Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  But, he preferred living.

  The old priest, his 'uncle,' hadn't a hot clue what kind of man his benefactor was, or if he did, he was no godly man. He was just trying to provide a reasonable life for his MP 'son.'

  Dominic grimaced a smile. But if his designs pulled through, he would get the last laugh and free many of his brother MFPs.

  He started walking down the deserted sidewalk, keeping into the shadows and listening. Above him, the sky train pulled into the station with a whoosh and the hiss of airbrakes. Far away, a bell tolled, cold, metallic and eerie.

  As soon as he turned the corner, and the train station was behind him, the only light was cold blue light of the streetlights shining off the slick sidewalk. Dominic kicked at the ice-chunks and clenched his cold fingers in his pockets. He could hear a car coming, turning the corner. It had the deep sound of a high-powered engine.

  He glanced back, and saw the shiny grill and dark paint. Then it flashed red lights. Police.

  Dominic paused midstride and turned. The car pulled alongside the curb and stopped. The door opened, and an officer in the dark wool coat and fur cap of the official city police stepped out. Dominic could see, just past him, another officer in the passenger seat. An MP.

  “Sir, we need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Certainly,” he said, injecting surprise into his voice.

  “Come with us.”

  Dominic stood his ground. He held out his hands to him, as if showing him that his hands were empty would help. “Sir, what is this about?”

  “We need to ask you about a certain Jacques Chassange.”

  Damn it. “Sorry, who?”

  The officer stepped closer. “Come with us.”

  Dominic allowed the officer to propel him into the police cruiser. The backseat was warm, and as his icy fingers began to thaw, Dominic was almost grateful. They drove in silence two blocks to the fortress-like police station. It was the only building on the block that was still lit up, and brightly. The chain-link gates slid open, and the cruiser rolled through.

  The two officers got out and escorted him inside to a bare, white-walled room. He was seated on a metal chair at a table, under a flickering fluorescent light, and left alone. Dominic balled his hands up on the table. They were cold again, and his stomach knotted up.

  It was twenty minutes before one of the officers returned, a tall, thin, pinched-faced man. He still wore his wool coat, which billowed around him like a cape as he walked in. “Dominic Vermeer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry, we were running your identification. You may not be the person we were looking for, but I will ask you a few questions anyway.”

  The knot in his stomach eased just a little. “All right.”

  “What are you doing out at this time of night?”

  Dominic looked him straight in the eye. “I delivered a parcel to the train-station.” And that was true.

  “Sending it somewhere for Christmas?”

  “Yes, to my grandparents.”

  This was accepted, it seemed.

  “Are you acquainted with Jacques Chassagne?”

  Dominic’s voice remained completely level. “He is a family friend."

  "How much do you know about his business dealings?"

  "That he owns much of the best real-estate in the residential districts, and also has some manufacturing holdings."

  Under the weird, flickering light it was difficult to read the officer’s expression. His eyes were shadowed under his dark, pronounced brows. “Were you aware that he is in the business of smuggling and black market goods, including drugs?”

  Dominic infused surprise into his voice, and actually felt it this time. "Drugs? No, I never... you must be mistaken."

  "You were never involved in any business partnerships with him?" The officer narrowed his eyes.

  He leaned forward and feigned hurt confusion, "I went to school with Andre Chassagne. Jacques attended my uncle's church. I never did any business with him. Why? What is this about? I'm a genetic scientist, not a businessman."

  "Has he contacted you recently?"

  "He passed me at the station, and we exchanged holiday greetings. What is this about, officer? Am I in trouble?"

  They stared straight into each other’s eyes. Dominic was perfectly calm. First one to speak loses.

  “No,” the officer said. "No, you aren't in trouble. Thank you for your time.” He stood up. “You may go.”

  Sure, let me walk out the door onto the street, jackass. I’m blocks from home, and it's negative 25 degrees outside. Dominic marched out the door. The metal gates groaned open, and he was out on the street. Don't bother telling me why you're hauling me in. I'll get it out of Chassagne. He can count on that.

  Only then did Dominic realize that he should have asked to use the phone. His was at home, at least twenty blocks away.

  Anger could only keep him warm so long. As Dominic marched past the dark houses, his fingers were icy in his pockets. The tops of his thighs were going numb, and his toes had begun to tingle in spite of his wool-lined boots. Once more, he was completely alone.

  And then he passed by a house that was vaguely familiar, a shabby bungalow with one light in the living-room window. It was Khalia’s house.

  __

  Khalia stuck the kettle onto the element and twisted the knob to ‘max’. A long, cavernous yawn slipped out of her, freezing her in her tracks until it was done. The element began to glow, and Khalia turned to look at the movies, sitting in a stack on the table, and the bag of sour cream and onion chips sitting beside it.

  She’d been all gung-ho to watch a movie and vegetate when she’d gotten home from work. The press conference had left her exhausted, dragging herself around the lab until the end of the day. Somehow she’d summoned the energy to cook up an omelet and wash the dishes.

  Now she didn’t feel like doing anything. But, by gum, she was going to make coffee, eat chips and watch a movie. It was only eleven on a Friday, damn it. She wasn’t an old lady.

  She curled her toes in her fuzzy socks, the last pair that had no holes. She had thought about asking Dominic if he was busy, but he’d left work in a hurry. So, instead, when she hit the pharmacy on the way home, she’d found a bag of chips. She pulled her movies off the shelf and chosen one she hadn't watched in ages. That, along with laundry, was to be her weekend and her Christmas.

  The kettle had just begun to steam when the doorbell rang. Khalia’s insides leapt, and for a moment she wasn’t even sure what that noise was.

  Instead of answering, Khalia crept up to the living room window and lifted the corner of the curtains. She peered out, through the bush by the door, and was just able to make out the person on the stoop.

  Dominic.

  When the door swung open, he almost fell inside. Khalia stepped back, and he stumbled through the door into the entry.

  “I’m sorry to int-t-trude.” His teeth were chattering so bad he had to clench his jaw and force the words through his teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” Khalia pulled him farther in and shut the door behind him. “Dominic, what are you doing out here?”

  He braced himself against the doorframe. “I…” he gulped. “I was at-t the train station dropping a parcel. I got picked up by the police, and now I’m on my way home but it’s deathly cold!” His eyes blazed in his reddened face.

  “Why? Why did they pick you up?”

  He pressed his hands together. The tips of his fingers were blue. “They were looking for someone who was dealing drugs.”

  Khalia laughed.

  Dominic grinned, half a grimace. "They were sorely disappointed."

  “Couldn't they drive you back?"

  "And I forgot my phone at home."

  "Geez," Khalia said, "Here, take off your coat. Let’s warm you up.”

  The kettle whistled softly, and quickly ramped up into a full scream. She spun around and raced to switch it off. She hurried to get out the French press and th
e coffee-grinder. Dominic stumbled to the table, sat down, and fumbled with the laces of his boots.

  “I’m sorry about this, Khalia,” he said.

  “No! No, don’t be.” She turned back to him. She should get him a blanket… or a sweater. There were still one or two of Jeremy's in the back of her closet. “Are you hungry?”

  He bobbed his head, still trying to get his boots off. “Starving, actually.”

  She forgot about the coffee momentarily and opened the fridge. She had eggs. Eggs and bread. Good enough. She grabbed the frying pan off the wall and began heating it up.

  When she turned back, Dominic had his coat off and his hands in his armpits, trying to warm them up. His face was even more flushed than it had been, mottled in the greenish light from the stove hood. Khalia flicked on the overhead light and cleared the movies and chips off the table. She thrust them into the corner of the counter, and turned to toss the eggs into the pan and the bread into the toaster. For a moment she concentrated on keeping the eggs from sticking to the pan.

  Thankfully, she’d done the dishes. She produced a plate and cutlery and set it down before him. He was already looking better—warmer, and also calmer—but he didn’t look like himself. His eyes had a hunted expression.

  Milk—she had milk. She poured some into a plastic cup and gave it to him. He had already started on the eggs. His hands had stopped shaking.

  Khalia watched Dominic, bent over the plate, shoveling eggs like he’d never tasted them before. He lifted his head and smiled, closed-lipped to keep in the eggs.

  “You must have been hungry,” she said softly. “I forgot to add spices.”

  He swallowed and gulped half of his milk. “I was. I'm not accustomed to being cooked for."

  “I’m not accustomed to cooking for someone.” Khalia felt a burn of pleasure.

  Dom's face was beginning to look normal, relaxed. “You don’t have to stand,” he said.

  She laughed, took a seat kitty-corner to him, and immediately jumped up. “Want coffee? I was going to make some.”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re an easy guest.”

  “I have simple needs.” His straight teeth flashed as he smiled, though his smile was still a little shaky.

  Khalia crossed the kitchen and unfolded the top of the coffee bag. As the beans clattered into the plastic hopper, Khalia felt the situation sink in deeper—her baggy grey sweats, the smell of onions in the air, the stains on the linoleum and the ratty brown couch. And Dominic, sitting in the white metal chair, looking like a movie-star, albeit a windblown, blotchy one. Her hand shook, and coffee beans rattled onto the floor.

  “Shit,” she muttered. Those were expensive beans. Why was she nervous? He already knew what she looked like naked. Who cared what she looked like in sweats?

  She heard the chair slide across the linoleum, and soon Dom was kneeling beside her, picking beans up one by one and placing them in her palm. She glanced over and met his eyes. He was so close. She drew nearer, and kissed him. His hand slipped behind her head, and caressed a slow circle in her hair.

  “I didn’t come over because I wanted to sleep with you, honest,” he muttered against her mouth.

  Khalia drew back. “Uh...”

  “I mean, I would if you let me,” he continued with a perfectly straight face, "But I didn’t show up on your doorstep because that’s what I was looking for.”

  “What were you looking for?” she whispered, holding his gaze.

  “I think I was trying not to die of hypothermia, but I don’t remember.” He leaned in and brushed her mouth with his own.

  They stood slowly, still close together, and Khalia poured the beans back into the hopper and stood there, looking at the grinder uncertainly.

  “What plans did I interrupt?” Dominic asked quietly, with a look around the room.

  “Coffee, and a movie.” And chips and feeling sorry for myself. Khalia laughed under her breath. How things had changed in twenty-five minutes.

  “Don’t let me stop you. I can go, or stay, or…” He shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The sickly white light over the stove reflected off the short strands of his buzz-cut. “What movie?”

  “I hadn’t chosen yet.” Or at least, she hadn't re-chosen yet. The romantic comedy was definitely out of the question. Khalia turned the dial on the grinder and let it hum its way through the beans. The buttery aroma of fresh medium roast mixed with Dominic’s sandalwood scent. Intoxicating. “It’s cold, Dom. I’m not going to make you walk home. Do you… want to go home? ‘Cause I could drive you.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, all right then.” She turned and dumped the grinds into the French press. “I might need this to stay awake. I’ve just been wiped out after the press-conference.”

  “You did well.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” The kettle was hissing again. She turned to pour it over the grinds, and as she did, his hand slipped around her waist. They were still cool, but they left a burning path. She sagged against him.

  “I’m serious,” he said in her ear, "I'm not being a kiss-ass."

  Khalia laughed breathlessly. Her shaking hands set the timer. Tears oozed out of the corners of her eyes. “Thanks for saving me.”

  “I think we’re even, all things considered.” His chin rested on her shoulder, and they stood that way for a couple minutes.

  The timer beeped. Khalia sighed and depressed the plunger on the coffee pot. “What do you take in your coffee?” She wiggled out his arms and pulled mugs from the cupboard. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember these things like you do.”

  “Sugar, and something white if you got it.”

  “I do.” She pulled cream from the fridge. “It’s one thing I never go without.”

  He trailed after her into the living area. Then she realized she didn’t have the movies and went back for them. She took a glance at the chips, but felt weird about pulling them out. She left them.

  Dominic flipped through the stack. “I don’t really… watch movies, honestly. You pick.”

  Khalia bypassed the romantic comedies, and Gone With the Wind. “Have you seen this one?” She held up Casablanca. “I haven’t seen this one in ages.”

  Jeremy hated it.

  Actually, he hated most movies… had.

  “Yeah. Sure.” He scanned the back, quirked a brow, and nodded.

  They weren’t twenty minutes into the movie when Khalia heard a soft snore. She glanced to her left. Dominic’s head had fallen against the back of the sofa, eyes shut, lips slack.

  Khalia held in a giggle, and grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch. She arranged it around him, and over her lap, and snuggled a little closer to him. The movie continued to drone on as she settled in and focused her eyes on the screen.

  Suddenly, she woke up. The TV buzzed softly, blank-screened. The light over the stove shone green-gray. She was nestled up beside something warm and solid.

  What?

  She raised her head out of the blankets and looked around. As she did, Dominic shifted and muttered something unintelligible.

  Oh. Oh!

  What time was it? Her coffee was sitting on the end table, cold and untouched. The remote fell off her lap as she struggled to sit up. As she pulled away, Dominic slumped over and woke himself up.

  He raised his head. “Where the heck am I?” His voice was garbled with sleep. “Mmm… Hello, Khalia. Did you start the movie or is it done?”

  “I think it’s done.”

  “How was it?”

  “I think I fell asleep.”

  “M’kay.” He slumped back again and shut his eyes. He pulled on the back of her shirt, and she fell against the back of the couch and slid into him.

  Some shred of reason made it through her mind. “If you’re going to sleep, there is a bed.”

  “What a concept,” he muttered, but didn’t move. Then he shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs, and sat up,
depositing her beside him. “You’re right.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Where is it?”

  He propelled her in the general direction of her pointing finger. Now she was becoming more awake—awake enough that when they arrived in the bedroom, lit only by the streetlight through the sheer curtains, she slipped her hands under his shirt and tugged it up until he raised his arms and helped get it over his head.

  With fingers far more deft than hers, he undid the buttons of her flannel shirt and slipped her it off her shoulders. His mouth brushed her shoulder, her collar-bone, and her throat. “You woke up pretty quickly,” he whispered, lips hovering just above hers.

  She wasn’t just awake. She was on fire. Khalia pulled at him, and fell with him onto the bed.

  __

  Khalia sat up so fast that her head whooshed empty, and spots danced before her eyes. Her phone rang again beside her head.

  Dominic groaned beside her. “Answer it, already.”

  “What?”

  “The phone.”

  She fumbled with it and hit the answer button. “H-hello?”

  “Oh, hey, Khalia. Did I wake you up?” said the high, reedy voice on the other end.

  “Uh, yeah… but that’s okay.” No, it was not okay for Jennifer to wake her, whatever hour it was. But too late now.

  “Cool, ‘cause I’m about ten minutes away. I’m bringing you something, okay?”

  “O-okay.”

  “See you in a bit.”

  Khalia put the phone down. “Oh no.”

  Dominic rubbed at his eyes. “Who was it?”

  Khalia swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Jennifer. She’s dropping something off in ten minutes. Oh… goodness it’s cold in here.”

  Dominic must have sat up, because the bed creaked.

  “No, you stay,” Khalia said. “Stay and be quiet.” She found her shirt and her pants over on the other side of the bed. With one leg in and one leg out she hopped to the bathroom and found her robe.