The Origin

by Youkey, Wilette

  “Son of a bitch is leaving,” he said under his breath as he surveyed the bare apartment. He crept further inside, hoping to catch Daniel before he could step outside the reach of revenge. It didn’t take him long to search the place, finding nothing but dust balls and bare walls. He ended up in the bathroom, by the window that had been left open.

  He surveyed the quiet alley below. You won’t get away from me, he thought, gritting his teeth. He hurried back to the living room and dumped out the contents of the duffel bag that lay in the corner. He kicked aside various items of clothing and flipped through several books, a lot of which were about legends and myths, finding nothing helpful in the highlighted passages. But at the bottom of the pile was a red book about the size of a hand, and inside were various handwritten notes that did not make any sense.

  “Bingo,” John said as he finally found a page that he understood. A wide smile spread on his face as he stuffed everything back into the duffel bag. “So that’s where you’re running off to…”

  36 | WITHIN REACH

  “Got it.” Daniel held up the garment bag that hung on his index finger. “I thought you were asking me to pick up a dress, but it turned out to be a suit. That fits me. Why?”

  Olivia stepped aside to allow Daniel into her apartment, hoping the long jersey skirt she was wearing concealed her bandaged leg. But as luck would have it, Daniel’s grey eyes flew to her ankle instantly, and she knew she would have to address the subject eventually. Still, it didn’t have to be right then.

  “Did I get the right size? I thought the bluish-gray would look amazing with your eyes,” she said, reaching for the zip on the side of the bag, which he deftly moved away.

  “It fit. Now, why do I need a suit?”

  She shrugged. “I thought you would look dashing in a suit for tonight.”

  One eyebrow rose as his eyes darted downward again. “What’s under the skirt?”

  She winked, grasping at straws. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

  So fast he became a blur, Daniel threw down the bag and dropped down to his knees. “What did the doctor say?” he said, lifting the hem of her skirt and examining the bandaged foot tenderly.

  Olivia sighed and felt her entire body deflating. “Sprain, which means I can’t dance tonight,” she said as evenly as her voice would allow. “I’ve already called the director to let her know.”

  He looked up at her with sad eyes and she knew that he was, once again, shouldering the blame. “But I still wanted to go to the final performance, even if it means I’ll just be sitting in the audience,” she said brightly. “That’s why I rented you a suit.”

  He rose and wrapped her in his embrace, smelling like man, and dried sweat, and regret. “I’m sorry. I–”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said firmly, pushing away from him. “It’s not. But you could use a shower before we go.” She began to pull him down the hallway, avoiding his eyes, when he unceremoniously scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom himself.

  A while later, as they were toweling off, she said, “So why were you all grungy? What did you do today, work out?”

  “I was moving last night, taking all my stuff to the shelter and the Salvation Army.” He pulled on a pair of white boxer briefs.

  She glanced up at him. “Already?”

  “I’m ready to move whenever you are,” he said, one side of his mouth quirking up into a tiny grin. “We can go today, if you like.”

  “Oh.” Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. “I didn’t realize you wanted to move so soon.”

  “As soon as possible,” he said, then paused, the realization that not everyone’s lives were so easily disposed of finally dawning on him. “Is that alright with you?”

  “No – I mean, yes. But I still have things to take care of first before I leave.”

  “I can help you with all of that. We can get rid of your stuff in a day or two,” he said, glancing around the room in appraisal.

  She choked, unable to swallow what he was proposing. “I thought I had enough time to pack up and put things into storage.”

  She opened her mouth to bring up the fact that she still needed to say goodbye to friends, when he said, “They’re just things, Olivia. Material things.”

  “Really? So the table that my Mom and I refinished is just a thing? That poster of my very first ballet in New York, that’s just an insignificant thing too?”

  He held her by the shoulders, obviously aware of her distress. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He pulled her into an embrace. “Take all the time you need. I didn’t mean to rush you.”

  “This is a big deal,” she whispered against his damp chest, the enormity of the situation bearing down on her. Only now did it occur to her that, in saying yes to Daniel, she would be leaving her friends and possessions, both of which had been carefully collected over the years.

  He squeezed her into him. “The lead detective in your case came to my apartment today. He saw me packing. He knows I’m leaving.”

  “What did he want from you? Does he know you’re…”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was just asking me if I knew where to find John Mathers.”

  “Why would he think you know?”

  “He didn’t.” He pulled her away. “But, Liv, John was also from Oklahoma. He was Rap’s twin brother.”

  Olivia stepped away in shock. “Rap, the guy you paralyzed?”

  He opened his mouth to protest but nodded instead.

  “I don’t think John knew we were dating though. I don’t think he was trying to hurt you through me.”

  He frowned. “But it’s possible.”

  “I guess, yeah, anything is possible.”

  They spent a long moment wordlessly putting their clothes on, Daniel in his rented suit and Olivia in a silk gown, each lost in their own thoughts. “He never mentioned your name though,” Olivia said as she tied the halter behind her neck. “He was just furious with my father.”

  Daniel gave a short grunt in reply, that neither agreed nor challenged her line of thinking. “Does this look alright?”

  When she glanced up, the sight of Daniel in a suit momentarily made her forget her worries. “You look… dashing.”

  “Can I pass off as someone who belongs in your world?” he said almost shyly.

  She threaded an arm through his and squeezed. “Of course you do.”

  Later, Olivia arrived at the Lincoln Center on the Daniel Express in a darker mood, as if the mere sight of the building intensified the pain in her ankle.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked one more time as he set her back on the ground. He looked up at the magnificent grey building with its imposingly tall archways. “You don’t have to torture yourself like this.”

  Her jaw was set in a firm line as she said, “I have to do this. Odette was my role. If I can’t dance, then the least I could do is watch the finale.”

  He wound an arm around her waist and helped her into the building. They found their seats quickly, neither one wanting to linger in the lobby. In the awkward silence, he perused the program book, quickly flipping it shut when he ran across Olivia’s black and white photograph and biography under the header, “Principal Dancers.”

  “Did you want to go backstage and say hi to your friends?” he said, looking around at people milling about, yet to look for their seats. “I think we have time.”

  She shook her head, her lips pursed as she stared at the curtained stage. “So this is what it looks like from out here,” she said softly. He took hold of her hand as she began to blink rapidly.

  The lights dimmed and the curtains rose, and Olivia gripped his hand tighter as the dancers flitted onstage. He could feel the need to dance through every pore of her body, her sadness an electric current that was transferring into him. And he came to understand that ballet was her dream, her life’s work. Olivia belonged in the big city, on the stage, in the spotlight. Taking her away from her life
would be akin to stealing a star from the night sky and burying it underground.

  He could not uproot her from the life she had always known, from the bright future she had always worked towards. But he wanted her, God knew he cared about her, maybe even loved her. He wanted to build a life with her in a simple log cabin, where they could spend their days exploring, talking, making love. Could he not, for once, think of himself first?

  But as he watched the graceful lines of her profile in the dark, his eyes rested on the back of her neck, and on the tumor that lay therein, and a thought struck him with the force of a speeding freight train.

  What if I caused it?

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as his heart battered inside his chest. What if his touch had not only given her powers, but also caused a malignant growth that would only intensify with prolonged contact? He stared down at their intertwined fingers and wondered with a keen sharpness if he was killing her at this very moment, if other tumors were forming inside her as he held her hand.

  He leaned over to whisper his fears into her ears, but the words dried in his throat, his resolve suddenly falling to desiccated pieces. So he excused himself instead and rushed out.

  * * * * *

  Detective Lingle sat in his office with a pile of surveillance footage, resigned to another long night away from home. He had been on his way out of the office, eager to finally see his children before they went to bed, when the package of DVDs arrived. Needless to say, the call home was not received with joy. Though his wife tried to sound supportive as usual, the hitch in her voice belied her anger. He knew it was only a matter of time before she lost her cool, before she did something drastic, but as much as he hated the thought of losing his family, he had a sworn duty to uphold. With the Chief and Richard King breathing down his neck to solve this case, he was at a pressure point. He just needed one break, just one case solved, and he vowed there would be more time for his family.

  With an extended yawn, he ejected the surveillance DVD from the Lincoln Center parking lot that he had been looking over again before the other DVDs arrived. The black van had already been confiscated, the two minions already behind bars. What he needed was a new clue, a hint as to where John Mathers would go.

  He loaded the first DVD from the office building in New Jersey where Olivia King had been held hostage, ready to run a fine-toothed comb over it all, even if it took all night.

  “Lingle, go home,” the Lieutenant, named Jamie Newcastle, said as she walked into his office. She was a tall woman with short pixie hair, who might have been mistaken as a soccer mom were she not as striking as an Amazon and just as formidable. Tenacious was the woman’s middle name. “Why don’t you give that investigation the night off to breathe?”

  He pressed pause and grinned wearily up at his superior. “I will, right after I check through these tapes.”

  “Go home,” she insisted. “The tapes will be there in the morning.”

  “This is the last one,” he said, which they both knew to be a lie.

  She gave an annoyed nod before pulling the keys out of her pocket. “Last one, Lingle. Then go home to your family.”

  He forced a smile and turned his attention back to the computer.

  * * * * *

  Olivia was so engrossed in the movement on stage, the bittersweetness of every graceful gesture washing over her like warm rain, that she didn’t realize Daniel was still not back until the lights came on and people began to rise out of their seats for the intermission. She looked around, wondering if he had run into someone in trouble, that maybe he was now taking someone to the hospital or jail and he’d be back any moment.

  She remained in her seat throughout the third and fourth act, but by the time the cast took their last bow and the curtain descended onstage, her heart was stuck firmly in her throat. Something was wrong, she knew it with all certainty. Daniel would never leave like that unless he was physically detained.

  She rose on her one good leg and hobbled out of the now-empty row, clumsily making her way down the aisle. The painkillers she had taken earlier had all but worn off and her ankle was beginning to throb unpleasantly, adding to the general feeling of anxiety coursing through her body.

  Daniel could have run into anybody at this point – the ponytailed drug lord, the police, John Mathers – and all seemed to have some sort of wrongful vendetta against him. She had to find him to help in any way she could.

  Slipping out of her heels, she hobbled to the lobby and, when she did not find him there, asked a male bystander to check inside the men’s restroom for any sign of Daniel. Finally, she went to the coat check and, with a sinking heart, discovered that his coat was no longer there.

  She pulled on her coat and sat down on the nearest bench, finding herself at a complete loss. After long moments of staring around blankly, she finally pulled out her cell phone and dialed Daniel’s apartment. But the line was dead, a detail that should not have come as such a surprise.

  With a heavy heart, she headed out of the building to hail a taxi. As she waited in the cold night air, she slipped her hands in her pockets then frowned when her fingers wrapped around an odd thick piece of paper. Fearing the worst, she pulled it out and discovered a ripped corner of the program cover with a note hastily scribbled on the back.

  37 | THE DISCOVERY

  It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Detective Lingle reached the fifteenth floor surveillance footage, and he was about to throw in the towel for the night when a man with long dreadlocks came into the grainy view of the office hallway. Lingle sat up as if electrocuted and rewound the video. John Mathers, with a laptop and a small bag in his hands, exited the glass elevator and walked the long hallway out of view. Lingle fast-forwarded until John came back out and stood in front of the elevator, and a moment later, the doors opened and three figures stepped out. Lingle watched as the scene unfolded, John looking unusually protective of Olivia, getting into his cohort’s face angrily while gesturing to her duct-taped face.

  Lingle watched on as, later, the two men walked Olivia out to the hallway and as the shorter guy assaulted her on the ground. But something happened, something the silent camera could not catch because he stood up and stepped away, and both men watched dumbly as she descended in the elevator. They looked at each other, and a moment later, took off running to the stairwell.

  In the next second, the stairwell door burst open but nobody came and went, as if a poltergeist had come along. Lingle rewound the video and played it at half the speed but closer inspection revealed only a slight grayish blur. He rewound it again, this time playing it at quarter speed. The breath in his throat caught as he saw a figure on the screen, moving faster than was even possible, so fast he was rendered invisible to the naked eye. Lingle paused the video, and though the image was highly pixelated, on it was a face he could identify without hesitation. He had just seen it that very afternoon, after all.

  Lingle’s ears began to ring as he played the video once again.

  “You son of a bitch,” he said just as Daniel Johnson froze on screen, apparently mesmerized by something at the other end of the hall. A moment later, John walked into view. The two men exchanged words and then John was on Daniel, punching wildly as if intending to make pulp of the other guy’s face. All of a sudden, John stopped and staggered backwards, staring at his hands. He shouted something as he fumbled for something at his back.

  “No…” Lingle said under his breath just as John pulled out a gun and shot Johnson in the chest without hesitation. Then he was gone.

  Lingle sat back in his chair, his mouth agape, unable to process what he’d just seen. He rewound the video a few seconds, and surely enough, it looked as though John’s hands had become invisible right before he ran out of view.

  So it was true then, what Felton, Dane and even Olivia had said about him, and now Lingle had seen it with his very own eyes. He turned back to write something on a notepad when he saw movement onscreen out of the corner of his eyes. And to
his utter amazement, for he’d admittedly forgotten all about the body in the hallway, Daniel Johnson stirred and gingerly rose from the floor.

  And in his foggy, bone-tired mind, the details all reached out to one another – Daniel, the unknown DNA, the black mask – and the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place.

  “Oh, holy hell!” he cried and jumped out of his seat.

  * * * * *

  Olivia’s urgent rapping on Daniel’s door could be heard up and down the hall during that late night, but she was beyond caring.

  She knocked faster. “Answer the door!” With tears blurring her vision, she reread the ripped note one more time, hoping that it would say something, anything, else.

  I can’t stay, Liv. For your own good, it said. I’ll miss you.

  With renewed rage, she turned her fists to the door once more and began to pound in earnest, as if it were Daniel she was hitting instead. “Open the goddamn door!” she shouted, her punches slowing as her arms grew fatigued. “Daniel! Answer the door.”

  “Miss King?”

  She spun around, knowing the voice did not belong to Daniel, knowing it would never be Daniel again that took her by surprise, yet still hoping anyway.

  Detective Lingle stood a few feet away from her, and behind him was a sleep-wrinkled old man in a brown cardigan with a set of keys in his hand.

  “Can you keep it down, young lady? People are sleeping,” the super said before he unlocked the door and took his leave.

  The detective held her by the shoulders and steered her away from the door. He put his hand on the brass knob and pulled a pistol out of his shoulder holster before pushing the door open.

  “I don’t know what you’re expecting to find in there,” Olivia said, trying to keep her voice calm as he disappeared into the dark living room. “But you’re not going to find it.”