by Sandy DeLuca
“Just wake up or you’ll never survive in this city.”
“What the hell makes you think I need you to tell me how to survive this city? I’ve survived it just fine so far. And has it ever occurred to you that you could be wrong about Rico? We all make mistakes.”
“Get a grip.”
“Enough. I’m sorry about your sister, ok? I know you must deal with horrible shit every day, and I’m sorry you have to go through that, but—”
“But, nothing. I did the right thing tonight. You’ll see that soon enough.”
“I’m tired of talking about it. Fuck you, ok?” It feels good, swearing at him like that. I wait for a reaction, for a sign that I’ve hurt him, for more angry words in exchange, but he doesn’t answer. He just keeps driving.
We move through Harlem, in and out of streets where old brownstones still stand majestically showcasing the fine craftsmanship of New York’s early days. We turn onto Fifth Avenue. It looks beautiful, gleaming with snow, lights blinking and people walking shoulder to shoulder. I begin to feel as if we’ve finally left that awful darkness behind.
I watch a bleak landscape through the window as we move through mid-town, past the New York Public Library and on past Macy’s on 34th, down Broadway past all my favorite shops in Soho. The snow is blinding now and no one’s on the streets down here.
Daniel eases his car in front of my apartment. If I weren’t so pissed I’d invite him up, be more concerned about his drive back home. But not this time. I can’t give him that satisfaction, not while Rico’s hurting, being interrogated by police, maybe even being brutalized for all I know. Poor Rico.
“You piss me off, kid,” he says with a sigh. “For a lot of reasons, I shouldn’t care what happens, shouldn’t let this shit eat away at me, but I’ll be around, OK? Somebody’s got to look out for you,” he says softly. His eyes are intense, anger still burns within them.
I don’t say a word as I slide out of his car then slam the door. I watch him drive away, taillights piercing through white, car fishtailing down the avenue. I picture him driving around in the storm all night, lost in a city he knows too well, feeling guilt for what he did to an innocent man.
A longing tugs at my heart and I begin to cry as I climb my front stairs. I wish I could hug Rico, comfort him and keep him warm. I hope the bad things don’t seek him out in the darkness of the storm while he sleeps later tonight, hissing and taunting him in dreams, in the dark.
Alone in the storm, I lie down on my couch and decompress. Maybe I’ll go to work tomorrow; maybe I’ll never go back again. Either way, if I’m lucky I’ll nod off and sleep undisturbed all day and deep into the night.
But then again, I’ve never been all that lucky.
16
Gina, wake up.
“Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day?”
“Allie?” I sit up. It’s freezing in here. It’s dark, so dark, but I can see my sister sitting across from me. “You’re alive.”
Allie takes her cue, leaning forward to speak. Smoky tendrils escape her lips and cloudy halos surround her hands each time she moves. “I’m not sure.”
“How did you get here?”
Rather than answer me she says, “Hey, still got that coffee I gave you?”
“Yeah, lots of it.”
“Too much is no good. Maybe you should switch to tea.” She smiles.
I notice she’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans. Her jacket is torn at the sleeve and there’s a smear of something on her face that looks like dried blood. “Are you OK?”
“Better than ever. I’ve been wandering around the city, just taking in shit, you know? There’s so many pathetic chicks here, I never realized it before. You know, a guy says ‘hi’ to them or holds a door open and they think the guy’s hot for them. They think they’re fucking shit ‘cause they got a little bit of attention. Truth is they’re fucking ordinary, with nothing lives so any attention they get, anytime somebody notices them, they get all giggly, act like they’re going to cream their fucking pants.” Allie shakes her head. Her beautiful hair sways, framing her pale face. A lock falls over her right eye. She doesn’t push it away. She merely sighs and looks toward the window. “Tough out there when you’re ordinary.”
I rub my eyes. There’s a message here, a clue to what’s happening. “Where are you, what—where have you been? What did they do to you?”
“My body? Nobody knows, and I’ve lost touch.” She taps her fingers on the chair’s armrest as if bored. When she moves her hand away small droplets of blood remain. Another slow trickle of blood leaks from her lips.
“They arrested Rico,” I tell her. “Did you know that?”
“He’s changed, did you know that?” Her eyelids flutter and she rests her head against the back of the chair. “I can’t stay here too much longer. They’ll come looking and they can’t find me, not yet.”
I want to hug her, but I fear she’ll take me back to wherever she came from. I just want to keep her talking. “Rico’s changed?”
She stands, swaying a bit. “I see Tony in the city. Ever wonder why the photos you took of him are never clear? I see that woman, the pretty one you dream about.” Allie steps to the side then backs away, toward the door. Her feet aren’t touching the floor. “We’re all in limbo.”
Her body suddenly slams against the door, as if yanked back violently by invisible strings. On impact she shatters to pieces like a china doll. Shards fly off in different directions, pieces of my sister destroyed, lost, doomed.
I scream her name as a heavy thudding sound brings me back, rips me from the darkness.
My eyes focus and I realize I’m still lying on the couch. It feels like early evening but I can’t be sure. Someone’s pounding on the door. I sit up, look to the chair where Allie was sitting just seconds before.
“Gina? Are you all right?” Daniel’s voice. From his tone it sounds like he’s been knocking for some time. He knocks again, three times, rattling the door.
“What do you want?” I yell out.
“Weather’s bad. Way bad. The city’s closed down. Brooklyn Bridge is closed. I can’t get home.”
“So go back to the station,” I tell him. I hate this gnawing attraction I feel for him. I should hate him. I do hate him. “Sleep at your desk or something.”
“Come on, Gina, open the door, I want to talk to you.”
“Yeah? Well, I want my sister back,” I mutter. “I want Rico to be free.” I move to the door, open it slowly. Daniel’s soaked from head to toe. He’s shivering. “What?”
He smiles at me. “Was hoping I could get some more of that tea.”
I stare at him.
“Gina, I wish you could understand—”
“Don’t you know any other pathetic and ordinary women who need attention?”
“You’re far from ordinary,” he says softly. He waits for me to allow him inside. Tony would have just pushed his way in.
I open the door wider, roll my eyes and with a sigh, motion him in. “Come on.”
He stands on the threshold, his jacket rolled up under his arm and his boots dripping. Even now he waits for me to again invite him deeper inside the apartment.
I think about Rico, wonder where he is now. He’s probably locked up in the precinct jail. The weather’s too bad for a trip to Rikers.
Daniel stands before the books I haven’t read yet, another odd and unexplainable attraction. “Nice book collection,” he says. “Have you read them all?”
“I haven’t read any of them.”
He chuckles. “Well, I know a lot about these things. I studied a lot of this stuff. Shit that goes on in the city, you know. People with strange beliefs coming from even stranger places that sometimes don’t even realize they’re doing harm or breaking the law. It’s good to have a background.”
I smile. Maybe the two strange attractions in my life—books and men—are one in the same. Daniel could be a perfect lover and friend if he hadn’t jumped to conclusio
ns about Rico, if he’d bothered to find out the truth. I watch him as his fingers touch the book bindings and his eyes glide from title to title.
Perhaps he has something to reveal. Just like my dreams.
17
It looks as though it’s snowing harder. New York is a world of white, distant and separated on this night from the rest of the country, far from all of humanity. The TV weatherman says the snow won’t stop until tomorrow, that there’s another front coming down from Canada and if the temperature doesn’t rise it’ll snow for the next few days.
“This is crazy.” Daniel sighs then looks to the window. “My grandfather used to tell me about storms like this, how they crippled the city back in the old days. He used to work in old warehouses out in Brooklyn, said it was always freezing in winter, said during storms they’d work through the night, sometimes with no light, no nothing.
“Things were tough. I figured with technology it couldn’t happen these days. Guess there’s no escaping extreme weather no matter how smart or modern the world has become.” He rubs his hands together. “How about that tea?”
I’m happy he’s here, and I want to know more about his family, his past. I’ll gladly oblige his simple needs for now. “I’ll boil some water. I’ve got a stockpile of food in the cupboards. I’m a packrat when it comes to canned goods, cereals and stuff like that. We won’t starve.”
He smiles. “That’s a good thing. My grandmother had a basement full of canned goods, more boxes of paper towels and toilet paper than she’d use in her lifetime. My mother said it’s because she lived through the depression, still had that mindset.” His voice is distant. He plucks a book from the case, turns several pages then puts it back. He chooses another book and turns to the table of contents.
“Interesting.” He looks to the window, shakes his head.
I wonder if he’s sorry he came here. “Want something to eat now?” I ask.
He rubs his hand over the book’s cover. “Maybe later, thanks.”
“Sorry. I often feel the need to feed handsome men and cute furry animals.”
He smiles. “Tea and the book are fine for now.
I leave Daniel sitting on the living room couch absorbed in a book on Caribbean magic, wearing reading glasses he told me he’d bought in a dollar store on West Broadway.
I’ll go downstairs later and check with Frankie, see if they’ve got food. It’s quiet down there. His girlfriend isn’t singing and she’s not talking loud like she normally does.
I pour clean water in the kettle. The water pressure is weaker than normal. I set the kettle on the stove and light the burner. As I shut the water off the pipes make odd groaning noises. I wonder if Frankie’s working on them down in the basement or something.
“That super of yours responsible for those pipes?”
Daniel is standing in the doorway, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose. He’s unbuttoned his shirt and his hair, still damp from the snow, is tousled. It looks soft.
“Yeah, I was going to take a walk down there, see what’s going on. His girlfriend stirs up concoctions in her big old pot. I doubt it’s chicken soup or anything nourishing.”
Daniel moves farther into the kitchen, tucks his hands in his pockets and listens for a moment as a tinny sound emerges from below. “I’ll go with you. Maybe he needs help or something, never know. Pipes freeze in weather like this. Sounds like hell. I’m not sure what happens before they freeze, but it’s best to check with him.”
“Sit, drink your tea. No one’s going anywhere, so have something warm before we go down.”
“Yes ma’am.” He pulls out a chair and smiles.
“You still mad at me?”
“Look, Rico is a special guy. I don’t want to argue with you, not now, not while we have to spend God knows how long together like this, but I think the arrest is a big mistake. Somebody framed him. Somebody screwed up.”
“You think I screwed up?” He doesn’t look at me, just stares at his hands.
“I’ve been thinking a lot. I think my sister set things up. I think she fucked with people and their lives. I had a dream about her right before you got here. It was so real, like she wasn’t dead. Maybe she had these magical powers and she put stuff in my head like—”
“They never found her body, but they found her blood, lots of it. Our bodies only hold eight pints of the stuff. She bled out on that church floor.” He sighs. “She’s dead, Gina, believe me.”
“She used to cut herself and then watch the blood drip out of her, let it pour into cups and bottles and shit. Maybe she saved it.” I can see her slowly running a knife over her belly, telling me the pain made her feel alive. I can see her lowering her blouse over her shoulders, revealing scars. “She did it for years. Could be—”
“You think your sister was that insane?” He waves his hand as though he’s dismissing me.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Daniel does not respond. He’s lost in thought as I pour hot water into a mug and then add a teabag. It’s as though there’s a wall around him, as though he’s shut the rest of the world out. I put his tea before him and he stares into the brown liquid. Does he see things there? I turn away and pour coffee for myself, add sugar and milk. I drink in silence.
The house is quiet. The streets are silent. I sit across from Daniel. He’s still staring into his cup. Where has he gone? Back to the evidence? Is it replaying it through his mind? Could Allie have set up Rico? I’m not sorry I told Daniel what Allie did with her blood. I’m not sorry I believe in her insanity, in her abilities to conjure up evil or even the dead.
I wish the storm would end. I wish they’d all end.
18
I wash the cups and put them away. Daniel hasn’t spoken a word since we discussed my sister’s insanity, the possibility she was involved in murders and that she could still be alive. He remained deep in thought, drinking his tea. Later, he went to the living room, book beneath his arm, eyeglasses at the tip of his nose.
I wish he’d cough, call out to me, but I only hear the sound of book pages turning every few minutes and the sound of his body shifting in the chair. I shut the cupboard door, turn off the faucet and listen to the pipes groan. I decide to see if Daniel still wants to go downstairs with me. I need to break the silence. After putting away the dish towel I make my way to the living room to find him deeply absorbed in his book. He runs his hand through his hair and turns another page. I clear my throat. “Still going with me?”
He checks his watch. “Yeah, didn’t realize how late it was. Good book.” He lays it on the armrest, stands, then follows me to the door.
I open the door, peer into the hallway and listen. “Building’s quiet.”
“Heard somebody come up the stairs and go into an apartment down the hall. Can’t believe people were out in this.”
“Dave Souza,” I tell him. “He’s the only other one on this floor, works in my office. That job is his life. He’s an asshole, takes pleasure in humiliating subordinates in front of others. I had a run-in with him last week.” I can see Daniel waving his finger at me and smirking playfully, his front teeth protruding over his lips. “Hey, I’m still learning. A lot of my day job is trial and error. I told him to fuck off.”
Daniel laughs lightly. “I know the type. They’re usually the guys who got picked on in high school. Now they think they know it all. They feel good about themselves by making others feel small.”
“He probably walked home in the snow. Cheap bastard wouldn’t ever pay for car service or even a bus. I can almost see him trudging down Broadway with that stupid look he always has on his face.”
“Give him the benefit of the doubt. Nothing’s probably running tonight, he might not have had any choice but to walk.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t spend the night at the office sleeping with his file cabinet. They’re very close.”
Daniel laughs harder this time but tries to keep the volume low as we pass Dave’s apartment. All I hear is
the quiet hum of a TV. Dave’s boots are against his door and puddles of water have formed beneath them.
We make our way down the stairs in a silence that quickly becomes unsettling. Why isn’t Frankie’s girlfriend singing? Why aren’t pots and pans banging in old lady Tilton’s apartment?
“How many people live in this building?” Daniel asks.
“A tenant just passed away, so right now only Frankie the super and his girlfriend, Mrs. Tilton and Dave. There are two empty studios and a couple empty apartments going up for rent. Super said the owner’s cleaning them up, fixing stuff. Frankie’s doing most of the work, painting, sanding the floors, plumbing and all that. Top floors are closed off. No one ever lives there.”
We reach the bottom of the stairs. The front door is open and snow is barreling in from outside. “Where the fuck is Frankie? He wouldn’t leave the door open like that.”
His apartment door is shut. It’s normally open at least a crack so he can see who comes in and out, so he can air out the place when his girlfriend cooks up her concoctions.
“We should check.” Daniel moves his hand over his jacket, and though he doesn’t draw his weapon, he finds the slight bulge his holster causes and pats it as if to be sure it’s still there. “Why don’t you knock, ask if they’re ok?”
I rap lightly on the door. “You in there, guys? Just checking you’re OK, storm and all, you know.”
Silence.
I knock again, harder this time, and the door opens slightly. “You guys OK?” Something’s wrong. I feel it in my gut.
I sense Daniel has the same feeling as he gently pushes me aside blocking my view as he pushes the door open.
“Gina, go upstairs.”
“What’s wrong?” I move up behind Daniel and before he can stop me I’m standing beside him. I see Frankie sprawled on the floor. His throat has been slashed. His blood is so red, so wet on the dark wooden floor. Lilly is curled up in a corner. She’s shaking violently and weeping. She’s holding a knife in her hand. “Spells couldn’t save him. I couldn’t bring him back, couldn’t do nothing,” she babbles. A pot boils on the stove.