by Domino Finn
What? No, Dante. Stop.
I knew it was hard for her, but the girl had lived with this crutch for a long time. She needed to cast it away. Discover that she could continue without it. I kept approaching the hospital room doorway.
Please, Dante. Don't do this.
Not a nurse or a bodyguard in sight. I wouldn't be swayed.
For me.
I entered the brightly lit room, the same one with the crack in the window, and felt all the blood drain from my face. The bed was empty and all signs of personal possessions were cleaned out.
"What?" I asked, panicking. "He was here, Violet. I saw him on the weekend. I touched him and he was clear and—"
What did you say to him?
"Nothing. He was in a coma. But Mr. Glickman had said he had been in and out lately. He just told me that he was awake now."
Who was awake?
"Your father."
Alexander McAllister?
"Yes," I repeated. "He was right here." I strained to think about what could have happened to him. "But there was another person here, a bodyguard. Do you know him?"
Someone who worked for my dad? I'm not sure.
"Bedros. A large Armenian man. He was taken. In good control of his host. You didn't know him?"
I'm not sure. My dad didn't explain his work to me.
"Well, he's dangerous, either way. I almost got it in with him last time."
A glimmer of sun caught in the cracked window. Maybe the man was still here. Moved to another room. I scrambled to the door. "Nurse!" I called out, flagging down a guy behind a desk. "What happened to this man? Where is Alexander McAllister?"
"He was discharged this morning."
"But he was in a coma on Sunday." I was incredulous that things could change so quickly.
"It was induced," he explained. "He had been in recovery for six weeks. After two days free of complications, he was released under the care of a private physician. It was against medical advice, but we couldn't stop him."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know, sir. Are you family?"
"A friend." I put my hand up as he started to explain patient privacy. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."
I walked away, as I always did, before I made a big enough impression to be remembered.
* * *
You should have told me.
I was almost back to the car when she worked up the courage to talk to me again.
"I'm sorry, Violet. I wanted it to be a surprise."
It was. That's my point.
"Don't start that with me. If I had told you what I was doing, you never would have gone along with it."
That should tell you everything you need to know.
I arrived at my metallic gray coupe and paused outside. I remained silent. I wasn't going to get sucked into another argument.
You said we were friends. If that was true, you wouldn't have snuck around behind my back.
"Every time I've asked you about your past, you've dodged the question. You never told me how you died. You avoid mentioning family. You even kept your true name from me. If you're gonna play the friend card, you have lots of explaining to do."
You're saying you don't trust me?
"I'm saying I don't believe you. I can't. Not after all the inconsistencies."
She didn't immediately say anything back to me. I unlocked the car door, threw the watch on the passenger seat, and pulled out my phone. Sitting down heavily, I released all my built-up pressure with a long exhale.
You could have really messed things up. Has it ever occurred to you that I might not want to see my father?
I watched the lowering sun and was relieved there was still plenty of time in the day. "Actually, no. I never considered that. If that's the case, Violet, then I truly apologize, but it's too late to back off."
What do you mean?
I dialed Mr. Glickman, annoyed that I had just seen him in person but never got the address. "We're gonna visit him."
Dante, my father isn't a kind man. Can't we just forget about it?
"Impossible," I said as I held my cell phone to my ear. "This isn't personal anymore. Red Hat's involved and the man may be in danger."
The woman from earlier answered. "Mr. Glickman's office. How can I help you?"
"Put your boss on."
"Whom may I ask is—"
"Tell him it's Dante. And unless he wants another visit from me, he's gonna pick up the phone."
* * *
The address I got was nearby. It was in the historic core of Downtown LA, amid a bustling series of storefronts ranging from jewelers to fine clothing stores. The air of class was apparent but forced on these dirty streets. Spending money didn't exclude one from the realities of the world. As such, designer shoes skirted homeless men, and the luster of beautiful facades was mired in the oppressive smog of the city.
The age of the buildings was apparent as well. Mostly brick and stone instead of metal and glass, these structures were from a different time. More care was put into the style and workmanship of the condo, even evident when I walked indoors. Having chosen this loft as his, I already knew something about Alexander McAllister.
The elevator rose to the top floor and I was left in a quiet hallway of carpeted elegance that only housed four front doors. My destination was the last one at the end. Ignoring Violet's repeated objections, I pounded my fist on the door.
"This should be fun," I muttered.
I heard the sound of shuffling but no immediate answer. The light from the peephole was momentarily covered and I heard some murmurs. Still, no one said anything. I knocked again. The talking stopped and heavy feet stomped closer to the door before it opened.
Bedros stood in front of me. He was wearing a similar track suit and was still as tall as ever.
"You," he said in his booming voice.
I took a reflexive step back. "Of course you would be here."
"What you want?"
"I'm just here to see Alexander."
The big man slipped through the open door and barred my way. He didn't say anything—he just looked at me with a grumbling face. I took another step back, expecting him to attack again.
"It's all right," came a soft voice from inside. "The lawyer told us about him."
Of course. After my first visit to Mr. Glickman's office, he had probably informed his client about my inquiries. That's why he was all too ready to hand over the address when we spoke on the phone. Alexander McAllister was expecting me.
"Well, come on," said the distant voice. "Let's have a look at him."
Bedros creased his forehead and moved to the inside, motioning me to follow.
The loft had a high ceiling, spacious for the building. It was organized meticulously but had the musty smell of a tomb. The sun streamed in from high windows, but most of the lights were off and curtains were drawn over the main windows. For all the inherent pomp and luxury, these were depressing conditions to live in.
Bedros led me to an especially dark corner of the room where I saw Alexander sitting in a wheelchair, scratching a head of newly cut tan hair. He was cleanly shaven as well. The perks of not being a vegetable, I supposed.
"You'll have to excuse me," he said, beckoning with his hand weakly for me to come closer. "It has been some time since I have been myself. I still cannot manage to stand." The feeble man spoke in a whisper, as if the very act of conversation taxed him.
"It's fine, Alexander. Don't trouble yourself." I stepped closer and Bedros took up a post right above the man's shoulder.
"That's enough," he said through his thick accent.
Alexander McAllister looked slightly distressed. He regarded the current proceedings with a certain amount of apathy. To me, it looked as though Bedros was much more interested in what I had to say than he was. I would have preferred the bodyguard leave us alone, but that didn't look like it was happening.
"I'm failing," said Alexander, "to bring your name to my lips." The man co
ughed softly and returned his hand to his lap.
"My name's Dante. You didn't know me. I... I was a friend of your daughter."
The man's eyes melted and he seemed to lose what little firmness his posture had. "I see."
"I..." I started, not really sure what to say. "I had just been checking up on you to see how you were doing. When I heard that you'd been discharged, I had to come."
The man nodded but his dull eyes showed no emotion. "Of course. How kind of you."
Alexander was colder than I had expected. He didn't volunteer any information or even feign friendliness. He just sat and stared with a silent patience that must have been thrust on him by circumstance.
"May we talk in private?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"No," interrupted Bedros. I looked to Alexander for a decision but he barely blinked in response. Maybe my presence was an intrusion. I couldn't imagine what he would need to confront in order to get his life moving again. But there was something else. Something off. Something I was missing.
I felt I was losing him with every moment that passed. My inaction was spoiling my impression and my window was closing. Maybe I panicked, but I had no other cards in my hand. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the brass watch.
Alexander's eyes lit up for the first time. I spun the face around to make sure he got a good look at it. Then he predictably held out his hand. "May I?"
You better not.
I smiled casually and approached him. Bedros stepped forward, hovering right over the sick man now, and I leaned in cautiously. As I handed Alexander McAllister the watch, I brushed his wrist.
There was no foreign agent inside him. No second shadow. He was free from influence, I thought, and then shot a glance at Bedros. Well, at least from within.
"Hamilton 940," he recited as he opened the case and spun it around. "Railroad grade. This is an antique."
"You recognize it? It was Aster's."
"I remember it well," he replied. "My father had given it to me. My child, she loved it so. She always had a heart for old things."
I watched with curiosity to see if Violet would speak to him. Of course, I might never have known if she did. I only heard her voice in my head. If she spoke to someone else, could I overhear? My test ended with disappointment. If Alexander heard his daughter at all, it didn't register in his eyes.
"Perhaps I could purchase this from you?" he asked softly, then broke into a fit of coughing.
I tried to put together words to respectfully decline. They didn't come.
Seeing my hesitation, Alexander spoke again. "My girl. She was such a troubled one. The years between toddler and teenager fly by. A great metamorphosis occurs. I think I failed to recognize her struggle. Or rather, I failed to acknowledge it. Looking back, of all of Aster's manic emotions, sadness always took precedence." Alexander rubbed the timepiece in his hands as if it could bring her back. In a way, it did, as a memory jogged loose. "The girl liked trains. I can't tell you why. The business didn't run in our family and we rarely rode them. But there was one time—I can clearly recall vacationing in San Diego. My wife and I took her down in a first-class cabin. Red carpet. White tablecloths. It was the height of pampering. Yet little Aster kept wandering off. I eventually found her outside, in the access path between cars. She wanted to be outdoors. To feel the wind on her face. When I found her, I was naturally upset, but her precious look swayed me. I stood there with her for the rest of the trip, and she clutched this railroad watch the entire time."
Suddenly, Alexander had the look of a man who couldn't afford sentimentality. Before I could say anything, he rescinded the offer. "On second thought, it would be too painful to have the constant reminder of a happier time. You can keep the watch." He gently handed it back to me, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Now that I had appealed to his emotions and softened his demeanor, I hoped he would open up to me.
"Are you okay, sir?" I asked, trying to communicate the severity of my question with my eyes. Bedros watched me like a hawk. I tried to motion towards the bodyguard in a way that might be cryptic to a non-native speaker. "With everything?"
The man in the wheelchair took a long breath and nodded slowly. "I am as okay as a man in my position can be, son." Again, I couldn't draw any subtext from his words. He spoke plainly and seemed to either not be aware of or not care about the danger he was in. I was losing him again.
"Alexander, do you know much about your father's life?" The question appeared to aggravate Bedros. Alexander was a more difficult puzzle.
"Of course. He was always supportive of me, especially when I started my family." Alexander took a moment to recover himself. He strained just to breathe. "But so much of my life is a jumble now. It's hard to recollect specifics. Why do you ask?"
"How did Finlay acquire his fortune after getting out of prison?"
Bedros stomped forward. "Time to rest. You go now."
"But—"
"Time to rest. You go now."
"Alexander. How did Finlay get his money?"
Bedros advanced on me. The man in the wheelchair lowered his head and shook it softly. "I know the rumors. They may be true. Unfortunately, that is a subject I am ignorant of."
The bodyguard placed his hand on my shoulder and nudged me. His second shadow was insistent. Determined. Desperate. He didn't want me asking these questions.
As I was shoved away from the tired man, my appeals became more urgent. "Alexander. Your money is in danger. You may be. Why is Bedros watching you?"
My protests were pointless. Alexander paid little attention to my meaning. It was all the favor he could muster by raising his head to me again.
"Don't worry about my assistant," said Alexander. "I hardly remember why I hired him, but my attorney says he's been by my side the six years I was in Keck. He's merely following the instructions of my private physician." The man rubbed his forehead and looked winded from the encounter. "I must agree with him about the rest. This exchange has exhausted me. I thank you for your concern and the memories."
"Yes," said Bedros. "Physician instructions. You go."
I swatted the bodyguard's hand from my shoulder and stepped away from him. He stood like a brick wall between me and Alexander. I sighed as I looked at the nearly broken man. I couldn't help him by pressing his health. I kept several steps between myself and Bedros on the way out of the loft. As the large man closed the door, I shot a knowing wink his way, but his expression didn't surrender his intentions.
I held the chain of the pocket watch as I spun it in my hand, walking towards the elevator. Violet chose not to say anything.
This family was tough to read.
Thursday
The next day found me restless. I hit my programming deadline for the week. It was rushed but it worked, and I rationalized it by deciding to spend more time on the project next week.
The Red Hat party wasn't until the following night, but being cooped up inside just didn't feel right. There was too much turning over in my head that didn't make sense. It didn't help that Violet was being especially tight-lipped. Not only was she mad at me, but she was intent on keeping her secrets. With Alexander under guard, I had one place to turn.
It was usually sunny in November, but the day was overcast with a haze that seemed a fitting portent for my destination. I sped north on the 5 in my Z. I-5 is what we would have called it in Miami, but the west coast likes to drop their Interstate labels. I had a bit of a drive ahead of me, about an hour and a half without speeding, and I was confident I could make good time.
The city of Bakersfield was one of those last resort types of destinations that nobody should ever willingly subject themselves to. Work, finances, or complete apathy were the only valid reasons I could imagine for staying in the dreary place. While it didn't have the desert stigma of smaller communities like Lancaster, Bakersfield was bigger and should have offered more than it did. Instead, it was content with its mediocrity, and I found myself getting depressed
just thinking about it.
Incarceration. That was another valid reason one might end up in Bakersfield. Although Catriona McAllister was technically a patient at the Willow Gardens Mental Health Center, as I saw the perimeter of fences and guard gates, I realized that it likely operated more closely to a prison. Like brother, like sister, I figured. Except Catriona had never recovered.
What are we doing here?
"You're talking to me now?" I asked snidely. The drive was pleasant enough but the city wasn't, and the only reason I was here was because of Violet's lack of cooperation. As I pulled into a parking space, I figured there was no reason to hide what I was doing. She already knew enough. "Don't you want to meet your only other living relative?"
No one else is alive.
"That's not true, Violet. Your grandaunt, Catriona, is living here." I walked on the long sidewalk leading up to the main lobby. Besides the guards that I'd seen, there were no other souls in sight, inside or out.
Please stop digging into my family. My life isn't important.
"This is what we do."
It was a mistake to ask you to follow Sal. I'm sorry. I should have just let you keep doing things your way.
"This is my way, Violet. Why you wouldn't want to save Alexander is beyond me."
You're right. If Bedros is a threat to him, we should expel him. We should be doing that instead of talking to some old lady.
I smiled sadly. I wanted to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She was only twelve. I wondered if she had ever even known about her crazy grandaunt.
"I'm sorry, but we're talking to Catriona."
* * *
I told the staff I had just married the grandniece of a patient and wanted to check in on the new family member. I was prepared to rattle off a string of names and associations to legitimize my visit, but the employees just nodded dismissively. After a short wait on a plastic chair, I was introduced to an administrator and led to the second floor.
"Mrs. McAllister never has visitors," he explained. "She can be a bit... incomprehensible."
