissed off about the Revival. I'm not gonna be security. But now everyone in town is gonna hear about how I refuse to do my part. And they're all gonna have opinions about it.

I stew in this discontent the rest of the way home. Amon makes conversation about more drone plans, but I'm only half listening. My mind is spinnin' with imaginary Revival scenarios. How this place is gonna suck me in and never let me go.

I suppose it was na?ve of me to think that we could move in so close to Disciple and keep our distance at the same time. I mean, maybe it could've worked that way. If Amon wasn't so enthusiastic about doing his part. I didn't see that coming, I guess. Never once, in all these years, has he ever mentioned anything about missing the Revival.

His parents, yes. He's close with his family. And he's got four sisters. All much younger than him, the same way Olive is much younger than me. They are a close family despite their lower status on the Revival ladder. They were in charge of set-up when I was little. I do remember that. They didn't do the stage—that was Clover's family, they were in charge of the stage—but the Parrish family took care of everything else inside the tent back when I was a kid.

Then Amon got his bad-boy reputation and the Parrish family was demoted because of it. They did clean-up, after that. But everyone gets the same share. Clean-up, set-up, who cares, I guess.

Security is a step up, though. Maybe that's why Amon wants to do it? Maybe he's gonna get his family in on it?

"Hey."

"Hmm?" He's still busy typing and we're nearly home.

"What does your family do to contribute these days?"

He looks up from his laptop. "My sisters have this marketing thing going. So they all run the social media. My mama and daddy just do the crafty shit for Lowyn's booth now."

"Wow. It never even occurred to me that the Revival might have a social presence."

"Speaking of, you wanna pay for ours? My sisters said they'd make room for us on the client list."

"Do we need that?"

"We do. It's the easiest way to get visibility these days."

I shrug. "What the hell. We're spending twenty-five grand on a fuckin' drone."

"You're gonna love this drone!" And then he proceeds to spend the last ten minutes of our drive telling me why we should consider getting an entire army of drones.

When I pull into our driveway I don't get far. And when I side-eye Amon, he says, "I can explain."

"Amon."

"I can explain."

"What the hell is this? There are a million people here."

"Stop exaggerating. It's not a million."

It might as well be. The reason I can't get down the driveway is because there are hundreds of cars and trucks parked haphazardly on the front part of the property and what feels like an equal number of men walking around doin' shit. When we left this morning, there were maybe a dozen cars and trucks here. It felt appropriate. This is a deluge of people and vehicles.

"Listen." Amon turns in his seat to face me as we wait for a group of guys who are blocking our way forward with loaded-up hand trucks and forklifts. "You know how starved for jobs the people are around here. They closed up all the fuckin' coal mines, Collin. People are desperate. I interviewed every single one and they are desperate for jobs."

"So you decided to hire all of them?"

"No! Of course not! If they had a felony on their record, I turned them away."

I stare out at the sea of activity in front of me. Every single house has people around it. A team of people. "I thought we were gonna prioritize shit?"

"I did. But"—he holds up a hand to shut me up so he can continue—"I figured, why not just get this renovation shit done as quick as possible?"

The path forward clears and some guy I have never seen before starts to direct me on where to go. I look over at Amon. He buzzes the window down, yells at the guy to get out of the way, and we continue down the driveway, towards our homes.

When I get to my new house the door is wide open and shit is flying out the second-story window into a dumpster. This is a familiar scene because every house we passed had this same scenario going on.

"It's demo day." Amon is laughing. But then he puts up a hand again. "Don't worry, I had all the junk boxed up and taken into the church so Lowyn can pick through and find her treasure."

We get out, walk up my porch, peek inside, and I turn to him. "I have no windows. None. Every single one has been removed. How am I supposed to sleep in here?" Everything has been torn up and there are at least a dozen men in my house doing reno shit.

"Don't worry. It's all gonna be put back together real quick. I swear, Collin. Two weeks. It'll all be back to normal."

"Two. Weeks? I'm pretty sure that's a meme, Amon."

He grins, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Two weeks, I promise. Until then… well, last I heard you still had a room at Lowyn's." Then he claps me on the back, raises a hand to someone across the compound, and hops down the porch steps, leaving me there.

I go inside, find my stuff, pack it all up, and put it in my Jeep. Then I get in and drive into Bishop to get myself a room at the inn.

When I get there, Jessica tells me they're booked up. Which I think is a lie at first. But then, when I call the motel out on the highway, they're booked up too. And so is every other motel, and hotel, and B&B in a twenty-mile radius.

Because I had forgotten—the Revival starts this weekend.

I am idling outside my childhood home when Lowyn answers my call. "Hey."

"Hi."

"What's up?"

"Listen, this is gonna sound stupid, and forward, and like I cannot take no for an answer, but I need a place to stay." There is silence on the other end of the line. "Lowyn?"

"You need a place to stay? But you literally just bought like a dozen houses, Collin."

"Yes. That's accurate. But every single one is being torn up for renovation at the moment. Apparently, Amon took it upon himself to hire every jobless man in the state of West Virginia to do the work we had planned on doing in stages."

"Oh." Her tone softens. Amon Parrish has that effect on people. I have never really understood why he has this effect on people, because ‘asshole' really is the correct descriptor for him.

"My place, and every house on the compound, is uninhabitable. Amon is staying with his dogs in the kennel building. Everyone else is staying at Nash's house. There's not really room for me unless I take the floor. But… I guess I can sleep on a church pew or somethin'." I'm guilting her now, but I don't care. I can sleep anywhere and I have laid my head down on many a rock in my time, but it doesn't hurt to ask. "It's only for two weeks." I cringe as the meme comes flying out of my mouth.

"Two weeks?" She's mulling it over, always a good sign. "You need to sleep there tonight? Because I won't be home until tomorrow."

"There's a key hidden in the shed out back. But please tell me you changed the locks, Lowyn."

She blows out a breath. "The locks are the same. I mean, who the hell is gonna break into my house, Collin?" It comes out before she can stop it, but she corrects herself quickly. "Wow. That was a really dumb thing to say."

"For what it's worth, I really don't think anyone is gonna break into your house." Not after I blew the last guy's head off, I don't add. "And I think this says something about your mental health that you're so totally not worried about it."

This makes her chuckle. "You and your words. Fine. You can stay. But only if you stay out of my stuff. Don't go peeking around."

"Why? You hiding something?"

"None of your business. But if you don't promise, you can't stay."

"My promise means that much? You'll just trust me if I say I won't?"

"Did you already forget about how you ruined me?"

I let out a breath. "I will not look through your stuff. But I'm allowed to check the fridge and make a cup of coffee?"

I can hear her smile on the other end of the line. I'm sure she's thinking this is a very bad idea, but we were much more than a couple in high school. We were best friends. And it's always nice to be around your best friend. Even if you are mad at him for ghosting you a dozen years back.

"You can help yourself to the kitchen, living room, and your old bedroom."

"That's very gracious of you. What time will you be home tomorrow?"

"Oh, probably around four. But I'll have to unload the trailer at McBooms."

"Call me when you're close to home. I'll meet you over there and unload that trailer for you."

"You don't have to. I've been unloading this trailer all by myself for long time now."

"Call me when you're close and I'll unload your trailer for you. Oh, and Amon had everything boxed up at the compound. It's all in the church waiting for you to pick through it."

She smiles again, I can hear it. "That was nice of him. What are you gonna do now? Just hang out at my place?"

"Well…" I sigh, already tired of thinking about what comes next. "I guess I have to go talk to Jim Bob because Amon signed us up for security and I had actually forgotten that the Revival starts this weekend. I did try to get a hotel, you know. They're all booked."

"Yep. This weekend. I think my booth tent is going up tonight, so I guess, if you're gonna be at McBooms to unload my trailer tomorrow, you can help me load it back up and take it over to the grounds."

"Yes, ma'am. I will do that."

"OK."

We're both silent for a moment.

"OK," I finally say back. "See ya tomorrow."

She says bye and I end the call, then find the key in the shed, sitting on the top of the same window trim where I left it when I was a kid, and put my stuff inside.

After that's done, I get back in my truck and make my way over to City Hall. I have to pass the Revival grounds and since it's really the first time I've gotten a good look at it since I got home, I stop the Jeep and stare at it for a minute.

It's the same, but different. Most notable is some kind of scaffolding that pops up from the telephone-looking poles that line all the makeshift ‘streets' around the main tent. Teams of people are stringing lights from them. But there are more poles like that too. Not in the center of the streets—which are not streets, but really wide gravel walkways—but attached to the other tents that are all around the property in aisles. Like an outdoor flea market. This is where things are sold. Food, and souvenirs, and even clothes. Each corner tent is elevated on a platform about six steps high. And these same telephone-looking poles are shootin' out from the roofs.

It takes a me a moment to understand what it all is. A scaffolding. For what, I don't know. This wasn't here when I left. But it all looks really nice. Very nice, actually.

The tent grounds are a madhouse. I think everyone in town is over here, trying to get things straight for this weekend. When I start moving again people look my way. Lots of them wave—word travels fast around here—and I park down the street in front of the tiny stone building where Jim Bob Baptist does his government business.

Everything about this place is the same. Even Ester, the town clerk. She's typing on a keyboard when I enter, but she looks over the glasses perched on her nose to check me out without slowing her pace. "Collin Creed. What can I do for you?"

"Is Jim Bob around?"

"He is. Do you have an appointment?"

"Ester, you know I don't have an appointment."

She pauses her typing to sigh. "Is this Revival business? Because he's neck-deep in Revival business right now and you know how he hates to change the subject once he gets started on a task."

"I do, and it is."

She nods her head at the thick, maple double doors that Jim Bob Baptist has been working behind since before I was born. "Then go right in."

Even before I open the door, I can hear Jim Bob havin' a fit with someone on the phone. I look over my shoulder at Ester, wondering if I should wait, or knock, or something, but she is ignoring me on purpose.

I open the door and find Jim Bob pacing his office, phone to his ear, round face red with frustration. He looks at me, squints his eyes, then points to a chair in front of his massive antique desk.

"I don't care, Leonard. How many times do I have to state this out loud before you accept the fact that I have stopped giving out fucks about your personal business? Either you have those new programs printed and delivered to the Revival grounds by six a.m. Saturday or I'll make sure that Revenant gets docked five percent over this bullshit. Are we clear?"

I'm not sure if Leonard is clear or not, but Jim Bob assumes he is because he slams the phone into the cradle on his desk. He sits his considerable ass down in his executive chair, wipes his forehead with a handkerchief, and stares at me. "Are you offended by my profanity?"

"No, sir. I'm not."

"Good. Because if I have to hear one more asshole in this town chastise me about the f-word, I will lose my shit, Collin Creed. Lose. Mah. Shit."

I try my best not to smile, but it's not good enough.

He laughs too. "Should I assume you're here for your schedule?"

"Well—"

He points at me. "Don't you dare. Don't even say it."

"Jim Bob, here's the thing?—"

"I just said don't say it!"

"Amon was speaking out of turn when he volunteered us for security."

Jim Bob leans back in his chair, making it creak from his considerable weight. He's a huge man. Not really fat, either. Just massive, like the desk in front of him. Easily six foot three, probably pushing two-fifty, he's a giant among mortals. And he is as sly as the summer day is long. He tries out some of his slyness on me now. "I know what you're thinking."

I squint my eyes at him a little. "Is that so?"

"That is so. You're thinking… Well, I've been missing for a dozen years and even though I'm back, I'm not back because I bought a place outside city limits."

"Well, that would be accurate, Jim Bob."

"In outside-world terms, it would be. But we don't live like outside men, Collin Creed. We live like inside men. And I don't care if you're shufflin' through the sand in Saudi Arabia, or crawling through sewer muck in Prague, or standin' out front of the Nigerian Embassy for weeks at a time?—"

"How the hell?—"

"I just don't care where you've been or what you've been doing. Because you're home now and there is a place for you here. There is always a place for you here. Now. Where did I put that contract?" He shuffles through some papers on his desk as I continue to wonder how the hell he knew where I've been all these years.

It's very secret shit.

"Did Amon tell you all that?"

"Here it is." Jim Bob holds up a folder and looks up at me. "No, Collin. Amon did not tell me all that. I've been keepin' track of you since the day you left, son. You are part of the Revival, whether you like it or not."

"Well, that's not creepy."

"Call it whatever you want. Your daddy did a number on us."

I laugh and put up a hand. "If you're gonna say what I think you're gonna say, you can just forget it."

"There will be no forgettin', Collin." And he says these few words with weight, making them heavy. "It's too late for you to do anything but security this year, but you know where your place is, son. It's behind that pulpit." He flops the folder down on his desk before I can object, then opens it up and slides out a contract. "Amon already signed, but I'm gonna need your name right there on that line." He taps a blank line at the bottom of the contract.

I slide the piece of paper out from under his fingertip and pick it up, scanning the details. My eyebrows furrow together in confusion. Then I look at him. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a contract."

"It says you're gonna pay me a million dollars a year, Jim Bob."

"Indeed it does."

"Why would you do that?"

He smiles and once again leans back in his creaky chair. "Collin, nothin' is ever what it seems. Not around here, not around anywhere. The world doesn't run on percentages and contracts. It runs on negotiation. And the town of Disciple is negotiating a lifelong contract with you to stick around."

I just stare at him for a moment. "How many people have a contract like this?"

"All the ones we can't afford to lose."

"Which would be?"

"Myself—"

"Of course."

"—Ester—this place would fall apart without Ester—Joseph, Ruth, Tommy, Abel, and Grimm, of course."

The town clerk. A quarryman. A jewelry maker. A diesel mechanic. The Chief of Police. A real estate agent. "What the fuck is going on around here?"

"Read the contract, son. You have to be one year in to be vested. When that one year is up, we'll have ourselves another chat. Now sign your name on that line."

"What if I don't?"

"Then Collin, God help you. Because this town needs what you're offering and if you bow out, people will get hurt. You don't really think that man who broke into your house to steal your sister was just a random event, do you?"

"What? What's that mean?"

"Sign. The paper. And at the end of the year, you'll know."

"I don't like the sound of this. It sounds a little bit like extortion to me."

Jim Bob laughs. "Do you know what your daddy did after you left?"

"In regards to what?" He's about to answer, but I put up a hand. "Never mind. I don't care if he went crazy."

"Crazy." Jim Bob thinks about this word for a moment. "I guess that's one way to think about it. However, your daddy did some good things for this town. And some of the greatest happened after you left."

"Well, that's special. Thanks for letting me know."

"He had big ideas for this Revival. Came up with an engineering miracle. Four-season festivities, that's what he gave us before he left. Four-season festivities."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, it's gonna rain on Sunday, so you'll find out soon enough."

Ten minutes later I'm rolling down Main Street towards the Revival, dollar signs and mysteries spinning through my head. I call Amon as I ease my truck to the side of the road near the main entrance of the park where the tent stands like a testament to my life here in Disciple.

He answers on the first ring. "Listen?—"

"What do you know?"

"Jim Bob just texted me. I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. I know exactly as much as you do."

"Which is what, specifically?"

"We're to do security for this season. We collect a million dollars each on January first. And then we learn the truth about the Trinity Towns and become vested members of the… whatever it is."

"Whatever it is? What if it's some death cult, Amon?"

"I don't think it's a death cult."

"But you don't know. He said the man who tried to snatch my sister that night wasn't a random event. What do you know about that?"

"Far less than you do. Since I wasn't there and we weren't even friends back then."

"What if we don't want in? I mean, after one year? What if we want to leave?"

"We might have a fight on our hands."

"And you're OK with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be? We're trained killers, Collin. We have enough weapons in our new bunker to start a war. I've got a kennel full of K-9's who speak four languages and we've got the entire population of able-bodied men outside of the Trinity on our payroll. Which, when one looks at it objectively, qualifies us as an army. It's a nice paycheck for a little bit of time. And how can you not be dying to know what the hell is going on? I mean, if we learned anything while we were gone, it was that this place is weird. Right?"

"So why would we join up, Amon?"

"Because it's in our blood, Collin. It's in our blood."

"Did you know about this before we bought the compound?" But even before these words are out, I know that he did. Amon was the one who pointed out that the compound was for sale. He was the one who got me interested in it.

He didn't push it on me. Just printed out the online listing and left it with my shit, a note attached. What about this place?

Amon has gone quiet.

"You set this up."

"It's not a set-up, Collin. It's destiny."