The Calling

by Jeffrey Hancock

  My mental marionette lunged at Da’von. He easily avoided my attack. In three swift moves, he took me down to the ground.

  After I was already down, he kicked me. “Now, you should understand who is in control of this shell. You will comply with any demands I may have or I will push you out like I did to Mark Galos.”

  Shaking my head, he kicked me once more. “Okay,” I coughed. “I yield.” Looking up at Da’von, his face held a toothy grin. From on my knees, I said, “Please, see how bad my daughter is hurt.” The screen’s view changed to show my body reaching over to the backseat and checking Moiraine. Her head flopped from side to side, and her eyes had a glassy quality to them.

  “She is dead also,” he stated with disappointment in his voice. “From what I’ve gathered, we were T-boned by a truck. He probably blew through a red light. The driver’s airbag didn’t deploy, and the back quarter of your car where your daughter was strapped in took the brunt of the crash. I’ve seen that look before. Your daughter’s neck most likely snapped.”

  Dropping to the floor, I curled up into a fetal position and started rocking repeating the words, “It can’t be, dear God, no.”

  Da’von turned his back to me and said, “So weak. People die. If providence has seen fit to free me to complete my work, their two lives are little enough to pay.”

  “Bastard!”

  “Quiet. Emergency services are here. I have a role to play.” Da’von began feinting emotional turmoil over the death of my wife and daughter to the firefighters and police. He was convincing, too. They took our body to the hospital. After a day of observation, they released us with only a bump on the head. Da’von decided to head back to my home. He wasted little time. With my cell phone in hand, he called up John and told him he wanted to talk to him about the arrangements for Char and Mo. While waiting for John to arrive, he began some internet searches on airlines and flights to Geneva, Switzerland. He made some notes on a piece of paper. Da’von went into the bedroom and started pulling clothes and toiletries out of drawers. He placed them all on the bed. Next, he searched the closet and found our luggage. He put it on the bed as well.

  “Nathan, where do you keep your passport?”

  “Why should I help you?”

  “Your father-in-law is why. If you cooperate, I will kill him quickly and with no pain. Delay or hinder me, and I will kill him slowly.”

  With the sound of defeat in my voice, “Inside the side pocket of the luggage. Char liked to keep them there. It gave her hope we would travel somewhere exotic one day.” I broke down and cried for my lost family. My wailing became loud.

  “Quiet! I can’t think. Found them. Thanks.”

  In mid wail, “You’re ‘f-in’ welcome.” Da’von continued about his tasks. He packed the bag and took it into the living room. Next, he raided the kitchen. Rummaging around in the pantry and refrigerator, he pulled the makings for eggs and toast. Instead of putting them on a plate and eating like a normal person, he ate the eggs straight out of the pan.

  After taking a couple of bites, he spat the food out, “Oh, those have to be the worst tasting eggs I have ever had.” Da’von threw the pan and the remaining uneaten eggs into the sink. In the living room, he plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. He channel surfed for a while until the doorbell rang. Opening the door, John was standing there, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His eyes were dark and sunken.

  “Come on in, John. Take a seat at the table. We have some plans to go over,” Da’von instructed. John grabbed our body and hugged us. After a long moment, John shuffled to the table.

  “Don’t kill him, please. With the news of his only daughter and granddaughter dying, I don’t see John living much longer. Let him have whatever time is left to him.” John settled down at the table. Da’von walked up behind him and put a hand on John’s shoulder. John straightened up a bit in the chair. Without warning, Da’von took his other hand and swiftly twisted John’s head until his neck broke.

  Da’von called for a cab, and said, “See there, Nate, I am a man of my word. He died quick and painless.” Da’von picked up John and placed him on the couch, posed him with his arm crossed on his chest, then he put the afghan over John’s body, covering his face. Da’von stood quietly over John’s body in what appeared to be prayer.

  When Da’von finished, I stated, “That was uncommonly decent of you. Why did you treat him so?” I asked.

  “He had been a soldier. I respect what and who he was. Unlike you, he served a greater purpose than you ever did.”

  I was shocked not only at him for not acting like a prick, but at the reflection of some of my own thoughts and beliefs. “How did you know he was a soldier?”

  The sound of a car horn could be heard. “A smart general studies his opponents,” he stated matter-of-factly as he picked up the luggage and headed out the door. He loaded up the cab and told the driver to take him to the airport.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Stop with the ‘us.’ This is my body! Why don’t you cross over already? I don’t have the time to listen to you. I don’t want to waste the effort to push you out, so just leave. We will both be better off.”

  “We are going to the airport. Where are we flying?”

  “You were there with me checking flights. Where do you think we are going?”

  “Geneva, but why there?”

  “You don’t need to know, so why should I tell you?” Da’von asked.

  “You’ll get to gloat.”

  “Well, I am not some comic book villain, so you’ll hear no monologue from me. Besides, I am closer to being the hero.”

  “Hero, my sweet tight ass! All you have done is to kill innocent people who have done you no wrong.”

  “No wrong! Every one of the people I killed tried to stop me. I was so close after all these long years. They needed to pay for delaying me. If you had not had me committed to the loony bin, I would have slipped away to finish my task.”

  “Do not blame me for your choices.”

  “I tire of this bickering. Shut-up!” Da’von demanded. We traveled in silence until we reached the airport. After exiting the cab, Da’von took us to a ticket counter. While we waited in line, Da’von asked in a half-laugh, “I hope your credit limit is up for a first-class ticket to Geneva. After all I’ve been through, I deserve a little luxury.”

  “First class? You’ll max out my card!” I exclaimed.

  “Why do you care? You’ll never get the bill.” Da’von stated.

  “It’s the principle. I’ve never flown first class.” Our flight was called, and we traveled to the gate. We started down the loading ramp. It was a long square tunnel with the hatch to the plane at its end. Da’von crossed the threshold to the plane. “It is done,” I rejoiced.

  “What are you rambling about?” Da’von questioned.

  “You are where I wanted you to go. Frankly, I was beginning to worry I couldn’t lead you here, but you came here by your own accord.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “This is where I leave you.” The construct in my mind dissolved. The airplane faded into a hollow box made of salt with one other occupant. The look on Da’von’s face was priceless: Confusion, anger, and disbelief all rolled into one. “So you can know the full measure of your failure, everything that has transpired from the mock interview to the car crash has been but a play in my mind!” I screamed.

  “No, it can’t be!”

  “Yes. You were outmaneuvered, general.”

  The familiar voice of Headache Barbie came in loud and clear, “Nathan, buddy, we can work something out. Let me go, please. It is so lonely.

  “Do not despair, for I have brought you a friend. Da’von, I would like you to meet Headache Barbie. Da’von turned and looked at the cursed doll, and Headache Barbie waved at him.

  Anger flared on Da’von’s face as he tried to escape this prison. As his hands touched the walls, the sound of sizzling
could be heard. “Release me!” He attempted to move around me, but I pushed him back easily.

  “I will,” I paused. “Never!” I closed the salt prison.

  After a few moments, I opened my eyes to a darkened house, and my hand on the salt cube. I rose from the recliner and realized I had to pee in the worse way. After relieving myself, I saw it was in the wee hours of the morning. My mental play had taken the better part of a day. Time in my mind can pass at different rates. What had been a few days in my mind had only been hours. I‘m glad it ended when it did. I don’t know how much longer I could have kept it up. Imagining the whole world in such detail was taxing. I was bone tired and hungry. Mental tasks can be more exhausting than hard physical labor.

  After raiding the kitchen, I laid down next to my wife in bed. I needed some rest before tonight’s performance. It was the grand reopening tonight, after all.

  Charlene rolled over to face me and asked, “How did it go? Did it work, or is he still in there?” She tapped my head a couple of times.

  “Better than I hoped.”

  “Nathan, what is the code word?” She asked as I heard the hammer of my 45 being pulled back and clicked into place.

  “The pistol wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “It was part of my plan, Nathan. What’s the code word?”

  “It’s not a word. It’s a title, tricky woman. It is the title of the first song we danced to at our wedding reception. ‘When I Fall in Love’ sung as a duet by Natalie Cole and her father, Nate King Cole.” Charlene purred and smiled as she handed over the pistol. The song became my lullaby as I drifted off. And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too…

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Daddy, wake up. Mommy says you have to get up,” Moiraine said as she shook me gently.

  Opening my eyes, I focused on the clock. It showed I had slept most of the day away. “I’m awake now, Mo. Thanks.” Nervousness flooded over me. Tonight, I was to star in a production of Man of La Mancha. Rising out of bed, it finally hit me full force. Oh, crap! I rushed to the toilet and emptied the contents of my stomach. Finished with my impromptu vomiting, I went to brush my teeth. The brush jittered around in my hand. I was shaking so bad.

  Charlene came walking into the bedroom and said, “Nathan, you have to hurry if we are going to drop you off in time.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right,” I answered as I started pulling fresh clothes out. Keeping busy has to be the key. I have been too busy to get nervous. That’s it. Keep busy, and I won’t puke all over myself. The sound of that word, puke, is too bland. Spew is good, but not quite right. When you have vomited for both distance and accuracy as many times as I have, you start looking for new ways to express the fact.

  As I finished dressing, Char said, “People, we are going. That means you, Nathan!”

  Dashing out of the bedroom, I found everyone waiting on me. John, Moiraine, Charlene, and Mrs. Blake, bless her heart, were all gussied up in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. We all walked to the car. John decided to show me up by offering his arm to Mrs. Blake. Not to be outdone, I offered my arm to Charlene. There was a tugging on my shirt sleeve. Moiraine had a miffed look to her. I offered her my other arm. She’s learning. Half of us all squeezed in the car and the other half into Tony’s cab. Then we were off.

  They dropped me off near the backstage door. As I passed through the backdoor, the backdoor manager was tapping his watch at me. “I know. I know,” I said, exasperated at his reminding me of my tardiness. Rushing to my dressing room, I wasted no time. The hallway was filled with cast members already in their make-up and costumes. Making all my agility rolls, I managed to maneuver through the throng without pushing, ramming, shoving, bumping, tripping, or falling. After entering my dressing room, I became a blur as I dressed and applied my make-up. Now standing before the full mirror in the room, I gazed at myself. I exclaimed, “I am Don Quixote de la Mancha!”

  We opened to a packed house. The whole cast and crew were hitting their marks and picking up their cues. It came to the time in production where Theresa and I had agreed to change things up a bit. We reblocked the scene where Don Quixote professes his love for Dulcinea. I faced her downstage, but my line-of-sight over her shoulder brought my eye to where Charlene sat in the audience. Charlene’s and my eyes locked while I sang “Dulcinea.”

  “I have dreamed thee too long…” In my singing of this love song, I poured the love I have for my Charlene. From the first touch, though I know some say it’s crazy, I have loved her with every fiber in my being. I poured all that we have shared together into the song. I poured the hope of all that is to come into my singing. Many people don’t believe in “Love at first sight,” and they may be right. I don’t know. I have never experienced that phenomenon, but I have felt, “Love at first touch.” When our hands touched for that first briefest of moments, it was like I had found the missing piece to the puzzle of my life.

  The song ended, and something amazing happened. I received a standing ovation. “Dulcinea” is a tender and sweet song, but it has never been a showstopper. The audience’s reaction threw me for a loop. My hope is Charlene heard more than just the words I sang to her.

  The remaining show went about as perfect as it could go. As we took our bows, the audience rose once again. When Theresa took her bow, the audience cheered even louder. She was beaming at the admiration. As she was bowing, I motioned to the crewman in the wings. He brought me the bouquet of roses I had arranged to be delivered. I presented them to Theresa. She sparkled at my gesture and kissed my cheek. It was my turn to bask in the applause. I would not have thought it possible, but they cheered me loudest of all. In fact, I don’t think I have received that much applause since the first time I made Charlene orgasm by only washing her hair on our first weekend away together. That’s a memory I need to pull out of the vault and relive.

  Backstage, the cast party started almost the moment the curtain closed for the last time. Cheers went up. People hugged and kissed. And the sound of many corks popping filled the air. There were some pretty good eats laid out, too. The one thing missing was my family. I had told them to come backstage after the show. It was disappointing. Maybe Mrs. Blake was at the end of her endurance? Filling a plate with delicacies I rarely got to eat, I chowed down in earnest, for I was very hungry, almost ravenous. People kept trying to get me to drink alcohol in some form or another. I just waved them off with a polite “No. Thank you.”

  Staying long was never my plan for the party, so after about thirty minutes of hobbing and nobbing, I left for my dressing room. As I began taking off the make-up, I heard knocking on my door. Theresa was standing there with an unopened Diet Pepsi.

  She spoke up, “Nathan, I brought you something special. I heard you don’t partake in liquor of any kind.”

  Taking the cold can, I popped the top and drank deeply. “Thank you.”

  “You know, Nathan, I like to bed my leading man on opening night.”

  “How long has that been your tradition?”

  “Well, I wanted to start the tradition tonight, but the way you sang ‘Dulcinea’ tonight, I knew there was less than a chance it was going to happen.”

  “Yes, I love my wife even more than that song conveyed.”

  Theresa reached out and hug the stuffing out of me, and I hugged her back. Even though I knew I could have her with but a word, there was no desire in my heart, head, or loins. When the hug ended, she pulled a note out from her pocket.

  “Your wife left this for you,” she said, as she handed me the note.

  “My wife met you?” I swallowed.

  “Yes. We only exchanged a few words, but she struck me as a classy lady.”

  “I have always found her to be.”

  Theresa gave me another quick hug and kiss on the cheek. She turned to leave and said, “I think Tom is going to get very lucky tonight.”

  Chuckling to myself as Theresa left, I opened the note and read.

  Nathan, I am s
o proud of you. We decided to cut out early. Moiraine was staying awake by pure force of will. Even my dad was starting to feel tired. Just so you know, Mrs. Blake had a stellar evening. I hope this trip out begins to break her cycle of fear. Have your fun. Don’t rush to come home. Love, Charlene.

  After I finished changing and cleaning up, I left the theater. Saying goodbye for the night wouldn’t be easy, so I left, dilemma solved. Walking for a time, I found myself strolling on the edge of the Gas Lamp section of town. There aren’t many people out, and I eventually was alone. I did it, and I was good. Out of the shadows, a man approached me. Normally, I would be a little apprehensive, but no fear came over me. The man stopped and stayed in the shadow, so I couldn’t get a look at his face.

  This stranger spoke, “I saw your performance, kid. I want to tell you, I approve. You did alright.”

  His voice was familiar, but I didn’t want to make an effort to recall him. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “That’s all I wanted to say to you. Have a good night.” This stranger in the shadows turned and walked away.

  I thought, Wow, a fan. I heard a woman’s scream abruptly cut off. Here I go, sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Running toward the scream, I found nothing. Then I heard some scuffling down an alley. Peering down through the darkness, I saw a man on the ground and another hovering over a woman. Without thought, I charged down the alley. “Stop! Get away from her!”

  “It’s all right mister. Just a mugger. I took care of him.” As he finished his statement, a scream of “no” came from the woman.

  That was all I needed. I charged forward, calling out as I ran closer, “Get away! Run! Leave!”

  The mugger turned his attention on me and closed the distance. He was swinging something around. As he got closer, I saw it was an athletic sock with something heavy and round in the end. Who’s going to help me? Came to my mind. I thought the woman would come up behind the guy and bash him on the head, but no such luck. She went to her companion’s side. Really, lady!