Predominance

by H. I. Defaz

  But I guess she believed that closure was something we all need in order to move on with our lives. She even tried to convince me, at some point, that finding my mother was something I should definitely include in my to-do list—or our Dream List, as we liked to call it. But the sullen look on my face gave away my thoughts on the subject.

  “What?” she asked. “Wouldn't you like to find her, and know why she did what she did?”

  Her words made me consider that for a moment. “No,” I answered finally.

  “Why?”

  “Because no explanation could ever justify or vindicate walking out on a six-year-old child and breaking the heart of a good man like my father. She killed him the day she left, and that's not something I'd ever be able to forget.” I paused ruefully. “I don't hate her, you know? But I'm afraid that if I ever saw her or listened to her, I would begin to. And I don't want that.”

  She looked at me pitifully and cupped the side of my face. “You couldn't hate anyone, Victor. It's not in your nature.”

  I went for her hand, kissed it, and held it in mine, my eyes wide and sincere. “Thank you, Yvee. But that's something I hope I'll never have to prove.” Then, taking a deep breath and heaving a rueful sigh, I deliberately strayed from the subject. “Why don't you just tell me what else you have in mind for your Dream List, huh?”

  “Right.” She acknowledged my avoidance and gave in. “Well, let's see... I always wanted to visit the Bolshoi Theatre in Russia,” she said.

  I laughed quizzically. “Okay, you're going to have to explain that one.”

  She laughed, too, and spun around on her bottom to face me. Her skillful legs locked into the lotus position at the end of her spin, with an ease that would make any yogini jealous. “All right,” she began, with a radiant look on her face. “The Bolshoi Theatre is one of the oldest and most renowned ballet theatres in the world. Not to mention that it's a work of art, complete with Imperial décor, nineteenth-century wooden fixtures, and French-made red velvet banquettes...”

  Her eyes flickered with excitement as she described this incredible Russian landmark. I listened attentively to every detail. And though the Bolshoi sounded like a remarkable tourist destination, I couldn't help but sense a more powerful reason for her wanting to visit. For me, it felt like an incomplete equation, so as soon as she finished, I probed for the missing variable.

  “Well, it sounds like an amazing place,” I noted. “But you still haven't told me why. Why that theatre? Why Russia?”

  She glanced away, hesitant. “You may find my reason a little strange.”

  “Oh, come on!” I encouraged. “Strange? It's been the genre of my life.”

  She laughed aloud. “I thought I had a patent on that genre.”

  “Uh-uh. Come on, tell me,” I insisted.

  She considered for a moment as she raised her eyes anew to the now-fading aurora. A soft breeze made her shiver and wrap her arms around herself. So I offered my body heat to keep her warm. “Come here,” I said, suggesting she sit next to me again. She gave me a coy smile and moved to cuddled under my arm. I rested my face against her hair, getting lost in her scent, and then appealed for her to continue.

  After a wistful sigh, she yielded: “Ever since I can remember, I've had this recurring dream in which I see myself standing on the stage of the Bolshoi Theatre. But the auditorium is completely empty. Not one seat is occupied—and yet, I feel the compelling need to perform. The music for Odette's solo begins to play, my body begins to move, and I dance. I dance like I've never danced before. With no restrictions, no mistakes. Then, when the music finally fades down, I hear the applause of a single person. I look up, and there she is.” She stopped.

  “Who?” I urged.

  “My mother,” she answered, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Clearing a knot in her throat, she continued. “After years of having this dream, one day I recognized the stage in a television special I was watching with my Aunt Becky. She told me that Mom's dream was always to dance for the Bolshoi Ballet Company, and perform in that beautiful theatre. But she never did. I know that finding out that the place I'd been dreaming about for so long was real, and that it somehow had a connection with my mother, should've freaked me out. But it didn't. On the contrary, it inspired me.” She mused for a long second. “Anyway, I know that not many people would understand. But I feel like it would be a tribute to her. If I could just dance to her favorite piece, even if the theatre were empty, her spirit would be all the audience I'd ever need.”

  She stopped then, and looked up for my reaction. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think it's perfect,” I said sincerely. “And I'm sure she'd look upon you proudly.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled and burrowed deeper into my chest. “What about you?” she asked. “You haven't said much about your Dream List. What would you like to do?”

  I sighed deeply. “Well, I wouldn't call it a list, really; mine only has one thing on it. But you know what? In a way, I think it resembles your dream—not that I would dance or anything. But my dad also had a dream that he didn't get to see realized. And I guess, at some point, it became mine, too. I always thought that he would look upon me from wherever he is, and smile proudly.” I paused for a moment to glance at her meaningfully. “At least now I know I'm not the only one who thinks like this.”

  She studied my face for a moment. “What's the dream?” she asked.

  “To sail around the world,” I said wistfully. “To live the remainder of my life at sea. Anyway, after my dad died, I received a letter from the truck company involved in my accident. Their settlement was not only unexpected, but it was more than enough to realize my dad's lifelong dream. So I went down to the marina and I started looking for sailboats. I set my eyes on this beautiful Bavaria Cruiser 36 and told the sales broker that I'd be back as soon as I cashed my check.”

  “That's amazing, Victor!” Yvette cheered. “I bet you couldn't wait to set sail.”

  I pressed my lips together tightly and gave her a regretful look. “Well... I did get the check, but I didn't buy the boat.”

  “Why?” she asked, disappointed.

  “I thought it would be a waste, you know? With me dying and all.” I shrugged, dispirited.

  Still in my arms, she turned around and enveloped me with her big, mesmerizing, blue eyes, her voice soft as she pleaded, “Don't say that again, please. I don't want to hear you speak like that anymore. I know life hasn't always been what we hoped. But I'm convinced now that what's happened here tonight is a beginning, not an end. I want you to believe, just like I do, that tomorrow really will be the first day of a new life—for all of us. I want you to believe that the only thing that will die here is our pain. And I want you to promise me that when all this is over, you will get that boat.” She smiled encouragingly. “Okay?”

  I favored her with an elated smile as I tucked her silky hair behind her ear. “I'll promise on one condition. You'd have to be my first mate for the duration of the sail.”

  She looked down, fighting an embarrassed smile, her face flushed tomato red. “Um-hmm.” She pretended to consider—her smile seemed mischievous now. “And what does this position entail, exactly?” she asked coquettishly.

  I smiled softly and said, “To be one with your boat...” gliding my fingers down her temple, over her cheek, and stopping at the corner of her enticing lips, “...and to be one with your captain,” I added with a whisper, my lips reaching for hers.

  “And how long would this journey last?” she asked under her breath, trembling, our lips almost touching now—

  “Oh, it's bound to last forever.”

  Our lips met in another passionate kiss that turned our doubts into certitude, and our dreams into the desire we needed to finally see them through. And though questions remained about that night, one thing was for certain: We would never be the same. And we not only knew it, we wanted it that way.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “Let's set sail, my Ca
ptain.”

  ***

  Our kiss ended abruptly when a powerful beam of light shone on our faces, making us pull apart. A natural reflex brought my hand to my face, trying to block the powerful glare, which left a bunch of purple dots printed in the backs of my eyes. Soon, I realized that the beams came from the portable searchlights of the security guards.

  “Hey! What are you doing out here?” one of the guards shouted, aiming the blazing light at my face. My eyes shut immediately, feeling the burn of hundreds of hot needles piercing into my skull, igniting my blasted headache all over again. “Please, don't,” I growled.

  The same obnoxious guard who had intercepted me at the door recognized me as soon as he heard my voice. “Oh, it's you,” he said disgustedly. “Didn't I tell you patients weren't allowed outside the building? How the hell did you get out here, anyway?” he demanded, shining the blinding light full in my face.

  I cursed in pain.

  “Stop!” Yvette shouted, realizing my agony. “You're hurting him!”

  It didn't take long for the guards to realize that the lights were the cause of my behavior. Most of them turned them off, while others flashed them down to the ground—except for the obnoxious Head of Security, who still remained skeptical.

  “I'm serious!” Yvette snapped. “Turn it off!”

  He finally backed down, reluctantly, aiming away the searchlight. “Take them back to their rooms, and make sure they stay there,” he ordered one of his peers. “And you!” he turned to me, raising a menacing finger. “No more screwing around, you understand?”

  I raised my head slowly, regaining full function, and responded, “Whatever you say, doorman.”

  He gave me a stern look and walked away, ordering one of his subordinates to take over.

  The young guard left in charge rushed to help me up, with genuine concern in his eyes—a far better person than his nominal superior. I got back on my feet and let him know I was good to walk. He escorted Yvette and me back to the mansion, and insisted on seeing us back to our respective rooms.

  Yvette and I couldn't believe that our night was over. I could see the wan look on her face as we began to walk in opposite directions. Her fingers, entwined with mine, held on to the last minute, until they finally slipped away. We then stopped at our respective thresholds and turned around, desperate to catch one last glimpse of each other.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It was a wonderful night, Victor. I'll never forget it.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I replied gallantly.

  “Come on, guys!” the guard shouted from the elevator, annoyed. “I want to hear those doors close.”

  We laughed, embarrassed.

  “Will I see you in the lab tomorrow?” she asked, her head leaned back against the half-open door.

  “You'll see me in your dreams tonight.”

  She smiled. “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Reluctantly, our doors closed at the same time.

  The next morning I woke up with a brand new desire to live. All I could think of was Yvette, and how desperately I wanted to see her again. I jumped out of bed and into the shower and got ready in a flash, excited about the big day. I almost didn't recognize myself in the mirror when I wiped off the fog to see my face; I just couldn't stop smiling, and I knew it was all because of her.

  I was just about to leave the room when I heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” I answered.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bellator,” an older woman wearing scrubs greeted me as she entered the room. “I'm Nurse Jacky, and I'm here to take you down to the lab.”

  “Oh… I didn't know someone was coming to get me.”

  She nodded with an obviously forced smile.

  “I'm sorry, um... Are you taking Ms. Montgomery too?” I asked hopefully.

  She glanced at her clipboard. “Hmmm... no,” she answered, “It looks like she was the first one to be taken to the lab this morning.”

  “Oh.” My disappointment was obvious. But then I thought of her being one step closer to getting her life back, and I smiled to myself.

  “Ready?” Nurse Jacky asked.

  I smiled nervously. “Yeah.”

  “Then let's go!” She gestured towards the door.

  Once at the elevators, she used a special keycard to activate a hidden sub-panel that showed access to several levels underground. She gestured for me to climb on board and pushed the button for the lowest floor. For a moment there, I couldn't help but wonder about the unusual layout of this strange facility. But my thoughts derailed when the elevator doors opened again.

  “Victor!” Dr. Walker greeted me with great enthusiasm. He was wearing the same white lab coat he'd worn during the presentation; and although he seemed very eager, his eyes showed the weariness of many sleepless nights. “I'm so glad you can join us!”

  “Good morning, Doctor.” I walked over to him and shook his hand, a quick look around made me realize that I was the only one from my group standing there. “I'm sorry,” I apologized, “Am I late? I hear that some of the others were brought down here earlier.”

  “Yes, indeed. You all had different treatment schedules, but you, my friend, are just in time—come!” He beckoned me to follow as he stood proudly in the middle of this enormous two-story underground lab, which was filled with state-of-the-art computers and complete instrumentation tables. Dozens of busy lab technicians worked in an organized chaos, while shakers, incubators, and analyzers went off—all at the same time. It was enough to make you dizzy. “What you're seeing here, Victor, is history in the making. And you are about to become part of it.”

  I chuckled uneasily, trying to register the moment in my mind.

  “Come on,” he repeated as he walked towards a pair of strange body-size capsules at the end of the room. Their silvery metal sheathing shone brightly in the fluorescent lighting, while the thick, clear glass that sealed the tops of the cases allowed me to see their surprising contents.

  “I just finished with Tom and Damian,” Dr. Walker said, checking the readings on a strange machine hooked up to one of the capsules. The two older men seemed peacefully asleep inside these impressive machines. I have to admit that a slight panic knocked in my chest the moment I imagined myself inside one of those things. “But I'm sure you'll be more interested to know how your friend Ms. Montgomery's doing.” Dr. Walker raised his eyes to meet my stare. “I heard the two of you made quite an impression on my security team last night.”

  I stammered, “Um, uh... Yeah, about that. I, uh...”

  “Don't worry about it.” He laughed teasingly, putting me at ease before I could finish. “Let's take a look at your friend, shall we?”

  I followed him as he walked towards yet another capsule, making me realize there were more than just the two I'd seen—a lot more. “I heard she was the first one to go under,” I noted as we got closer to her capsule.

  “Indeed she was,” he confirmed, checking the readings of her machine. “And I must say, Ms. Montgomery's brain waves are extraordinary.” His voice was merely a whisper by then, as if he were talking to himself. “A possible breakthrough,” he added just as quietly, his eyes staring blankly into space.

  “Breakthrough?”

  My question made him snap out his profound concentration. “Excuse me?”

  I shot him a quizzical look. “Are you all right, Doc? You look tired.”

  “Not at all,” he assured me. “We should see about getting you started, though.”

  “Sure. Can I just have a couple of minutes?” I asked, letting my hand rest over Yvette's capsule.

  “Of course,” he said, turning to the capsule immediately to his right, giving me as much privacy as one can expect in a crowded lab.

  I leaned over the glass to see my Yvee. And there she was, lying completely still, lost in a peaceful dream. And although she was connected to a medusa's tangle of wires and electrodes, I've never seen anyone look so beautiful. “Yvee?” I tapped on the glass, hop
ing her captivating eyes would open for me—just long enough to satisfy my selfish desire to see them again.

  “She can't hear you, Victor,” Dr. Walker said, reminding me that he was right behind me. “She's in a medically induced coma—they all are.”

  I shook my head at the lack of privacy. “How long does she need to be in there?” I asked.

  “It all depends on how she responds to the serum, but I'd say twenty-four to forty-eight hours—excuse me.” He walked away then to welcome the rest of the group, who'd just arrived. Then, before I could swing my eyes back to Yvette, a young nurse approached me with a hospital gown neatly folded in her hands.

  “Hi, Mr. Bellator,” she said, “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah,” I answered tentatively.

  She handed me the gown and asked me to follow her. “I'll show you where to change.”

  “I'll be right behind you.” I nodded with a forced smile, signaling her to go first. She returned the same sort of smile and walked away.

  I turned back to Yvette's capsule and looked at her with a love that, until the previous night, I had never thought possible. “I'll see you soon, my angel,” I whispered softly, pressing my hand against her glass, hoping she'd feel my presence as well as my feelings for her.

  “Mr. Bellator?” the young nurse called again, seemingly pressed for time.

  “I'm coming!” I answered, giving Yvee one final gaze before I walked away.

  After changing into the annoying open-backed gown, I stuffed my clothes in a plastic bag and was getting ready to go back outside when a sudden noise made me realize I'd dropped something. Quickly, my eyes swept the floor for the missing item, surprised to see that my dad's lighter had made it to the lab too—I honestly didn't remember having put it in my pocket. Thankfully, the pair of traveling pants I was wearing that day had a Velcro pocket. So I picked it up and stored it there, wondering if this incident might be another sign.