Stay

by Victor Gischler

  David made the rounds downstairs, turning off lights and making sure the doors were locked. No dishes left in the sink.

  Back upstairs, he brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He considered shaving but generally preferred to do that in the morning. A little stubble wouldn’t be a problem.

  In the bedroom, Amy was already on her side of the bed, rubbing lotion on knees and elbows, her nightly ritual. She hadn’t gotten as far as the face cream. She was still in bra and panties, hadn’t slipped into the big flannel green monstrosity yet. Comfortable, she claimed.

  He pulled the door closed behind him, locked it.

  Amy looked up at the sound of the lock clicking. An easy smile came to her face. “Oh, yeah?”

  David went to the bed, leaned down for a kiss. She returned it, lips wet and parting for him. One of her hands went behind his head to pull him down, a tongue snaking into his mouth with unexpected but welcome enthusiasm.

  Now this was more like it. David had struck out a few nights ago, and Amy’s schedule had been a whirlwind until today. This was something they both needed, he thought. It had been a long time coming.

  Amy’s hands went to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping. He pulled off his shirt. His pants and boxers came down and he stepped out of them. She grabbed his length and started working him. He climbed into bed next to her, and in a second they were entwined, kissing hard.

  She was still tugging on him as he pulled her cotton panties down. He’d had big plans to slow-play this and make it last, but it had been awhile and he was driven by a fierce urgency.

  David tossed her panties aside and positioned himself between her legs. He tried to maneuver himself in but it was awkward. He wasn’t finding his way.

  Amy reached down to guide him in. “Almost. Here, this way.”

  A knock on the door.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  “Hey, the door’s locked.” Anna.

  David composed himself, steadied his voice. “It’s late, Anna. Go back to bed.”

  “I had a dream with spiders.”

  David felt Amy’s hand against his chest. “David.”

  And that was that.

  He rolled off her, grabbed his boxers and T-shirt. An unreasonable resentment rose up within him, and he shoved it back down. This was being a parent. This was part of it.

  Amy was already pulling the flannel green circus tent over her head. She went to the door and opened it.

  Anna ran past without pausing and jumped into the middle of the bed, sinking into the nest of pillows and the thick, down comforter. “I want to sleep in here.”

  “Of course, baby.”

  Amy and Anna snuggled under the covers.

  “I think I’ll go downstairs and watch TV for a bit,” David said.

  “You’re still going with me tomorrow night, right?” Amy asked.

  David sighed. “I won’t know anyone.”

  “They’re expecting you,” Amy said. “And I need some good-looking arm candy to make those paralegal bimbos jealous.”

  A halfhearted smile. “Sure. Okay.”

  He switched off the light and left.

  * * *

  The dream had been gradually fading, becoming more obscure and coming less frequently, but tonight it was back in full force, vivid, so clear it was almost cinematic.

  The streets of Damascus were littered with bodies. He could smell them. Buildings burned. Smoke. You couldn’t see even halfway down any street there was so much smoke, black and thick and acrid.

  Gunshots. Sometimes far away and other times startlingly nearby, echoing through the narrow streets. David couldn’t always be sure of the direction. It was often difficult to understand who was killing whom and why. The sides hadn’t quite been sorted out yet as various factions rushed to fill the power vacuum. Best just to shoot at everyone, or at least that seemed to David to be the prevailing strategy among the citizenry.

  “Stay close,” he told Yousef Haddad. “This wasn’t the way we were supposed to come. I need to get my bearings.” He checked the handheld GPS but wasn’t getting a signal.

  “We have to go back.” Yousef’s English was heavily accented but good.

  “No.” David had his orders. “A truck waiting in the suburbs will take us to a safe crossing at the Lebanese border. Then we make for the coast. We’ll take a skiff south until we can get into Israeli waters. There’s a trawler waiting to pick us up. We just need to be patient and stay away from the chaos.”

  Yousef stopped walking, which meant David had to stop also. He looked back into the man’s resolute face.

  “My wife and daughters are at my home.” Yousef’s eyes were hard. “If certain people discover I have fled, they will be raped by many men. They will be killed only after many hours of humiliation, and their bodies will be dragged through the streets and put on display as a lesson to others.”

  David considered what he knew of Yousef Haddad from the file.

  The government hadn’t sent David to rescue the man because he was a saint. Far from it. Yousef Haddad was a pivotal figure in the Syrian criminal underworld. As such, he had a finger in almost every pie, which made him the ideal informant, reporting on both government activities and insurgent movements. He’d provided names of faction leaders and endless details that kept the State Department and the CIA apprised of the situation on the ground. As long as Uncle Sam kept the cash flowing, Yousef kept the intel flowing.

  So was it loyalty to Yousef that motivated the U.S. government to send in a man to fetch him out of the rapidly deteriorating situation in Syria? Partly. But it was also the fact that if he were captured by the wrong people and made to talk, it could be embarrassing for the U.S. government. David had been ordered to do everything possible to get him out.

  Failing that, he had instructions to put a bullet in Yousef’s head. David wondered if Yousef suspected this. Probably. The man wasn’t stupid.

  “I have to go back for them,” Yousef said.

  If Yousef’s file was to be believed, he had done much worse things to other men’s wives and daughters. But every man loves his own. Yousef likely had no sense of irony about the situation.

  “Another team has been sent for your family,” David said. “They’ll meet us.”

  “You know this for sure?” Yousef asked. “Are you in contact with the other team?”

  “No. We’ll have to trust them. And we don’t really have time to debate it.”

  A moment stretched as the men took each other’s measure. David became acutely aware for the pistol stuck into his belt at the small of his back, concealed by his light jacket. He felt sure he could bring it out fast enough if Yousef failed to cooperate.

  The sound of gunshots the next street over decided things.

  “They had better be there, government man,” Yousef said. “When we get to the truck, my wife and daughters had better be there waiting for me. You understand?”

  David nodded quickly and they set off again.

  They were moments away from emerging onto a wide boulevard when a heavy machine gun chattered in front of them, kicking up chunks of asphalt and obliterating first-floor windows along the street. David had heard such weapons in action before, but it always sounded like all hell suddenly raining down on the Earth.

  David and Yousef dove for the recessed alcove of a shop entrance. They pressed themselves flat against the cracked plaster.

  A second later, a mob stormed past the entrance of the boulevard, young Syrian men in T-shirts and jeans mostly. Many wore scarves tied around there faces or ski masks. Some held clubs, others handguns. David glimpsed a couple of AK-47s in the crowd. Somewhere behind them the machine gun erupted again and bodies fell, the rest of the crowd picking up speed to escape, bodies pressed close, pushing and shoving.

  Soon the crowd passed, and a split-second later, David heard the unmistakable creak and clank of an approaching armored vehicle.

  It drove into view, opening fire again at the fleeing insurg
ents, the machine gun on top chugging lead and spitting .50 caliber shells out the side. It was a beat-up BRDM-2 but it was more than enough to chase off the poorly armed rebels. A troop of Syrian regulars with AK-47s followed at a crouch walk, using the armored vehicle for cover.

  David squatted, motioning for Yousef to do the same. They’d wait for these guys to pass and then—

  There was a flash and an explosive roar and a wave of heat. David put his hands over his face. When he looked again the armored vehicle was in flames and the regulars were shooting in multiple directions, including down the alley.

  Yousef leaned in to talk directly into David’s ear so he could be heard over the gunfire. “Molotov cocktail.”

  David nodded. That’s what he’d figured, too.

  The Syrian regulars tried to withdraw in an orderly fashion but the screaming mob that flooded in and around them finally convinced them to turn tail and sprint back the way they’d come, chased by the pop of handgun fire. Many went down with bullets in the back.

  The wind shifted and the smoke from the burning armored vehicle filled the alley. David could feel the heat even where he was.

  Two men emerged from the smoke wearing tattered jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts, scarves wrapped around faces. Both held AK-47s and were coming through the gray smoke at a crouch, eyes darting and anxious.

  David drew the Glock .40, checked the magazine, and kept it low. He felt his back pockets, assuring himself the spare magazines were still there. If he and Yousef sat still and waited, the two insurgents might just walk right on by and—

  The one closest turned, spotted them, his eyes going big as he raised the AK-47.

  David didn’t hesitate, raised the Glock two-handed and squeezed the trigger twice. The first shot bloomed high on the man’s chest, the second more on target—square in the heart. He spun and fell in a heap.

  David had already shifted his aim to the other who’d turned to run. Two more shots in the middle of his back, sending him sprawling forward.

  He grabbed Yousef by the shoulder of his jacket and hauled him up. “Come on!”

  They sprinted through the smoke, which gathered thickly around him now, stinging his eyes, getting into his throat. He coughed violently, wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  Water. David would suddenly give anything for a canteen.

  Gunshots not too far away, seeming to come from every direction.

  The smoke was so thick now he couldn’t see the street around him. He’d lost Yousef. Some vague awareness reminded him he was in a dream. He kept the gun up, wondering what would come out of the smoke next.

  Time and space shifted, and he was suddenly at the rendezvous point. There was that vague awareness of being in a dream, and yet David kept stumbling through the story, like an actor in a play, shoving Yousef into the back of a truck. The men in the back of the truck were holding Yousef as he struggled to get loose. The smoke swirled around them, cutting the scene off from the rest of the world, detaching it from reality.

  “My family!” Yousef’s shouts were desperate, edged with panic. His voice seemed like it was coming from the depths of some deep, black cave. “You said they would be here!”

  “The other team has them.” David hoped it was true. “You’ve got to go. Now.”

  Yousef thrashed free from the men holding him, jumped down from the truck. If he ran … if he got away from David …

  Shoot him. Don’t risk it. Shoot him now.

  David brought he pistol down hard on the back of Yousef’s skull just at the base. The man folded like somebody had flipped his off switch. David and the other men dumped his unconscious body into the back of the truck. Yousef was no longer David’s problem.

  He watched the truck pull away and fade into the smoke.

  And then David was swimming. There was no world anymore, just smoke. He felt lost and weightless, the sounds of battle distant and tinny like they were coming from an old radio, and then—

  * * *

  David’s eyes popped open. He’d fallen asleep on the couch watching TV. The Home Shopping channel was on the screen with the volume turned down.

  Fuzzy morning light seeped in through the blinds. He stood and stretched, stumbled into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker and begin the day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Can you drive a little faster?” Amy squinted at the small visor mirror, opening her makeup case, the compact one she carried in her purse at all times. “We’ll be late.”

  David allowed himself a quick glance at his wife before snapping his eyes back to the road. She was drawing a dark line under her eye with an eyeliner pencil. A sharp eyeliner pencil. If he needed to slam on the brakes, the pencil would go right through her eyeball. Since he didn’t want to replay that conversation for the tenth time, he just said, “I’m doing the speed limit.”

  “You’re worried about a ticket? Please.” She switched to the other eye. “I’m the new Deputy District Attorney. I can fix a ticket.” A sly smile.

  David smiled, too, but he kept the Escalade at the speed limit. He’d estimated the travel time and predicted they would have twenty minutes to spare. No need to speed.

  He glanced at the kids in the rearview mirror. Anna sat securely in her car seat, a dreamy expression on her face as she looked out the window. Amy and David had declared her potty training to have officially “taken” on her fourth birthday last week, a fact that made it a little easier for Amy’s sister Elizabeth to agree to take the kids for the evening. The party for Amy in the city marked the first time they’d been out in six weeks.

  He shifted his gaze to Brent, who had his head down into his brand-new 3DS, one of those handheld video games. David hated the blinking, bleeping noisy thing. He’d brought home a tennis racket for the boy two days ago. It had gone into Brent’s closet next to the baseball glove, the football, and the roller blades. Brent would eventually get David’s height. Maybe he’d try basketball next. Not hockey. David just didn’t get hockey.

  They were good kids, David reminded himself. They just weren’t like David when he was their ages.

  Who was?

  He turned the Escalade into the neighborhood where Amy’s sister had purchased a modest home six months ago. Her husband, Jeff, had been a department manager at Home Depot for six years and had finally been promoted to full store manager. The new house followed, and Elizabeth had quit her bank teller job to stay home with their eighteen-month-old son full time.

  David pulled into the driveway. He saw the living room curtain pull aside then drop back again. David’s eyes flashed over the lawn and front of the house. The hedges had been trimmed. There was an orange Frisbee under the back left tire of Jeff’s Ford pickup. The gutters needed cleaning. There were tire indentations in the grass next to the driveway where someone had parked.

  David climbed out of the SUV, opened the rear passenger door, and scanned the neighborhood as he unbuckled Anna from the car seat. The neighbors across the street still had the old Chevy Impala up on blocks. David couldn’t spot any progress in the restoration.

  Anna threw her arms around David’s neck, pulled him close to mash her cheek against his. “Daddy, I want to watch the Dora DVD.”

  “I don’t know if Aunt Lizzy has Dora, princess.”

  “I want spaghetti.”

  “We’ll ask.”

  Amy and Elizabeth were already exchanging hugs on the front steps. Elizabeth was a shorter, younger version of Amy and still carried some of the pregnancy weight on her hips. She smiled brightly at her sister, eyes gleaming and big, motherhood still a wonder to her. The sisters were close, but Elizabeth’s toddler and Amy’s increased workload kept them from getting together as often as they wanted.

  Jeff stood next to her, holding a beer in a Home Depot huggie. He was apple-cheeked with a patchy beard and an all-American beer gut. Not for the first time, David felt a vague pang of envy upon seeing Jeff. Here was a man who worked hard and made an honest living for his family, but he was able
to completely unplug on the weekend. When he was home with his family, his job was banished utterly from his mind, a cold beer and a football game on the big-screen TV. He didn’t deal with demanding customers or unruly employees. No supply problems or trouble with vendors. Not during family time. Jeff could turn it off.

  Turning off wasn’t so easy for David. He’d been trying.

  “Hey, David.” Jeff extended his hand, and they shook.

  “Good seeing you, Jeff.” David noticed the fresh sunburn on Jeff’s neck, the dirt under his fingernails. He’d been working in the garden again, trying to get the tomatoes and pole beans up and running. There’d been loose talk of a green house.

  Amy followed Elizabeth inside with the kids in tow. It was David’s job to hang back and trade chitchat with Jeff. The intricacies of in-law diplomacy had become his specialty.

  “How’s everything down at the Depot?”

  “Huge run on power tools.” Jeff sipped beer. “I think everybody’s getting the do-it-yourself bug all at once. Watching all those HGTV shows, I guess. Big sale. Moved a shitload of circular saws.”

  “Sounds like they keep you busy.” David shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “Sure.” Another sip of beer. “What about you? Keeping busy? Around the house, I mean.”

  David smiled tightly. In the last three days, he’d replaced missing bricks in the chimney, fixed a dripping bathroom faucet, installed a ceiling fan in the den, painted the garage, removed a stump from the backyard, took apart and cleaned and reassembled the lawn mower, put up Dora the Explorer wallpaper in Anna’s room, replaced a sputtering garbage disposal, changed the oil in the Escalade, and reread a dog-eared copy of Ice Station Zebra. So yeah. He’d stayed busy around the house.

  David rocked heel to toe. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

  “Right.” Jeff tossed back the rest of the beer. “Well, you know, it’ll pick up.”

  Right.

  Amy emerged from the house, Elizabeth right behind, the two sisters hovering in a cloud of chatter and family gossip. Glad-handing and cheek kisses and two minutes later, the Escalade glided north on the interstate into the city.