Author's Note:
People have been asking in their reviews if I'm gonna continue this story. Fear not, it will be ten chapters at the very least. That's how many I have lined out at this point, but it could become more since I sometimes hit upon new ideas to add while I'm writing. I also usually add "The End" at the end when a story is finished. As long as you don't see that, I have no intention to stop the story. :o)

Also, I will be renaming this story eventually. It was called "Why?" at first because I thought it was only gonna be one chapter, and the title fit then. It's become something more complex now, so it will get a new title, which is "Queen of Spades", inspired by the song "Prince of Spades" by Dispatch. I will explain this in the changed version of the Author's Note in the first chapter, once I make the change (which probably won't be before the story is fully posted).

Thanks to Sisterdebmac, who has been helping me beta-read this story in later chapters.

Chapter 6 – Free Will

'NEED CASH FOR ALCOHOL RESEARCH'

These words were depicted in ragged hand-written letters on a cardboard sign that a gray-haired and -bearded, elderly man, sitting on an upturned beer crate to the side of the shopping mall passage held up, an old hat lying top down in front of him. There was a pitiful amount of small change inside, a dozen coins at best.

Joan almost didn't notice him as she walked past until the old man raised his voice. "Spare some change for research?" he croaked.

Joan lifted her head, having just been cruelly yanked from her deep reverie.

She studied the sign for a few seconds, then looked at the man. She could spot Him and point Him out in a crowd by now. "Very funny," she said dryly.

"I aim to please," He smirked at her.

"Oh, please, I am not in the mood for your games."

"Why, Joan, what's bearing down on you these days?" He asked.

Joan now turned around to face him, giving him a condescending look. "You know exactly what's on my mind, so stop asking me things you already know."

The old man stood up, slowly, his face bearing a pained expression for a moment, like an old man's with arthritic joints. "Walk with me," He plainly said to Joan.

"Do I have a choice?" she asked tiredly, not sure she was up for another assignment, another burden on her shoulders.

"You always have a choice," He said.

"Yeah, it sounds so easy when you say it," she sighed, very much not up for this conversation. But she'd had a feeling she would see Him before long to talk about just that.

He went over to His shopping cart that was loaded with all his belongings. He indicated the hat with change on the floor, saying, "Kindly help me with that, would you?"

"Sure," Joan said sarcastically, bending down to pick up the hat all the same, handing it to Him. He took it and tilted it so that the handful of coins slid into His cupped hand with which He pocketed it before He started walking along the not too busy street.

For a moment, Joan thought about how weird it must be to see a healthy young woman taking a stroll through in the street with a homeless guy. But she had long learned to live with being in strange and awkward situations, especially if they involved a certain deity, so she quickly pushed the thought aside.

They walked in silence for a while, the shopping cart's left front wheel slightly creaking with every turn.

Joan suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She watched a passer-by hurry along with fast strides, his mind maybe set on the anniversary present he was going to get his girlfriend or today's stats he still had to prepare for the boss's meeting with the big shots.

Joan met Transient-God's eyes and boldly stated, "I think it's time for me to go home."

The sentence hung in the air for a second. She was prepared to find rejection or denial in his face, in his eyes, but they were—like so often—carefully, annoyingly neutral.

She felt the need to elaborate further, and it didn't matter whether He already knew all that or not. "There's ... things going on at home, things that Adam needs my help with. Things that no one else can take care of but me. He ... he sounded so desperate on the phone. I think he needs me. He really needs me. Elya really needs me."

Transient-God's voice was neither accusing nor challenging. It was a merely curious question. "It sounds like you've already made up your mind. Why haven't you already left?"

"You know why." Joan told him.

"You want my approval." God stated.

"And is that so wrong? I mean, after all I've been through, can you blame me?" Joan challenged Him. In a more quiet tone, she added, "I ... I just ... I kinda need to know that things are being taken care of, that things turn out okay, that ..."

"That the world will go on without you helping out?" He finished for her, not without a hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, I guess."

"The world will always go on without you helping out."

Joan sighed. "Yeah, I ... I know that. I just meant ... the ripples. What'll happen if there aren't any good ripples anymore?"

"Don't worry, Joan." He told her, His voice so annoyingly carefree.

"Don't worry?" Joan repeated incredulously. "I've been trying to tell you that I need to return to my family for such a long time, and now, after ten years, you're telling me not to worry? God, you are some twisted bastard."

God took it in stride, didn't even flinch at the insult. A raised eyebrow was all He gave her. Calmly He explained, "No, Joan, maybe I'm telling you not to worry now because you're right."

Joan didn't say anything for a few seconds. This was the first time He had implied that going home would actually be okay, that her leaving her current life behind would not cause any bad ripples, as she called them. But was He actually saying that? Wasn't He just trying to make her have a clear conscience? She hated His vagueness, His inscrutability.

"So what'll happen if I leave?" she asked Him. "Things just fall into place by themselves? I may not be omnipotent, but even I know that's not how it works. Why else would you have asked me to do what I did all these years? This wasn't all just some sick joke, was it?"

His face and voice was stern now. "No, this wasn't a joke, this was never a joke. You saw the ripples, you know it wasn't a joke, Joan."

Of course she knew, and for a moment she felt ashamed of ever having suggested it. "So, I guess you can't tell me that things will work out if I leave, right? You can't assure me that there won't be bad ripples."

"No, Joan, I can't." His answer was simple and to the point—and she had known it before He had even said it.

"Yeah," she said, her voice laden with something heavy. "And that's what makes it so hard."

"Just remember that you always have free will. I have always trusted you to make your own decisions. That hasn't changed."

"Yeah," Joan acknowledged. And she knew she was back to square one. God, as usual, hadn't been any help in making up her mind. But maybe He had pointed out in which direction she should go from here. She'd have to do some serious thinking, she knew that much.

She fingered around in her pocket and dug out a twenty dollar bill, which she thrust into the old man's hand. "Have a decent meal on me," she told Him. Was it insulting to give God money for food?

"Thank you, Joan." There was true gratitude in His voice, so maybe it wasn't. "See you around," He told her before He turned the shopping cart in the direction of the road that crossed the street they were on, but not before giving her one of his trademark waves.

Joan closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing out a long breath. What was she gonna do?

The beginning of this chapter was inspired by a picture a friend of mine sent me, depicting a homeless man holding up a sign "Need Cash For Alcohol Research". If I knew who to give credit for it, I would.