Dominion

by Greg F. Gifune

  Daniel wandered room to room, trying to understand. Who had done this? Who had put these enormous white sheets over everything? And where the hell had he been when they’d done it? He stopped in the hallway between the bathroom and the kitchen and looked himself over. He was still wearing the pajama pants and T-shirt he’d worn to bed. Had he been asleep, hidden beneath the blankets while clutching Lindsay’s pillow when all this had happened?

  An odd yet familiar sound trickled softly down the hallway.

  Daniel stopped, listened. It sounded again.

  Moving slowly, he turned back and reached for the door to the small computer room he and Lindsay had set up a few years before. There was nothing in there but a desk, a couple bookcases overflowing with old paperbacks and a computer that hadn’t been turned on since Lindsay’s death.

  But he knew that sound. Impossible as it was, he knew it.

  He turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open.

  The computer monitor was on, casting light into the otherwise dark room, and unlike everything else he’d encountered in the house it wasn’t covered with a sheet. A screensaver of various wiggling shapes turned and twisted in multiple colors across the monitor screen. The speakers were on and turned relatively low, but Daniel was certain he’d heard the sound just seconds before. Not once, but twice.

  Hand shaking, he reached for the mouse and gave it a tap.

  The screensaver vanished to reveal the desktop theme—a desert setting littered with various program icons along the left-hand side of the screen. And in the center of the screen was a small dialogue box from a chat messenger system. Two messages had already been sent from someone to Daniel’s screen name: SALESMGRDANNY.

  Both had come from ADGURL32, Lindsay’s messenger nickname.

  ADGURL32: Danny?

  ADGURL32: Danny, are you there?

  Daniel’s breath caught in his throat, and he brought a hand quickly to his mouth, as if to catch his questions before they could escape. Who would do this, how could they do this? They’d have to know her password to access the account and use her screen name.

  The jingle he’d heard prior and that accompanied each incoming message sounded again, followed by another message.

  ADGURL32: Danny, it’s me, are you there?

  He stepped closer, reached for the keyboard. But as his fingers made contact, the screen suddenly went black and the computer shut down, its hum slowing and growing weaker until the tower was completely silent. “No, wait, I—” he frantically reached down and hit the power button, but the computer would not come back on.

  Daniel backed away, out of the room, and made his way to the front of the brownstone—the living room—to find the furniture there covered as well. Moonbeams cascading down through the French doors provided the only light. The lace curtains Lindsay had hung there were gone, and the doors looked oddly barren without them. He focused on the moonlit night instead. It was quite beautiful, he thought. But how could beauty exist in such a hideous and lonely nightmare?

  Something brushed his leg.

  Daniel staggered back, heart pounding as he caught his balance and spun around.

  Something low to the ground, small and furry scampered across the living room floor and slipped behind the couch in a blurred rush, causing the edge of the sheet covering it to flutter a bit.

  Panic surged through him a second time as a tiny set of eyes peered at him from around the corner of the couch.

  “Scooter?” He crouched down, or perhaps his knees had given out, he couldn’t be sure which. Either way, he found himself near the floor, looking directly into the mischievous face of a cat that had died two years before.

  The cat watched him a moment, bright yellow eyes catching the moonlight and glowing with life. Slowly, the animal moved out from behind the couch and closed the gap between them.

  “Scooter is that—is it really you, boy?”

  Daniel reached out and touched him. His fur was soft and fluffy, just as he’d remembered it, and he looked as healthy and happy as ever. A loud purr emanated from the cat, and he rubbed against Daniel with glee, apparently as surprised and thrilled as Daniel was. “This isn’t possible.” Emotion overwhelmed him. “Where did you come from, little man?”

  Scooter turned, hopped onto the couch and walked in a slow circular pattern until he’d gotten himself just right, then flopped over and curled up to take a nap.

  Daniel stood up, head spinning and flashing familiar images of Lindsay with Scooter in a better place, a happier place. “Scooter…where’s Mommy?”

  The cat remained still, apparently having already drifted off to sleep.

  “Lindsay?” he asked the shadows. “Are you here?”

  But for the steady purr of a cat long dead, silence.

  Again, the moonlight beckoned. He moved toward the French doors cautiously, and as his eyes adjusted, the modest outdoor patio on the other side of them came into focus. The lawn furniture that had once been there was gone. He looked to the section of street beyond. It was predominantly concealed in darkness and shadow, but he could see the pavement—slick from earlier snow that had at some point turned to a gentle rain—and a tiny pool of light from a streetlight on the corner.

  And from within that pool of light, came a figure.

  Dressed entirely in black, it was difficult to gauge where the figure ended and the night began, but with its movement, Daniel was able to keep the man—at least it looked like a man—in his sights.

  The figure moved along the street, its stride purposeful and indicative of intent.

  This was no aimlessly drifting walker strolling about the city after nightfall, this was someone headed directly for him. But Daniel realized that with no lights on inside or behind him, there was no way the figure could see him, so despite his mounting fear, he held his ground. He strained to make out a face, but the light wasn’t sufficient, and all he could discern was a small black hood concealing much of the figure’s head.

  As the stranger crossed the street and easily climbed the low wrought iron fence that surrounded the small yard and garden in front of the brownstone, Daniel forced a nervous swallow and crept back a bit further into shadow. Still less than a foot from the French doors, he watched as the man—he was sure it was a man now—trudged through a patch of squat bushes and stepped onto the patio.

  The man, dressed in black pants, black shoes and what appeared to be either a black hooded sweatshirt or jacket, crossed the patio and stood in front of the French doors. But Daniel still couldn’t make out the face. The man’s hands were stuffed in his pockets and he had a slightly slumped posture, his shoulders dipped forward a bit and his head bowed. He stood just a foot or two from Daniel now, silently staring at the glass doors separating them.

  Though his heart was racing, Daniel stayed very still, breathed through his mouth and waited to see what the man was going to do next. He knew so long as he stayed quiet and motionless, the stranger wouldn’t even know he was there.

  Behind him, Scooter’s purring stopped.

  Very slowly, the figure pulled a hand from his pocket. It was a large hand—definitely a man’s—the nails caked with dirt and filth. It reached out for the French doors, as if to touch them, but as the thick fingers wiggled about like enormous spider legs, rather than hit the glass that should’ve been there, they moved straight through and into the house.

  And it was then that Daniel realized there was no glass in the French doors at all.

  The hand reached directly for him, and the man began to laugh—a deep, guttural, horrible laugh—as his fingers grabbed hold of Daniel’s face, yanked him back through the doors and into the night.

  She’s alive. More than you know.

  Daniel bolted upright in bed, his entire body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. Though he knew he’d been asleep, he wasn’t certain everything he’d experienced was part of the nightmare. He rolled out of bed and staggered for the door in one frantic motion, stumbling out into the hallw
ay and running for the living room.

  He turned a light on and the living room appeared before him. Nothing was covered in sheets, and the glass in the French doors was intact and undamaged. He went to them just the same, and swept the curtains aside all the way so he could see out onto the patio and beyond.

  It was still snowing lightly, and had finally begun to accumulate.

  The street was empty, quiet.

  Daniel turned and went back down the hallway, this time stopping at the computer room. Hesitantly, he opened the door. Darkness. He flipped the switch and saw the computer against the far wall, the hard drive off and the monitor dark. Though he knew it was ridiculous, he touched the back of the monitor and then the tower just to make certain neither was warm nor had been on any time recently.

  Both were cool to the touch.

  “Of course they are, you idiot,” he mumbled. “What the hell did you expect?”

  Unable to stop his body from shaking, he went to the kitchen and pulled open the drawer next to the sink. He rummaged around for a moment until he’d located a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He’d thrown them both in there not long after Lindsay’s death, finally determined to fulfill a promise he’d made to her about quitting smoking. Though at the time it seemed too little too late, he knew his quitting would’ve made her happy, and until then, he’d managed to suffer through the withdrawal and kick the habit.

  The first greedy drag was horribly distasteful and he coughed it back out. He hadn’t had a cigarette in more than two months, and his body was no longer used to it. He took another drag, gagged and tossed the cigarette into the sink.

  Memories of the horrible voice in his dream echoed through his mind.

  She’s alive.

  Despite a chill in the air, Daniel was covered with a film of perspiration from head to toe. It felt as if his head was about to burst and blow apart, like no matter what he did his mind would shatter and rip him to shreds.

  More than you know.

  Daniel returned to the computer room, but this time went to the closet and pulled from the shelf a large canvas bag. Inside was Lindsay’s laptop computer, her briefcase, a PDA and a few other things she’d used primarily at work. While he’d checked the desktop he hadn’t gone through her laptop or PDA, so he turned them both on and began with the PDA. Numerous files—phone numbers, though none with an Ohio area code, a nearly endless list of appointments and notes—but nothing of interest.

  He put the PDA aside.

  The online provider for her laptop had been issued through work and long since canceled, so he checked the old email folders instead. Since she’d used this computer strictly for work he didn’t expect to find much, but he went through it nonetheless as best he could.

  “I don’t even know what the hell I’m looking for,” he said, voice raspy and tired.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and he could find no references to anything relevant or of importance. His frustration mounting, he shut the laptop down, slid it and the PDA back into the canvas case, then put it in the corner next to the bookcase.

  Returning to the kitchen, Daniel found some SleepyTime tea in the cupboard then put the kettle on the stove to boil.

  While he waited for the water, he closed his eyes in an attempt to ward off the flashes of nightmare that kept coming back to him again and again. He tried prayer, and found it helped to calm and comfort him somewhat.

  Later, after he’d finished his tea, he sat at the kitchen table, drowsy but still afraid to go back to sleep. Alone in the middle of the night, at a table he and Lindsay had once shared, he listened to the sounds of the old brownstone after dark, the vacant chair across from him a heartbreaking reminder of just how empty it was here now, in this place they’d once called home, together.

  EIGHT

  The telephone rang. Daniel was awake by the second ring, but it was at least another two rings before he realized where he was. At some point during the night he’d nodded off at the kitchen table, but the amount of natural light in the room indicated dawn had arrived some time ago. He pushed his chair from the table and scrambled for the cordless wall phone. “Yes—hello?”

  “Daniel?”

  It was Wesley Steiger, one of the salesmen who had worked for him. “Wes, hi—what’s—how’s it going?”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Wake me?” Daniel rubbed the sleep from his eyes and quickly took note of the digital clock on the stove. Nine twenty-seven. “No, I’ve been up for a while now.”

  “Did I call at a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine.” With his body aching and a slight headache nesting behind his eyes, he shuffled over to the cupboard and pulled down a can of coffee. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on the road making some last minute calls before turkey day and thought I’d give you a buzz. I know these are difficult times, but I wanted to wish you a happy holiday.”

  Daniel tossed two scoops of Chock Full O‘Nuts into a filter then slid it into the coffeemaker. “Thanks, Wes, that’s awfully nice of you.”

  “I want you to know that Abigail and I have been praying for you.” Wesley was a devout Catholic and had arranged a dedication mass for Lindsay when she’d died. “And of course you and Lindsay are on the prayer lists for the entire congregation.”

  “I’ll take all the prayers I can get. Thank you.” Daniel made his way from the kitchen to the hallway. Memories of the nightmare taunted him, but were quickly overpowered by visions of Wesley. An obese man with a proclivity for cheap suits, ties that just barely reached the top of his protruding belly, and rubber soled shoes, Wesley was in his late fifties, and the oldest member of what had been Daniel’s sales crew. Though he was far from the model or top salesman, he was a veteran and a good producer with many long-standing accounts that helped to offset his comical appearance and often irritable personality. As much of a challenge as Wesley often was, at the end of the day he was a good, decent, very loyal man, and Daniel had always liked him. On more than one occasion over the years, he had protected him and saved his job, when various station managers and even Karnakian wanted him fired. Still, when Daniel looked at Wesley Steiger he’d always seen everything he didn’t want to be in another twenty-plus years. Fifty-seven years old, with a sickly wife and a mentally-challenged daughter at home, he had a mortgage and a pile of bills that left him no choice but to hustle his life away just to tread water. There neither had been, nor would there ever be, any graceful aging in his life, only a slow and steady burn that eventually left those at its mercy mere caricatures of their former selves. And now, Daniel actually found himself envying him. Even with all his problems, at least Wesley had something, someone, to go home to.

  “It bothered me immensely that we never got a chance to talk before they let you go,” Wesley said with his usual tense cadence. “I considered calling you before this, but I assumed you’d want some time away from everything and everybody at the station, and I didn’t want to intrude on that. That said, I think what they did to you was an absolute disgrace.”

  Daniel followed the hallway to the computer room. “Thanks, I—”

  “And Fox,” he groaned, “well, Fox is Fox, you know how that is. He just doesn’t handle the accounts with the same fairness you did. He’s squeezing me out. I can feel it, I’ve been around a long time and I know when I’m getting squeezed. I go and tell him he’s killing me by taking accounts from me and you know what he does? He laughs. I can’t pay my bills and he laughs and tells me to stop being so dramatic. I told him I was glad he found my concerns so humorous. Maybe he can have a nice belly laugh when I’m living in my car. ”

  “Try to hang in there.” Daniel flopped into the desk chair and powered on the computer. “Fox’s style is a lot different than mine but—”

  “That’s the understatement of the century!” Wesley gave a short and sudden burst of laughter. “And Karnakian, God forgive me, but that bobble-headed monstrosity is a bigger pain in the behind than ever
. When you were here we hardly ever saw him, but since Fox took over he hangs around the station constantly.”

  Barely listening, Daniel maneuvered the mouse around to the icon for the chat messenger program and double-clicked it. He and Lindsay both had accounts on the messenger program. The accounts were separate and individual however, because at times they used them at work as well, so when the program came on neither of their user names or passwords were saved and automatically recalled. He sat staring at the empty boxes. “It’ll get better, Wes.”

  “If only I could believe that.” He breathed heavily into the phone. “At any rate, I didn’t call to vent. I just want you to know it’s not the same without you. Truly, Daniel, it’s not. You are missed, and not just by me, either, I can assure you of that.”

  “I appreciate the call.” Holding the cordless between cheek and shoulder, Daniel typed in Lindsay’s screen name. ADGURL32. “And I hope you and your family have a nice Thanksgiving too, all right?”

  “Thank you, and listen, when you feel up to it let’s have some lunch, all right?”

  “Sure,” he said, his mind already going through the possible passwords she might have used. Their passwords had never been deliberate secrets, but they’d never used each other’s accounts so there was never a need to share them. He thought a moment, tried to remember if she’d ever told him hers. “Maybe after the holidays we can get together, but right now I’m kind of in the middle of—”

  “I’m heading into the Callahan, my cell’s about to cut out,” Wesley said abruptly. “If I can I’ll call you back when I come out the other end. If not, I—”

  The connection was lost. Daniel switched off the phone and put it aside, picturing Wesley still talking away as he hurtled through the tunnel in the same old enormous Oldsmobile he’d owned as long as they’d known each other.