Dominion

by Greg F. Gifune

  “Dan Cicero. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “No problem.” She cocked her head toward the gym entrance. “Come on, we’ll chat inside. Need to get a sweat going.”

  As they entered the building and crossed through a large weight room, Yolanda exchanged playful barbs and small-talk with several patrons she knew. Daniel followed, only hesitating when they ventured into a locker room area.

  “It’s cool, the place is basically unisex,” she told him. “Nobody worries about it, no need for you to either.”

  The smell of stale sweat and stagnant air greeted them along with a row of old metal lockers and a long wooden bench. To their left the cement floor turned to tile which presumably led to a shower area. To the right was another door that led to some other part of the establishment. Daniel stood awkwardly by the bench, unsure of how to begin.

  Moving with a precision and efficiency that was nearly mechanical, she opened a locker, let the gym bag slide from her shoulder to the floor then pulled off the Hawaiian shirt. After hanging it on a hook inside the locker she noticed him watching her. “I’m meticulously neat,” she admitted with a light laugh. “Eight years in the military will do that to a person. Was in for the first Gulf War.”

  “Must’ve been something,” he said, for lack of anything better.

  She pulled her sweatpants down and stepped out of them. Underneath she wore a pair of black Lycra shorts that stopped just above her knees. Her legs were short but sculpted and powerful, as were her arms. A pink scar about the size and shape of a half-dollar was stamped on the side of her right calf, disrupting the otherwise attractive tone and balance of her mocha-colored skin. “Got out of there without a scratch,” she said, pointing casually to the scar. “This I got my first week on the job as an EMT. Responded to a call in Mattapan, some woman tried to gut her old man. He managed to get to a phone and dial 911. Found him lying on the kitchen floor, door to the apartment open. Didn’t know what we were walking into, thought his wife had fled the scene. One minute I’m trying to stop his bleeding and the next the bitch comes out the bedroom with the same knife and sticks me in the leg with it. Lesson learned, was never careless like that again. It’s not easy out there, got to be on your toes at all times and ready for anything, because just about everybody’s armed but us.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I got this souvenir to remember her by, but I was good as new in a couple weeks.”

  “I meant the man.” Daniel smiled halfheartedly. “What happened to him?”

  She folded her sweatpants and placed them neatly on a shelf in the locker. “He died.”

  “You must see an awful lot of horrible things.”

  Yolanda leaned forward, put one foot on the bench, checked the tightness of her sneaker then switched and did the same with the other foot. “It’s the job.” She straddled the bench, reached into her gym bag and removed two rolls of heavy white tape. “I do a boxing workout, hit the heavy and speed bags, spar a few rounds, great cardio.” With the deftness of a veteran trainer she began to wrap her hands. After a few seconds she refocused on their conversation. “Now and then when we’re on the clock we actually get to do some good, maybe even save a life or two. But mostly, it’s carnage, whole lot of carnage. You never get used to it. You just learn to deal with it like a professional. I try not to get emotional about it. Can’t, it’d drive me crazy if I allowed that. Gets to some, and it burns them out. It’s balance, really, because you can’t be dead to it either, or you’re not human. It’s the kids that bother me most. The first time you roll up on a dead child or one that’s fighting for their life and you lose them, it can change the way you see the world. It can change you right down to the deepest part of your soul if you let it.” One hand completed, she held the roll of tape in the other, pulled it taut then tore the end off with her teeth. “That’s the challenge. Not to let it.”

  Daniel cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I know it’s been a couple of weeks, but do you remember the circumstances of my wife’s death?”

  She answered with a quick, efficient nod then began taping her other hand. “I remember. Don’t get a whole lot of hit-and-runs. It happens, of course, but not a lot.”

  “I know this is probably…strange for you, but I…”

  “It’s fine.” Yolanda shrugged but managed to do so without being flippant about it. “You’re not the first person to want to talk to me after the death of a loved one and you won’t be the last. Just a couple days ago we lost a guy to a heart attack over near Haymarket Square. Collapsed and died on the street. His daughter needed to ask me some questions about it. It’s not that unusual. Sometimes we can provide basic information about their last moments, and that can give comfort. If I can do that for somebody, give them a little peace in some small way, I think it’s my duty to do so.”

  Daniel found himself oddly envious of this woman, this stranger. She’d been with Lindsay at the moment of her death and he had not. He should’ve been there, it was his place, his role, but he’d been too late. Lindsay connected them now. “I know she died at the scene, but it was never made clear to me by the police or doctors if she regained consciousness at any point.”

  “She was conscious briefly, only for a few seconds.” The tape job on both hands complete, Yolanda reached into the gym bag and removed a pair of low ounce boxing gloves. “Then she lost consciousness again and expired seconds later.”

  Expired.

  “Did she…”

  “She didn’t suffer.”

  That wasn’t the question he’d been asking, but knew it was probably one she heard all the time.

  “I’ve seen suffering, believe me.” Yolanda slung the gloves, which were tied together by their laces, over her shoulder. “Your wife was spared that. Even if she realized what had happened to her—which I doubt—she felt no pain. Even when she was conscious for those few seconds, she was peaceful.”

  Daniel bit his lip, held his emotions in check. “Did she say anything before she died?”

  She stood up and nonchalantly backhanded the locker. It closed with a loud clang. “Yes, sir, she did. Due to the circumstances, I made it a point to remember it verbatim. Where it was a hit-and-run we were in the middle of a crime scene, and whatever she said could be relevant and needed to be passed on to the police. At that point, no one knew who had done this to her. But she wasn’t coherent. Her injuries were so severe, I doubt she knew what she was saying, or if she realized she was even speaking at all for that matter. I did my job and reported what her last words had been, but the police didn’t give it any validity, and to be honest, neither did I. It’s probably why no one ever mentioned it to you. Still, someone should have. I’m a little surprised the police didn’t run it by you just to see if you could make sense of it or if you could tie it to something relevant to the crime just as a matter of procedure. But hey, I’m not a cop.”

  Daniel thought a moment. Neither the police nor the doctors had ever mentioned Lindsay regaining consciousness, much less having last words. “Those first hours after her death are still a blur,” he told her. “But I know I’d remember if they’d told me. I’m sure they didn’t.”

  “People say things when they’re dying sometimes that don’t always make a lot of sense. Sometimes it’s just gibberish. People want to believe that everybody has some great speech or revelation while they’re leaving this world, like in the movies, you know? But it’s not usually like that, most of the time it’s really violent—a struggle, a fight—or it’s real peaceful, quiet, not a lot of talking or drama. Your wife went peacefully, Mr. Cicero, I can tell you that. The act that took her life was violent, of course, but it was so violent and so fast she never knew what…excuse the expression but…she never knew what hit her. Still, someone should have told you.”

  “What was it she said?”

  Yolanda sighed. “She said, ‘It’s not me. Tell him it’s not me.’”

  The phone rang, startling him and returning him to the
present. He put the juice on the counter and answered the wall unit next to the counter. “Hello?” Faint static answered. “Hello?”

  After another second or two of dead air, a male voice asked, “Is Lindsay there?”

  A sharp pain shot from Daniel’s temple back across his skull. He shut his eyes and let out a slow sigh. Stupid telemarketers. “Who is this?”

  “Are you her husband?”

  Daniel tightened his grip on the phone. “Yes, I am.”

  “Did you know she’s alive?”

  The question caught him completely off-guard and at first he wasn’t certain he’d heard it correctly. “I’m sorry?”

  “Lindsay,” the man said, “did you know she’s alive?”

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “She’s alive,” the man said again, this time more emphatically. “More than you know.”

  “Who is this?”

  A quick click.

  “Hello?” Daniel strained to listen. He thought he’d heard the sound of someone disconnecting but couldn’t be positive. It was just as possible the person was still on the line but not talking. “Hello?” After another click the line died and a dial tone sounded. “Sonofabitch.”

  Angrily, he dialed *69. The recording recited a number he didn’t recognize, with an area code from some other state. He chose the callback option and it connected quickly, but ten rings came and went without answer. He was about to give up when the ringing was interrupted by a gravelly voice. “Yeah?”

  That’s definitely a different voice than before, Daniel thought. “Who is this, please?”

  “Luther,” the voice said. “Who’s this?”

  “Someone from your number just called here, and—”

  “My number?”

  “Look, you just called my house, I did star-sixty-nine and this number came up.”

  “I didn’t call nobody.”

  “Where am I calling?”

  “Youngstown.”

  “Ohio?”

  “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “I want to know who the hell this is I’m calling!”

  “It’s a payphone, asshole. I answered it for a goof, I was walking by.”

  Daniel felt his stomach clench. “A payphone, but—who was calling me?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  The sound of the phone slamming down brought an abrupt end to the conversation.

  Daniel returned the phone to the wall cradle and drew a deep breath, his heart racing and his hands shaking. Who would be calling his home from Ohio looking for Lindsay? He didn’t know anyone in Ohio that he was aware of, and was relatively certain she hadn’t either. And even if she had, why would the man call from a payphone? And why would he hang up like that? Whoever it was he obviously either didn’t realize that Lindsay had died, or he was simply playing a cruel game. But why not explain the call? Why cut and run like that?

  The possibilities made Daniel weak in the knees. He moved out of the kitchen, into the den and collapsed in an easy chair. Sitting in the silence of the brownstone, he focused on the sound of his own breath, the beating of his heart, the rhythmic cadence of his pulse pounding in his ears. Though numerous questions repeated over and over in his mind, he began to wonder if he truly wanted the answers.

  Maybe it’s not too early for that drink after all, he thought.

  * * *

  Since Bryce’s store was only about a ten minute walk from the brownstone, Daniel decided to make the trip on foot so he could utilize the time thinking a bit more about the call. The temperature had risen a bit since early morning, but it remained bitterly cold, and as he left Marlborough Street, crossed Mass. Avenue and headed toward Boylston Street, he noticed the sky had turned the strange shade of gray that normally signaled impending snowfall. He pulled the collar on his London Fog up tighter around his neck and moved into a mounting wind, the man’s voice echoing in his mind. She’s alive.

  The memory of Lindsay’s face drifted past his mind’s eye, swallowed to darkness before he could study it closely.

  Even as Daniel climbed the steps of Look Again Books, he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to mention the call to Bryce. No matter what he did or said lately, everyone kept urging him to seek help, to talk with a professional, and while he knew firsthand that some of his behavior since Lindsay’s death had been odd, he also damn well knew he wasn’t crazy. The call had happened, it hadn’t been some figment of his imagination, and of this he was certain.

  The jingling of the bell over the door and a welcome wall of warm air greeted him as he walked through the entrance. A few customers milled about the store, and a college student that worked there part-time named Marie, offered a friendly wave. “Hey, Danny,” she said, “cold out there, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s freezing, looks like snow maybe.”

  “It’s good for us,” she said with a wink. “The cold kills bacteria.”

  Daniel forced an obligatory smile as he strode to the counter. “Is Bryce around?”

  She jerked a thumb toward the rear of the building, causing the numerous piercings and bracelets she was adorned with to jangle. “I banished him to the office.”

  He made his way to the small dusty office out back. The door was open, but Bryce, who was slumped over a desk strewn with paperwork, pounded a calculator with one hand and held his head with the other. A computer on an adjacent desk sat dark. Bryce didn’t notice him at first, so Daniel rapped lightly on the door casing.

  “Hey, man.” Bryce sprung to his feet with more energy than he initially appeared to have. “Come on in.” He ushered Daniel into the cramped space and made room for him in an old chair next to his desk. “Did you get my message before?”

  Daniel sat down. “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Cool, we on for tonight, or what?”

  “Bryce, I need to talk to you about something.”

  Sensing the seriousness of Daniel’s tone, Bryce returned to his desk chair but spun it out so they were facing each other. Then he seemed to notice something else. “Have you been drinking already? I can smell booze on you.”

  “I walked here, had one to warm me up before I left, Mom. That OK with you?”

  “Relax, tiger, just asking.” Bryce smiled with his deep blue eyes. “So what’s up?”

  “I got the strangest phone call this morning.” Daniel hesitated a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. “Some guy was asking for Lindsay.”

  Though he could tell Bryce had done his best to retain a neutral expression, he’d failed. The slightest hint of concern slipped through. “OK.”

  “So I ask who it is, and he won’t tell me. He asks who I am and I tell him I’m her husband, who the hell is he? Then he starts telling me Lindsay’s alive. I-I stayed home for a while,” he stammered, searching for the right words, “to see if he’d call back, but he didn’t. Been thinking about it for a couple hours now. I can’t make any sense of it.”

  “All right, wait a minute here. Let me make sure I understand this.” Bryce ran his hands over his head. By the time he’d hit twenty-seven, male pattern baldness had claimed most of his once thick blond locks. Now at thirty-two, the same age as Daniel, he wore what was left of them trimmed very close to his scalp. “Some guy calls out of the blue and asks for Lindsay. He won’t tell you who he is and then says she’s alive?”

  Daniel nodded. “So I ask again who he is, and he hangs up.”

  “Motherfucker.” Brad shook his head as if dizzy. “Maybe it’s somebody connected to the driver, some other piece of shit scumbag friend of his or something.”

  “That thought occurred to me initially too, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when he hangs up I’m so pissed I star-sixty-nine the call. It comes back as a payphone in Youngstown, Ohio.”

  “Who the hell’s in Youngstown, Ohio?”

  “No clue. I don’t know anyone from there, and far as I know, Lindsay didn’t either. As for the
driver, I never heard anything about him having connections or family in Ohio.”

  “Strange.” Bryce leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Maybe it was somebody she knew through work?”

  “I don’t know. Regardless, why not just say who you are? And to say she’s alive, what—why would he do that?”

  “Could just be some nut that gets his rocks off making crank calls. I remember I saw a thing on the news a few years ago about this asshole that used to cruise the obituaries then hassle their loved ones over the phone, real piece of fucking work.”

  “If it was something like that, don’t you think he would’ve done it sooner? Lindsay’s obituaries ran in the papers months ago.” Daniel put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. “It really shook me, man.”

  “Yeah, I can see where it would.”

  “I don’t know what the hell to make of it.”

  “Maybe he’ll call back. If there’s some point to all this he would, right?”

  “I guess so, yeah.”

  “If he does, try to keep him talking, see if you can get more information out of him.”

  “Why the hell would somebody do that? Why would they just hang up like that?”

  “That’s all he said, right? You’re not forgetting anything?”

  “He just said she was alive more than I know.”

  Silence fell over the office for a moment. “I don’t know what to tell you, Danny. Since it’s a payphone it’s pretty much impossible to figure out who it was at this point.”

  “It makes no sense.” Daniel left his face in his hands. “Hardly anything does anymore.”

  Bryce righted his chair with a loud squeak. “You know, sometimes you have to look a little deeper into things you don’t really want to,” he said, his tone softer now. “I know it’s hard, but in a lot of ways, since Lindsay died you’ve just kind of shut down. There are a lot of things you don’t want to look at or think about or deal with, and I understand, but we both know that can’t be healthy.”

  Daniel slowly raised his head. “I’m doing the best I can, Bryce.”