by Tyler Dilts
“I’m cold.”
“I know,” she said. “Help’s on the way. Hang on, okay?”
“Okay.”
She was crying. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen her cry before.
“I’m cold.”
“Hang on, Danny. For me.”
I could feel the floor beneath my shoulders and her hand on the side of my face. A ceiling fan spun above her head. It looked like a halo.
TWENTY-NINE
When I woke up two days later in Long Beach Memorial, Jen was slumped in a chair next to my bed, holding my hand. I was confused, but somehow I knew everything was all right. It was late at night, but even the small, solitary lamp over my head seemed bright. My whole body ached, and a taste like dirty sand filled my mouth. It might have been minutes before I remembered what had happened. Then I felt a wave of fear rise through me like a chill. I tried to raise my left hand, but couldn’t. There was a sharp pain behind my eyes as I raised my head off the pillow. I couldn’t lift it far enough to get a look at my arm.
I let go of Jen’s hand and pushed against the bed frame to raise myself up far enough to see that my left hand was still there—wrapped in yards of gauze, splinted in a metal cage, and in traction, but still there. I tried to wiggle the fingertips protruding from the bandages. They didn’t move.
“You’re going to be okay,” Jen said.
I leaned back on the pillow and turned to face her. The light in her eyes convinced me that she was right.
“You’ll need more surgery and a lot of physical therapy. But the doctors say ninety, ninety-five percent recovery. They were more worried about blood loss than anything.”
I tried to say something, but the words dried up and disappeared in my throat. She poured me a glass of water, put a straw in it, and held the straw to my mouth. The cool liquid eased the soreness as I swallowed.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No sweat.”
The next day, Ruiz, Marty, Dave, and Pat crowded into the room. Jen excused herself.
“You know,” Marty said, “she’s been here the whole time.” When he saw the expression on my face, he repeated himself. “The whole time.”
I nodded.
“We got the story from D.J.’s friend,” Ruiz said. “Max Porter? D.J. had trouble keeping his mouth shut. Promised to cut his pal in on the action. We’ve got him in lockup as an accessory. He was just the sidekick, though. Junior was the real prize.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“That sealed file of his? It’s a fun read. He started out torturing neighborhood cats, then moved on up to assault and date rape. Had charges filed half a dozen times, but none ever made it to court. Wonder how that happened. No surprise he wound up where he did.”
“The motive?” I asked.
“Multiple choice. Psychosis, money, revenge. And convenient timing. Daryl Senior had been riding D.J. about college, a career, productive citizenry, all that. Kid didn’t like it. But he came up with a plan. Figured it was too risky to kill his old man with so much money on the line, but if dad were doing time waiting on a lethal injection, well, then, he’d have it made. He was right, too. When Waxler figured it out, he was going to ride the rap for the kid. Good thing somebody caught on.”
“Was that a compliment?” I asked.
Ruiz ducked the question. “Now that we’re shorthanded, we’ve had three new cases come in.”
“You should bump Pat upstairs,” I said.
Ruiz turned to face him. “That’s not a bad idea. You interested in a temp transfer to Homicide?”
“Sure,” Pat said, obviously pleased.
We talked about nothing in particular for another half hour or so until Jen came back with a small, blue plastic bag in her hand. Not long after that, everyone else said their good-byes and left.
“That’s weird,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“Why are they in such a hurry to leave us alone?”
“I got you something.”
She took a box out of her bag. I tilted my head to read the embossed Seiko logo on the side. She opened the box and slid the gold-and-stainless band off of its oval holder.
“Hey,” I said as she held it up for me to see, “that’s the same watch I was looking at.”
“Figured you’d need a new one.”
“Why?”
“The doctor didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The reason the kukri didn’t go all the way through your wrist. The blade caught on your watchband. They think it saved your hand.”
“Thank you,” I said. She leaned over and kissed my forehead.
We didn’t say much to each other that night, but there was a stillness and something that felt like contentment in the quiet that we shared. I thought about Megan and about Beth and wondered what, if anything, I had put to rest. Had I found my reckoning?
More than anything else, though, I thought about Jen. Just before midnight, when I fell asleep, she was still there, next to me, her fingers soft against my palm.
I didn’t dream.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A number of people offered invaluable assistance in the completion of A King of Infinite Space. My most sincere and heartfelt thanks to:
Eileen Klink, Tim Caron, Gerry Locklin, Elliot Fried, and all of my workshop colleagues, who gave me the confidence in the early stages to soldier on;
Moira Sullivan and Maria Carvainis, who saw the novel’s potential and helped me realize it;
Sharon Dilts, who is the world’s best proofreader (and no slouch in the mom department, either);
Paul Tayyar, LeeAnne Langton, David Aimerito, Chad Tsuyuki, and Dean Tsuyuki, who made it real;
The faculty and staff of the Department of English at California State University, Long Beach, who gave me unflagging and unlimited support;
And finally, my students, who would certainly call me on any of the myriad clichés with which I considered ending this sentence.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tyler Dilts is a native of southern California and a graduate of the MFA program at California State University, Long Beach, where he now teaches. His writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, The Chronicle of Higher Education, The Best American Mystery Stories, and numerous other publications. A King of Infinite Space is his first novel. For more information and to contact him online, please visit www.tylerdilts.com.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR