Deep Night

by Greg F. Gifune

  “Not really, no.”

  “It’s an ancient mountain fortress that overlooks much of the Dead Sea.” She takes a dainty sip from the glass. “It has an intriguing history, would you like to hear it?”

  Raymond nods sullenly. The memories of his parents melt away to darkness.

  “In 1st Century B.C., due to the threat posed by Cleopatra and Egypt, The Judean King Herod the Great had Masada built. At Herod’s death years later, it was captured by the Romans and turned into a stronghold for the empire. It remained under their control for years until it was captured by the Zealots, a group of approximately one thousand people, including women and children, known for their strong positions and outlook on life. When Jerusalem fell under Roman occupation, the Zealots took refuge in Masada. The Romans responded by attacking the fortress. After years and numerous attempts to take the fortress, and eventually, due in large part to an enormous assault ramp the Romans built, it became apparent to the Zealots that Rome’s victory was imminent.

  “And so the Zealots had a choice to make,” she continues, “a literal life or death decision.”

  Raymond reaches for his cigarettes, pulls one from the pack and holds it in his free hand, rolling it nervously between his fingers.

  “Their decision was death. They chose suicide rather than slavery at the hands of the Romans, death over enslavement, dignity and principal over degradation and submission. Quite heroic, I’d say.”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  Visions of Seth come to Raymond suddenly. He sees him in the bed next to his own, the two of them young and vibrant, laying in the dark, talking quietly then joking and laughing with each other before sleep takes them. There had been happy times, playful and carefree times when they’d been allowed to behave as young boys should, times before the darkness had become something hideous and frightening, a predator constantly on the hunt. It is that image of his big brother—the image of him laughing—that Raymond will take with him.

  “To the Zealots,” Nana says, raising high her glass.

  He gently clicks his glass against hers. “To the Zealots.”

  Together, in single quick swallows, they empty their glasses then return them to the table.

  Something in the next room creaks…a floorboard, perhaps a window casing.

  Or something else.

  Raymond’s smile fades, gone like the innocent laughter and young faces in his mind. “They’re here.”

  “I know,” she whispers.

  From the nearby corridor come the shuffling sounds of small, deadly things.

  Raymond slides the cigarette into the corner of his mouth then carefully pushes his lighter across the table to her.

  She takes the lighter in hand, flips it open with her thumb and holds it up for him as her eyes slowly fill with tears. “Come for one more walk in the rain with your Nana, my love.”

  Holding her gaze throughout, Raymond takes her free hand and cradles it gently in his own, remembering the gentle rain against his face, the smell of the ocean, the breeze and fresh sea air filling his lungs and making him feel so alive. And the love, most of all he remembers the love. Despite it all, there was so much—then and now—and try as it might, no madness, no amount of darkness has been able to kill it.

  Raymond wants to believe that there is something fundamentally human about that, even as he leans across the table until the tip of his cigarette is within inches of the lighter.

  He feels himself smile. It seems an odd thing to do just then, yet strangely fitting.

  Alessandra’s eyes slowly roll shut…and she ignites the lighter.

  * * *

  “Would you like to talk about Raymond?” Doctor Farrow asked.

  Seth shook his head no.

  “I think it’s important that we talk about him, Seth, don’t you?”

  “Raymond’s dead,” he said.

  She watched him, offering nothing.

  “I know that now.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “I’m an only child.”

  He pawed at his eyes, certain he’d find tears there, but they remained dry. The time for crying was over. The time had come for something else. “Then you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Can you explain it to me?”

  “Raymond’s a part of me, and that part of me is gone. I can feel it.”

  She nodded, presumably satisfied with his answer. “Seth, the day before yesterday your brother, grandmother and her husband were involved in a terrible accident in your grandmother’s home. Apparently there was a gas leak authorities believe came from the stove. There was an explosion. I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but it’s important that you know. They were all killed in the blast.”

  This time it was more difficult to restrain his emotions, but he managed it.

  Once the slightest traces of tears had left his eyes and the lump in his throat had subsided, he did his best to stare Farrow down and reveal nothing in his expression. “Let me guess,” he said a moment later, “I already knew that, right? It was just another trigger for my breakdown, one more thing, one more excuse to prove my insanity.”

  “I understand you and your brother were close,” she said softly, “but do you think maybe the reason you were so sure he had died was because you did already know?”

  “Whatever you say, Doc, whatever you say.”

  “I’m more interested in hearing what you have to say right now.”

  “I’ve heard that line from you before. You need new material.”

  She drew a slow breath, held it a beat. “After hearing the news about their deaths, you went on a drinking binge. You went to your office and assaulted Mr. Jacobs. The police were called, but you fled the area before you could be apprehended. You continued your drinking binge then wandered around the city until you found your way here, to Ms. Chandler’s apartment. You left after an argument with her, came upon the wrong neighborhood at the wrong hour and were mugged and assaulted.”

  Seth grabbed the cup of water. The hell with it, he thought. Not much else to lose. He downed it then returned the cup to the nightstand. It felt nice on his dry, scratchy throat. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out whose benefit this is for.”

  “Why, yours, of course.”

  “Congratulations, you’ve got it all tied up with a pretty bow, nice and neat and making perfect sense right from the moment I supposedly heard this news,” he said. “But there’s one problem.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “There may be a tiny bit of truth in what you just said, but the rest is bullshit.” He leaned forward. “And you and I both know it.”

  “Why do you feel that way, Seth?”

  “I saw you, you’re not fooling anyone. I know what’s happening.”

  “Seth, obviously the person you saw—or think you saw—wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been because I was in the Cayman Islands on vacation. And even if I had returned in time for it to be me, why would I be in some abandoned building, Seth?” She gave him one of her classic condescending looks. “Just the same, I do think we should discuss this, because obviously it’s important to you. You keep saying you saw me and that you know what’s happening. Talk about that a bit.”

  “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m done.”

  “You act as if this is some sort of conspiracy.”

  “That’s exactly what it is.”

  “Seth,” she said in a breathy voice, “do you know what an intervention is?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s often a very effective tool in helping someone see and understand things they might not otherwise,” she explained. “I don’t think a traditional intervention is needed or appropriate here, but I do think briefly involving someone other than myself, someone in your life you know and trust who shares my concerns and who can express them to you from another perspective could be very helpful. It’s all part of the process, Seth, a very
important process where you’ll be able to come to terms with some of the things that have happened to you over the last year or so. In the end, you’ll be better equipped to confront your own actions since then, so that together, you and I can effectively deal with them. You’ve been experiencing a downward spiral for some time now, do you understand? Everyone around you and in your life has been a witness to it, and everyone wants to see you get well as quickly and as painlessly as possible. You haven’t been yourself for a long time, and the point of this is to help you find yourself again so we can get to the heart of these problems and resolve them for you in a healthy manner.” Doctor Farrow absently brushed a thick strand of blonde hair from the side of her face with a finger. “Now since we began today, I’ve gotten the impression you think I have some personal stake against you, or that I’m lying to you or manipulating the truth.”

  Seth gave a smirk Raymond would’ve been proud of. “Where’d you get that idea?”

  Her expression revealed the full extent to which she had not found his comment amusing. “Sometimes when you hear the truth from multiple people rather than one, from people you love and respect and trust, and who love and respect and trust you, it can make quite a difference in one’s overall perception of a situation. Do you understand?”

  Seth swallowed nervously but said nothing.

  Doctor Farrow stood up, straightened the hem of her skirt and with pad in hand strolled to the bedroom door. She opened it enough to squeeze her head through into the other room, and the murmur of nearby voices ceased. “All right,” she said. “We’re ready.”

  She returned to her chair with a quick smile.

  The door opened slowly, and a larger shard of light bled into the otherwise murky room. An indistinct figure stepped through, closed the door behind it and stood awkwardly in the shadows beyond the doorway.

  “Hello, Seth.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Seth watched him emerge from the shadows and move deeper into the room, coming to a halt just to the left of Doctor Farrow’s chair.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Darian stood there calmly, his old smooth manner returned to him, his face markedly different than when Seth had last seen him. He looked rested and fresh, free of the worry and terror that had been consuming him previously. “You know, I really wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he said without a trace of anger or even annoyance. “I’ve never really cared for it.”

  “It’s a term of endearment, you know that.”

  “I prefer Darian. That’s my name.”

  “You’ve never had a problem with it before.” Seth held his expression, doing his best to match Darian’s composure. “What do you want?”

  “Doctor Farrow asked if I’d speak to you. She thought it might help.” He adjusted his eyeglasses and moved a bit closer. When Seth offered nothing, he said, “Just like everybody else, I’m worried about you. How are you feeling?”

  “How are you feeling, Mother?”

  He blinked slowly. “I know you’ve had some hard times recently, and I wanted to let you know how sorry I was to hear about Raymond and your grandmother.”

  “Tell me, D., what’d you find when you went home looking for Cynthia and Debra?” Seth asked. “Find what you were looking for?”

  “I never knew Ray that well,” he said, dismissing Seth’s question, “but those few days we stayed at the cabin in Maine I really enjoyed his company—other than that one night where he had too much to drink and wandered out in the middle of the night into a snowstorm, that is.” He attempted some light laughter. “I know at the time it was really frightening and you were worried—we all were—but we can look back on it now and laugh, right?”

  Memories of the night at the cabin came at Seth again, this time in quick, stabbing, violently stunning flashes, and the closer he looked into Darian’s eyes, the more vivid the memories became.

  Screams echoed in his mind as Christy peered at him from some distant darkness, the corners of her eyes leaking blood.

  “What about Christy?” Seth said defiantly. “Want to laugh about her for a while too?”

  Darian turned his head a bit, as if to better hear him. “Who?”

  “Yeah,” Seth sighed. “That’s what I figured.”

  “You haven’t mentioned anyone named Christy to me before,” Doctor Farrow interjected. “Would you like to share that with me now?”

  “No thanks.” Seth remained focused on Darian. “What about Louis?”

  “His condition hasn’t changed,” Darian said.

  “Oh, Louis you remember.”

  “Of course I remember Louis, Seth.”

  “Do you remember him going out that window, or did I make all that up too?”

  “That’s nothing to joke about.” Darian’s expression grew grave. “Louis is still in a coma, and I was there when he tried to kill himself.”

  “Where are you now, Mother?”

  “Look, we’ve been friends a long time,” he said softly, moving a bit closer still, “and that means a lot to me, I want you to know that. I’m here for you if you need me, and I’m here to help in any way I can, OK?”

  Seth tried to find the man he knew, the man he’d known for so long. He tried to find the man that had stepped in for Raymond at the last minute and been an excellent best man at his wedding to Peggy. He tried to find anything that might link this person standing before him to the person he’d known and trusted for years, a person he’d laughed with and experienced so much with over the years. But all he was certain of was that whoever or whatever this was, it certainly wasn’t Darian Stone.

  “What the hell have they done to you?” Seth whispered.

  Darian exchanged an awkward glance with Doctor Farrow then moved away and took up position near a bureau on the right-hand wall of the bedroom, arms folded and a look of deep concern on his face.

  The door opened again, and two people filed in.

  Ruthie came first, followed by Bill Jacobs. They stood on either side of Doctor Farrow’s chair, Jacobs smiling incessantly and Ruthie shooting him self-conscious sideways glances. Initially neither said a word, looking to Farrow for some indication that it was all right to speak.

  Rather than acknowledge them, Seth tried to listen subtly to determine if there was anyone else beyond the bedroom door. The moving shadows and muffled voices had stopped.

  “Go ahead, William,” Doctor Farrow said.

  “Seth,” Jacobs said cheerfully, “I want you to know I don’t have any hard feelings about what happened at the office. We’re going to just pretend all that never happened, all right? Let’s move forward, that’s what’s important. Moving forward and making sure you’re well. OK, buddy?”

  Ignoring an intense desire to assault him again, Seth gave instead a slow nod.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Ruthie asked, looking at her feet like a guilty schoolgirl. “You scared the hell out of me when you ran out of here before. Those guys could’ve killed you. I’m just glad you’re OK.”

  Silence filled the room.

  “Finished?” Seth asked a moment later.

  “Perhaps you’d like to thank them?” Doctor Farrow suggested. “After all, Mr. Jacobs has been good enough to forget about your earlier violent outburst, and Ms. Chandler has let you stay here and recuperate.”

  Seth stared at her.

  “Talk about how you’re feeling right now,” she pressed.

  “Is there anyone else here?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Wondering what other surprises you might have for me on the other side of that door.”

  “Is there someone else you were hoping to see?”

  He knew at this point he could only hope Peggy was still safe, but realized the odds of that were probably low at best. “Is my wife going to walk in next?”

  “We haven’t been able to get in touch with her just yet,” Doctor Farrow said, “but I do think it’s important we do. Though you’re separat
ed at the moment, I assume you’d still like her involved in your recovery?”

  Seth felt an enormous weight lifted from his chest. There was still hope, but he had to get to where he’d proposed—the banks of the Charles River—by noon. “Leave her out of it,” he said evenly.

  “If you want me to talk with her, I’d be happy to,” Darian offered.

  “You stay the fuck away from her or I’ll—”

  “Now, Seth,” Doctor Farrow said suddenly, “it’s that type of behavior we cannot tolerate. No more violence, no more outbursts, do you understand?”

  He rose slowly from the edge of the bed. If he made a break for the door and was able to force his way out, he was relatively certain he could outrun all of them.

  “Sit down, Seth.” Doctor Farrow watched him a moment, and when he didn’t do as she’d instructed, called, “Mr. Gordon, would you come in here a moment, please?”

  Seth looked to the door. A rugged middle-aged man in a white shirt and pants stepped into the room. “Everything all right, ma’am?” he asked, eyeing Seth.

  “This is Mr. Gordon. He works for Saint Elizabeth’s hospital, just up the street. He’s here to help transport you safely to the psych ward there, should it be necessary.” She offered a triumphant smile. “Is it necessary, Seth?”

  Seth considered Gordon’s muscular physique, and with a sigh, shook his head no.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you.”

  “No,” he said softly, lowering himself back onto the bed.

  The doctor gave Gordon a dismissive glance and he left the room.

  “Very impressive,” Seth said wearily. “Does he roll over and fetch too? Hump your leg when you get lonely?”

  Farrow’s smile slipped away, and her face turned dark. “Destruction isn’t always necessary, sometimes control is enough.”

  It’s all a mind-fuck, Raymond whispered to him.

  “Do you understand now, Seth?” she asked. “Do you see how easy this all is?”