Survival’s a brutal gig.
An untamed and primitive darkness was slinking about within him, hiding like the thief it was. He could feel it growing stronger. He’d never had a tendency toward physical violence, and hadn’t hit anyone in anger in years, yet he’d struck Cliff with a level of rage and violence he’d never imagined himself capable of. More worrisome was that this was not a new piece of himself, some recent affliction born from thin air or circumstance rearing its ugly head. This had been there all along, within him, perhaps asleep, perhaps evolved into something less feverishly primal, but as much a part of his intrinsic makeup as joy and love and fear.
We’re all in the cage, man.
Had Cliff really seen him at the station that morning, some other version of him moving about in the here and now without his knowledge? What the hell was the word for that? Doppelganger, wasn’t it? Could Steven Gorton and Russell truly be doppelgangers, two different but mirror image parts of the same soul? Had what he’d seen in Bedbug’s apartment been real? Could that have been one as well? Was it possible that some portion of Lindsay, some idea or concept of her still existed somehow? Could any of this really be possible?
Look closer.
Daniel left the false safety of the car and approached the edge of the front walk. Even the house seemed uncertain on this strange night, an indistinct mass in the snowy rain and darkness.
Abigail Steiger answered the door with the flair of an undertaker. A squat and chunky woman in her middle fifties, she wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a style better suited to a much older woman, and was dressed modestly in an inexpensive dress and a pair of slippers. Her eyes were perpetually heavy, her face drawn and her posture slumped, as if saddled with an enormous weight across the back of her shoulders. Though Wesley had never been clear about a specific diagnosis, she suffered from some form of continual fatigue syndrome which often left her confined to bed for days at a time, and even at her best moments, rather sluggish and impassive.
“Daniel?” she asked, squinting a bit.
“Gail, is Wesley home?”
“Come in out of the storm.” She motioned him inside, closed the door and looked him over none-too-subtly. “Let me take your coat.”
“No, it’s OK, thanks.” He kept his bloodstained hand buried in his coat pocket. “I can’t stay long.” It was warm and quiet here, basic but cozy, and the faint sounds of a television program trickled in from the other room. “I’m sorry to barge in like this without calling first.”
“Nonsense, you’re always welcome.” Abigail attempted a smile. It looked painful on her. “After the day he’s had, I’m sure Wes will appreciate you coming to see him.”
“I heard about what happened.”
“Why would they do such a thing to him after all these years? How could they?”
“It’s all a numbers game. The fact that there are human beings behind those numbers means nothing to people like Karnakian and Fox. It’s a merciless business.”
As the longtime wife of a salesman, Abigail was able to summon an expression that in no uncertain terms made it clear she already knew this all too well. Still, she nodded politely. “We shouldn’t be surprised, you’re right. Look at what they did to you. And after all you’d been through.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I try not to speak ill of anyone, but they’re awful people, the lot of them.”
“Hope you won’t mind if I don’t argue that point.”
She smiled again, this time more comfortably. “I believe everything happens for a reason. We might not always understand or agree with it, but I think God has a plan for all of us.” Gently, she touched his arm and led him into a small den. “Don’t you?”
“I sure hope so,” he said softly.
The den looked like it had just recently been abandoned. The television, a console model against the back wall of the room, was on and showing the classic film, The Charge of the Light Brigade with Errol Flynn. A large recliner, undoubtedly set aside for Wesley’s considerable girth, was empty. A pair of knitting needles and a half finished sweater lay across the arm of a chair in the corner, just as Abigail had left them when she’d gone to answer the door, and scattered about the floor in front of the television was a box of crayons and a pad of construction paper. Balanced precariously on the thick carpet sat an empty glass coated with the remnants of milk it had recently contained, and a small plate with crumbs presumably from cookies eaten just moments before.
Abigail glanced about quickly, apparently wondering where their daughter had gone in such haste, but rather than voice it, she held a finger up for Daniel to wait, then slipped into a hallway next to the den and knocked quietly on the bathroom door. “Daniel Cicero’s here to see you, dear.”
She returned to the room and collected her needles and yarn. “He’ll be right out. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
The sound of a toilet flushing was followed by the bathroom door opening. Heavy footfalls approached and Wesley stepped into the room in a dress shirt sans his usual tie, and slacks held in place with suspenders. He wore no shoes, only black nylon dress socks. His face was pale and looked exhausted and somewhat disoriented, like he’d just awakened from a long nap. “Daniel, hello, I—sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I’ll give you two your privacy,” Abigail said, and then to her husband, “Dora was in here with me but she must’ve gone to her room for something. If she interrupts you tell her to bring her things into the kitchen and we’ll color there.”
Wesley nodded dismissively as she left the room. “I guess you heard they let me go.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Wes.”
“Have a seat.” He rubbed his eyes and motioned to the chair. “I’m hardly one to talk, but you don’t look too good. You look like you’ve been through quite an ordeal tonight yourself.”
I don’t even know where to start, he thought. Daniel lowered himself into the chair, felt himself relax to the extent that he was still capable. “I’ve had a hell of a day too.”
“Is everything all right?”
Nothing’s all right. “I’ll live. How’re you holding up?”
“As best I can. When they let you go I knew I was next, it was only a matter of time. Did Fox call you and brag about finally getting me out?”
“Not exactly, I ran into him over at Mac & Murray’s a little while ago.”
Wes hovered near the recliner, hands in his pockets. “I’m sure everyone had a nice laugh at my expense.”
“Trust me, nobody’s laughing.”
“What happened?”
“I hit him.”
“Fox?”
“Right in the mouth.”
“You’re serious?”
“I knocked one of his teeth out.”
“That’s awful.” Wes pursed his lips. “Violence is never the answer. You should be ashamed of yourself. Did he cry?”
“Little bit.”
Barely able to contain his laughter, he said, “You didn’t have to do that, Daniel. I hope you don’t get into difficulty over it. Knowing Fox he’s probably already on the phone with an attorney.”
“He’s the least of our worries.”
Wesley let out an empathetic sigh then maneuvered himself into the recliner. “True enough, there are certainly more important fish to fry than Cliff Fox. Besides, who am I to feel sorry for myself? I lost a job. You lost your wife, I—my God, I can’t imagine it, what you must be going through—and here you are consoling me.”
Flashes of this gentle man swinging a baseball bat blinked strobe-like in his mind, joined by the echoes of screams that rose then quickly receded.
“You were always a good friend to me,” Wesley continued. “You looked out for me on the job and stood up for me over the years more times than I can count. If it hadn’t been for your help and willingness to stick up for me on a regular basis I’d have been fired ages ago. I want you to know your friendship and loyalty meant a great d
eal not only to me, but to Gale and Dora too.”
He shrugged clumsily. Daniel knew how difficult it must’ve been for a man old enough to be his father to say these things. “You were in sales before I was born. You taught me more than I ever could’ve taught you.”
He bowed his head, defeated. “I wish I could retire, to tell you the truth. I’m tired.” His eyes narrowed like he’d noticed something profound in his lap. “But I can’t, it’d cripple us financially. And things aren’t exactly booming as it is. I always thought by the time I was this age I’d have more, you know? Not so much material things necessarily, but a sense of security. All these years I’ve worked, I ought to at least have that, but the truth is we’re never safe, never secure, none of us. It’s a mistake we make, thinking we are. Do you know you’re the only person that’s come to see me? No one’s even called, none of the guys, nobody from the office, none of the on-air talent, no one. I worked at that station for years and now it’s like I never even existed there. Was I really so unpopular? I thought…I thought people liked me.” He shook his head in disbelief.
Daniel searched his exhausted mind for something—anything—that could comfort Wesley, but all he could see was the look in his eyes as he brought the bat down across Karnakian’s back, as he raised it over Fox. He had selfish motivations for coming here, bigger things and more important things than Wesley and his job, but he couldn’t bring himself to shift the topic. “You still have your family, remember that.”
“Thank God.” Wesley turned to a framed photograph hanging on the wall of him and his wife with Dora. “I don’t know what I’d do without them. They’re everything to me.”
An ache in Daniel’s neck fired tracers of pain up behind his ears.
“When Dora was born the doctors told us she was abnormal. That’s the word they used: abnormal. We’re afraid there are some abnormalities with your daughter. They wanted us to put her away in a special home in upstate New York, to just toss her aside. Our child, can you believe it? They didn’t know what they were talking about. That little girl is…little girl, she’s not that much younger than you are, she’s nearly thirty, I forget sometimes…she’s pure and beautiful and touched by God Himself. She’s different, I know that, but it’s in a wonderful way, really, if you’re willing to see it. You’ll never find a more gentle, sweet, trusting or loving person.” He continued to watch the photograph, smiling now. “They told us when she was a little girl that she’d reach the mental capacity of about a three-year-old, nothing more. Tests as an adult have her closer to five or six, though they really don’t know for sure what’s going on in her head most of the time. I only know my daughter’s not retarded. She’s not stupid. Those are horrible words that have nothing to do with her. She’s the best human being I’ve ever known.” He laughed lightly, mostly to himself. “I remember when she was little I used to make shadow puppets on the walls for her. She’d laugh and laugh and never get tired of it. Dora has the most contagious, amazing laugh, so big for such a small person. I’d sit there for hours making those shadow puppets just so I could hear that laugh. She particularly liked my bunny rabbit. Whenever the ears popped up she’d start to laugh. Do again, Daddy, she’d tell me. Do again.”
For the first time in days, Daniel felt safe, here, in this small and quiet house. Yet he also felt like the intruder he was, watching and listening to this man he had worked with for years, spent countless hours with professionally, but never truly saw or understood as a fully realized human being, a husband and a father with a life, loves, fears, memories and hopes. Part of him wanted to leave, to let Wesley and his family have their space, this one tiny unspoiled corner of the universe that was theirs and theirs alone, but Daniel’s entire sense of reality was splintering, he had no choice.
“And now I’ve let her down too.” His pasty flesh blushed, and he looked about desperately, settling on the television, where the climactic battle scene in The Charge of the Light Brigade was playing out. “Did you know two hundred horses and one stuntman were killed in the making of this film?”
“No, I—that’s terrible.”
“It was before the days when people made sure animals weren’t abused on movie sets. It’s what led to better standards, in fact. I loved this movie when I was a kid, used to watch it whenever it was on TV. Always liked Errol Flynn, not exactly being the most dashing individual you’re likely to run into myself. Then I read an article about how all those horses had been killed during the filming and I could never look at the movie the same way. It was so heartless, needless—arrogant even—on the part of the filmmakers, the idea that they had the right to arbitrarily murder those animals for what amounted to their own amusement. The stuntman killed had a choice and understood the risk, agreed to it. Those horses never got that chance. The idea that people could do that so nonchalantly shocked me. I’ll never understand intentional cruelty.” He grabbed the remote from the small table next to his recliner and switched the television off. “It’s really about false dominion.”
The word caught Daniel’s attention. Bedbug had talked about dominion too.
Only God has dominion, and He’s not exactly the talkative type.
“False dominion?”
With a quick nod Wesley returned the remote to the table and this time scooped up a Bible lying at the base of a nearby lamp. “I think most people misinterpret what the Bible meant by human beings having dominion. Having power over something or someone doesn’t mean you also have the right to do to it or them whatever you choose or whatever suits your needs. It just means we have more responsibility to do what’s right because we’re supposed to know better.” He waved the Bible at him almost humorously. “The world can be an evil place. All we have is each other, faith, and God.”
“You still believe, don’t you, Wes.”
“Don’t you? I know you were raised Catholic.”
“I believe the basics. Beyond that I don’t know anymore.”
“I remember you saying once you stopped attending church long ago.”
“I’ve got nothing against God. My problem’s with people.”
“Too many politics, too much self-serving judgment and nastiness, not enough God, you’re right. It’s gotten to the point where when I tell people I’m a Christian I have to add a disclaimer to let them know I’m not the radical right-wing, hatemongering variety, which sadly is what so many immediately think of today when they hear the term Christian. As for the church, I still go even though I have my share of personal disagreements with it. I feel if I don’t, I’ll be throwing the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak.” Wesley held the Bible in his meaty hands and gazed at it pensively. “It’s times like these when my faith is so important. Along with my family—and good friends like you—God is the only thing that keeps me going.”
Daniel remembered the makeshift operating room and the surgeon wearing goggles in his nightmare, but the visions were gone almost as soon as they arrived.
God can’t help you here.
“Wes, do you believe in Hell?”
If the question surprised him, he gave no indication. “Yes, but I pray I’m wrong.”
Daniel looked to the yellow shaft of light cast from the lamp, the way it painted the otherwise dark wall. “You believe it’s an actual place then?”
“In a sense, but the whole concept of what’s literal, and what isn’t, changes from this world to the next.”
“But do you think Hell could…” Daniel suddenly had the urge to get up and move around, but forced himself to remain on the edge of the chair. “Do you think it’s a place you could go to or experience in some way even if you weren’t dead?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Do you think the dead can communicate with us?”
This time he raised an eyebrow. “Like ghosts, that kind of thing?”
“Ghosts or—I don’t know—beings of some kind.”
“What kind of beings?”
“Beings that could use so
me sort of bridge maybe, one that connects this world to some other.”
Wesley frowned. “You’ve lost me.”
“What if Hell isn’t for the dead? What if Hell’s for the living? What if it’s happening right alongside us, all playing out at the same time? Couldn’t it be possible for a conduit to exist between here and there? Does it hint at anything like that in the Bible, or—”
“What’s this all about, Daniel?”
His heart rate accelerated and his throat constricted. It felt like he was close to losing total control of his body. “I remember when I was kid the nuns and priests always used to say we were all individuals, unique souls, all of us.”
Wesley responded with a puzzled nod.
“Could there be different versions of us, others that could maybe be a part of us but existing somehow on another dimensional plane that—I—I don’t know, I—would God do that? Would He have created things that way if…”
The look on Wesley’s face stopped him in mid-sentence.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to come out of your skin. Calm down and tell me what this is really about.”
“I saw a man die tonight.” Daniel dropped his face into his hands. “At least I think it was a man.”
“My God, no wonder you’re acting so strangely. Was there an accident?”
A tremor that began in his back rippled across his torso and into his arms. “No accident,” he said softly.
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