Dominion

by Greg F. Gifune

  When Daniel came to work that day, he’d found his office occupied by Karnakian and Cliff Fox, his senior salesman. Karnakian was sitting at his desk and Fox was sitting on the left front corner of it, speaking quietly.

  “What are you guys doing in my office?” Daniel asked, standing there in the doorway, briefcase in hand. “Something going on?”

  Fox flashed a nervous smile that did little to mask his embarrassment and guilt then quickly excused himself.

  “Come in, Daniel,” Karnakian said evenly.

  Daniel moved deeper into the room and closed the door behind him. When Karnakian motioned to one of the two chairs in front of the desk, he chose one and dropped into it. “What’s going on, Jack?”

  “You’ve been with us a long time.” Karnakian gave an expression Daniel guessed was supposed to convey pained contemplation. “And you’ve always been an integral member of the team. You’ve done amazing things here, and during your career you’ve made me and this station a great deal of money.” After a thoughtful pause, he continued. “And of course you know how fond I am of you personally.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “I know that since Lindsay’s tragic death things haven’t been—”

  “I’d rather not talk about Lindsay.” He felt the tension in his body rise, his muscles constrict and his throat tighten as if someone had slipped up behind him and clamped their hands on either side of his neck. “Please, just—what’s your point?”

  Karnakian nodded, and for a brief second, the compassion in his expression seemed genuine. “When you took several weeks off to mourn, we supported you, tried to be as patient as possible, and of course, under the circumstances that was the least we could do. But since you’ve come back things have been, well...”

  “I know I’ve—”

  “I have a business to run here. You know how these things work, Dan, you’ve been in the game a long time.” Karnakian leaned back a bit in the leather swivel, brought a diminutive hand to his beard and stroked it with small fingers. “We’re all devastated by your loss, sincerely we are, and we all understand what a horrible thing this has been for you, and believe me, we’re all very sympathetic to your situation.”

  “Yeah, well, thank you Jack, but—”

  “This has been a difficult time for you, and of course it would and should be, but there’s a bottom line at play here. You know how important the sales department is in our industry. If Sales doesn’t fire on all cylinders the entire operation is at risk.”

  “Look, I know the numbers have been down the last few months, but we can turn that around.”

  “No, no,” he said softly. “It’s not that at all. Don’t get me wrong, the numbers do need to come up, but it’s more than that. You’re a leader here. Your sales staff depends on you. They look to you to lead them and to hold it all together, and frankly, Daniel, you and I both know you simply aren’t capable of that anymore.”

  “It’s been four months, for Christ’s sake.” Daniel caught himself before the emotion broke him. He choked it back. “Give me a couple days and I’ll get it together, all right? I understand and I appreciate what you’re saying. I’ll fix it. You have my word, Jack.”

  “I’m afraid the decision has already been made,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  Daniel sighed without bothering to hide his contempt. “Well then there’s no point in discussing it, is there.”

  “Certainly if there’s anything I can do to help please let me know.”

  “Right, I’ll be sure to go to the guy who fired me for assistance.”

  “I—”

  “Whatever. It is what it is, right?” Daniel sat there for what was probably only a matter of seconds but seemed an awfully long while. As the finality of the situation sunk in, an unexpected calmness slowly washed over him. “You going with Fox?” he finally asked. Karnakian responded with an awkward nod of his enormous head. “It’s the smart move. He’ll do a good job for you.”

  “You need to get some help to sort things out so you can begin to heal. We all know what a wonderful woman Lindsay was, and how much you loved her, and of course you’re in mourning for her, as you should be, but she’d want you to move on with your life and to get yourself together and centered. One still has to function.”

  Daniel stood up, briefcase in hand. “You’re right, Jack, but do me a favor?”

  “If I can I’ll be happy to, of course.”

  “Don’t talk about Lindsay like you knew her. You didn’t. Christ, I’ve been working here almost ten years and you barely know me.”

  This time it was Karnakian’s turn to stare dully at him. “You can leave your keys with Darleen,” he said a moment later. “She has your severance pay and a letter of recommendation from me waiting for you. I really do wish you well.”

  Karnakian’s face dissolved back to memory as a gust of winter wind slapped the car, rocking it slightly. Daniel drew a deep breath, let it out as a long sigh, and was about to head back to the highway when he saw Cliff Fox coming through the front doors of the station. He stopped to light a cigarette and began puffing away on it nervously, leaving trails of smoke dancing in his wake as he continued across the lot. At first Daniel hoped Fox had simply stepped outside for a butt break, but he quickly realized he’d been spotted. Fox was heading right for his car.

  Despite a strong and immediate desire to run, to simply pull out of the lot and drive off, Daniel remained where he was, watching Fox close the gap between them.

  Cliff Fox was tall, handsome, well-built, and knew it. With his thick dark hair always styled to perfection, his suits and ties of the finest quality and his fingers sporting several expensive diamond and gold rings, Fox carried himself in an often arrogant manner, but was a seasoned professional who consistently produced the largest numbers on staff, due to both a great deal of talent and an uncompromisingly mercenary personality. He was the quintessential salesman in many ways, and his sales figures tended to balance out the shortcomings of his personality, at least in their business.

  Daniel lowered the window as Cliff approached. A burst of cold air hit him.

  “Danny?” Cliff leaned closer, the cigarette dangling from his mouth and his arms wrapped around himself. “Hey, I saw you out here and—”

  “You want to get in?” Daniel motioned to the passenger seat. “It’s pretty cold out.”

  “I’m actually right in the middle of something but I wanted to come out and talk to you.” Cliff hesitated, as if he’d expected Daniel to respond. When he didn’t, he said, “How you doing, my man, you OK?”

  Daniel shrugged, unsure of how to respond.

  “Look, I don’t mean to bust balls, but you’ve been coming here every day and parking in the lot. You stare at the building for a while then drive off. It’s a little creepy, and to be honest it’s starting to freak people out.”

  “Sorry, I…” Daniel felt himself flush. He’d had no idea anyone had noticed him.

  Cliff’s dark eyes searched his. “You want to come in and talk for a while?”

  “No, but thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  Daniel nodded. “I’m more than a little embarrassed. I didn’t think anyone knew I was stopping by.”

  “Is there some reason for it? I mean, do you need something?”

  As the wind picked up, rocking the car and sending another chill through him, Daniel wished he could simply crawl away from all this. Instead, he fumbled for something coherent to say. “I just—no, I guess—not really, no.”

  “Maybe you ought to see a counselor or something, try to work some of this shit out.”

  Daniel looked away.

  “You don’t work here anymore, Danny.” Fox took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked it away. “Coming by like this makes people uncomfortable.”

  “OK, I understand. I really didn’t mean to…”

  Fox’s expression softened a bit. “You know if
you ever want to talk or go have a drink or whatever, just give me a call and we’ll set something up, OK? I’ll always remember how good you were to me when I first started here. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be the salesman I am now, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have this job. You were always good to me, best boss I ever had. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Yeah, I—thanks, Cliff.”

  He reached out, pushed a hand through the open window and gave Daniel’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Take care of yourself, my man. OK?”

  “OK.”

  Cliff turned and hurried back across the lot to the station. Stopping at the entrance, he offered a quick wave.

  Daniel raised a hand to return the gesture, but Fox had already slipped back into the building.

  FOUR

  It felt strange to be back at the apartment so early in the morning. For years Daniel had been at work this time of day, and being in the brownstone instead made the otherwise familiar terrain of his home seem foreign somehow. He felt out of step and even more misplaced than usual.

  Like everything else, he thought, nothing ever feels right anymore.

  Normally, after driving to the radio station, Daniel would aimlessly cruise the highways in and out of the city to kill time, sometimes going all the way down Route 3 to the bridges leading to Cape Cod or in the opposite direction, north into New Hampshire. Now and then he’d jump on the Mass. Pike and drive for hours, taking an exit then getting back on in the direction from which he’d just come, going around in one big circle for the better part of a day. But he felt even more tired and worn out than usual today, perhaps due to the conversation with Cliff Fox. How absurd he must’ve looked, he thought. Sitting there in his car like a nutcase searching desperately for some explanation as to what the hell he was doing there. No wonder Fox had looked at him with an expression of such pity and uncertainty.

  “Made a damned fool of yourself,” he mumbled.

  The idea of having a drink was appealing but it wasn’t even noon yet, so he wandered around the apartment a while trying to think of something to do with himself.

  The blinking light on the answering machine in the kitchen caught his attention. He hadn’t thought to check it as often as he had before Lindsay’s death, but he knew it could provide a conduit to at least some human interaction, so he closed on it greedily and stabbed the play button.

  The first of the two messages was from his best friend Bryce Callahan. Daniel had known him since college, and they’d been close ever since. Divorced, and the father of two kids who lived in the nearby town of Burlington with his ex-wife, Bryce had worked for a large credit union right out of college until two years ago, when he’d traded a suit and tie for jeans and a sweatshirt and the dream of running his own business. The result was a small independent new and used bookstore on Boylston Street in Boston. Though he no longer made the money he had in his previous career, he was able to get by, and more importantly, he was happy, the happiest, in fact, since Daniel had known him.

  “Hey, Danny, it’s me,” Bryce’s voice said through the small speaker. “Just wondering if you want to go shoot some pool tonight and maybe get a bite to eat. I’ll be at the store most of the day, give me a call there. My cell’s on too, whatever, just let me know, OK? Talk to you later.”

  Daniel hit the delete button and the machine moved to the second and final message.

  “How I love talking to these things,” his sister Jeannie said suddenly. “Anyway, making sure we’re still on for Thanksgiving dinner. We’re all really looking forward to seeing you, and I’m making all kinds of good stuff. If you want to stay over it’s no big deal, you know we have plenty of room. Just do me a favor and bring a decent bottle of wine. Actually, make it three or four decent bottles of wine, would you? We’ll get loopy and play Twister or something.” Though he didn’t feel particularly happy, Daniel felt himself smile. “Unless I hear from you otherwise, I’ll see you then. Bye, love you.”

  Daniel deleted the message then went to the refrigerator and swung open the door to reveal a small carton of milk that had probably gone bad, the remnants of a pizza he’d had delivered a few nights before, some condiments and a carafe of orange juice. He grabbed the juice and drank straight from the container.

  It’s so empty here, he thought, and so messy. I need to straighten up. Lindsay would be beyond pissed off if she could see how I’ve let this place go in the last few months.

  He thought about maybe going to one of the shelters in the city and rescuing a dog or cat. Maybe the companionship would help, the presence of another being that needed care and attention and love, and that could unconditionally offer those things in return. He and Lindsay had a cat named Scooter they’d gotten as a kitten a few weeks after they’d been married, but he’d died of feline leukemia two years ago. How he missed that little cat. He’d still catch himself looking for him out of the corner of his eye now and then. They had agreed to get another cat or two, but were still mourning Scooter and not sure they were ready to go through all that again when Lindsay died. He drank some more juice, pictured Scooter with Lindsay now, cuddling in her arms the way he used to, the two of them somewhere nice and sunny and clean, somewhere better.

  I better wait, he thought. Maybe after the holidays I’ll check out a few shelters in town. Right now I’m having a hard enough time taking care of myself.

  Daniel closed his eyes, recalled the dream he’d had the night before, the same one he’d had countless times since Lindsay’s death.

  In the dream, before the darkness parted and it became visual, he would always hear the car tires screeching. A horrible shriek of a sound, it reminded him of a wailing, wounded or terrified animal. And then the silence, that awful brief interval of anticipatory silence followed by the sound of violent contact. Different than the equally disturbing sound an automobile makes upon impact with a telephone pole, for example, yet eerily similar in that it was an unforgettable sound that would forever stain his psyche, a sound so unnatural and final, as to seem supernatural in scope. A sickening thud, this, it twisted his insides, made him nauseous and was trailed by an odd scraping sound, like a cardboard box pinned beneath the front of a car and carelessly dragged along pavement. Only it was Lindsay, broken and trapped and pushed along the street, her body flopping about and turning slowly as the car finally came to a stop. He couldn’t be certain, but each time he dreamed this Daniel thought he heard her cry out just before impact. Not quite a scream but something else, a quick release of breath mixed with a moan of realization, a whimper of disbelief in her split-second understanding of what was bearing down on her, what would change her, destroy her, end her, and knowing there was nothing she could do to prevent it. No amount of physical or intellectual prowess could change it. No act of contrition could save her. It was a sound of acceptance. Consent.

  Daniel began having the dream within days of Lindsay’s death, and each time, it ended with him running across the street and dropping to his knees next to her. She was alive and looking up at him with an expression he could only guess was analogous to guilt. Like she was apologizing for allowing such a horrible thing to take place, it was so classically Lindsay, upset with herself for something entirely beyond her control.

  Amidst the blinking red and blue emergency lights, Daniel began to scream with a rage that eventually crumbled into tears, holding her and begging her to stay with him, to hang on, to fight. But she was broken beyond repair. So precious and delicate, she was dying.

  Dying, but not yet dead.

  In reality he’d not been on the scene until after her death, and never had the chance to say goodbye, to hold her one last time and tell her how much he loved her, so initially he told himself this was nothing more than guilt torturing him in the form of nightmares. But the more he thought about that specific part of the dream, and after having experienced it numerous times over the course of a few weeks, Daniel couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it. Lindsay hadn’t been killed instantly, the po
lice had told him that much, but he’d never been certain if she’d regained consciousness at any point prior to her death.

  He contacted the hospital Lindsay’s body had been taken to, got information on the ambulance company that had transported her, and after several phone calls was finally able to track down Yolanda Vasquez, one of the Emergency Medical Technicians that had been part of the first response team on the scene the night of the hit-and-run. They spoke briefly on the phone, and when he explained his desire to speak with her in person, Daniel was surprised how readily she agreed. Despite her rather clipped, formal way of speaking, she’d seemed friendly enough, and had offered to meet him the following day in the neighboring town of Everett at a gym she frequented.

  The next morning Daniel found a fireplug of a woman waiting for him. Perhaps thirty, and at best five-foot-one, Yolanda Vasquez was low to the ground but broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Her raven black hair was pulled back in severe fashion and fastened into a ponytail that stuck out the back of a baseball cap with the Nike swish emblazoned across it, and her eyes were large and bright. Full lips parted to showcase an intimidating smile. A gym bag hung over one shoulder, and she was dressed in nylon blue sweatpants and an open Hawaiian style shirt with the arms cut away. Beneath it a white sports bra held her ample bust in place and showed off the ripple of taut muscles across her abdomen. She shook hands with a powerful grip that bordered on painful. Two quick pumps and then release. Very official. “Yolanda Vasquez,” she said. “Call me Yo. Everyone does.”