Requiem

by Jim Moens

  “What if papa--”

  “He won't, okay? We'll be quiet.” Dennis stepped back from the window and extended a hand. “Just for a few minutes. I promise. It’s important.”

  Ayala touched the sleeve of her white nightgown. “Should I change?”

  Dennis shook his head. “Nah. It's a beautiful night. You don't even need your coat.”

  “Alright, then,” Ayala said, and slid out the window and into Dennis' arms. He kissed her and smiled.

  “Let's go,” he said.

  A fence, at least ten feet in height, surrounded the quarry. While it was theoretically possible to scale the fence, one would also have to contend with the razor wire along the top. Desmond arranged to have the fence installed some years ago, not long before David took over the quarry's operations. David questioned such a large expense, but Desmond felt it necessary. He cited the possibility of competitor sabotage, not to mention the prospect of war. Since Germany had once again become the international villains, he felt that a business owned by a German family might become a target at some point. Dennis, fortunately, had a key to the front gate.

  They drove through the entire property, winding through piles of stone as big as Dennis' house. They finally reached the main excavation area. It was a sheer drop of jagged rock, at least fifty feet down. The light of the moon reflected on the small lake below. Ayala had been to the quarry several times, to visit both Dennis and her father, but certainly hadn't been this far back into the property.

  Dennis came to a stop several feet from the edge. He turned off his car.

  “So this is where it all happens,” Dennis said.

  “This is where papa works?”

  “Here and other areas I guess,” Dennis replied. “He's one of our best workers, you know.”

  Ayala leaned over and gave Dennis a peck on the cheek. “I told you that the first day we met. He's a good man with a strong back.”

  “He sure is.” Dennis was silent for a moment. “Do you love me? Do you really love me?”

  “How could you even ask that,” she said. “Of course I do. More than anything.”

  “Even if...” Dennis started to say, but trailed off.

  “Even if?”

  Dennis gripped the steering wheel. “I'm just not sure if I want to be... you know?”

  “What are you saying? You don't want to get married?”

  “No... I do, I really do. More than anything.” Dennis gestured towards the rest of the quarry. “It's this. It's the quarry, and running this business, all of that... being the next Schmidt in line.”

  “You don't want to work at the quarry?”

  “I've been thinking I don't really want to be the next ruler of the Schmidt family empire. I just want to be Dennis. I want to live my life, not Grandfather's.”

  Ayala nodded slowly. Just let him talk it out.

  Dennis took Ayala by the hand. “Would you still love me if I was just some regular Joe?”

  “I love you,” she said. “Not your family, or the money, or the quarry. I love you, Dennis Schmidt.”

  Dennis smiled as broadly as he ever had.

  “So if I just chucked it all--”

  “You could be a bagger at the grocery store,” Ayala said. “You could be a janitor. I will still love you and I will still want to be your wife.”

  Dennis pulled Ayala's face toward his. He brushed his lips against hers and whispered, “I love you. Forever.”

  “I love you. Forever,” she whispered back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  She would grasp one of the iron bars, pull herself up a bit, and only then was she able to see out of the window. Nothing but the rolling dunes of a desert as far as the eye could see. Sometimes, if she squinted, she could see points of light off on the horizon.

  She tried to never think of it as a cell, but rather as her room. Her home. It was a concrete box, essentially. The barred window was high on one wall. A cot, with a thin mattress, jutted out from another wall.

  She had no sense of time in this place. Had she been there for years? Months? Days? The only mark of the passage of time were the meals. Generally a doughy biscuit, some gamey and oddly but pleasantly seasoned meat, and often an unidentifiable and very sweet fruit.

  She would, at times, hear voices echo in the corridors outside her room. Slow footfalls would follow and the voices would eventually resume. It was as if no one dared to speak as they passed by her. Less often, rhythmic music would come from the streets below. She would look out the window, but was never able to see the source of the songs.

  She would exercise. She developed a routine that included, among other things, push-ups, crunches, and even some cardiovascular work… generally kicks and punches directed at an imaginary opponent. She practiced her katas and did some yoga. Should she ever be freed from this room, she would not be weak or soft. She would be strong and lean and remain a warrior to the core.

  She also meditated. A lot.

  She drew in a deep, long breath just as the door (composed of solid iron as far as she could tell) began to shake slightly. She opened her eyes and stood straight up from her half lotus as the rattling noise grew louder. The shaking intensified until the door flew into her room, tumbling end over end until it came to rest along the opposite wall.

  She took a tentative step toward what was now a gaping hole in the wall.

  Was this a trap? Or was it the aftermath of an external attack?

  Just as she started to take another step, a hooded, robed figure stepped into the room at a gait so smooth it almost seemed to float over the rubble.

  “You are needed,” came a voice from under the hood. The voice was quiet, yet it resonated throughout the room.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “Please come with me,” the hooded figure replied. “Time is short.”

  She felt an odd creep of dread, rather than the expected anticipation of freedom. “What am I… what’s happening?” she stammered.

  The figure reached towards her with a delicate hand. “It’s time to help your family.”

  “I'm just really concerned,” Doug said into his phone. “I'm pretty sure we're going to start losing people left and right. Really, we already are.”

  “We certainly don't want that,” said Mark Hacker on the other end of the phone. Mark was the Upper Midwest Regional Vice-President of Hester's Value Mart. Doug had met Mark several times in the course of his Hester's career and always found him to be decent and fair.

  “I've been with Hester's for nine years,” Doug said, “and this the first time things have ever been this bad.”

  “Maybe what I need to do is find some time for a surprise visit,” Mark said.

  “You know he'll be on good behavior for you.”

  “I know,” Mark said, “but maybe I can talk to some of the other folks there. Cut through the bullshit. See what they're thinking.”

  “I would appreciate it,” Doug said and heard a beep. “But listen, I'm getting another call.”

  The call was from Bill's brother Gabe. He suggested Doug come to the hospital right away.

  “He slipped into a coma a little bit ago,” Gabe said as they stood outside Bill's room. His eyes were red and his cheeks were flushed. “Not sure what's going to happen or... how long we've got.”

  Doug bowed his head.

  “The doctors say it's probably one of the tumors that put him in the coma,” Gabe continued. “They're saying that he may not come out of it.”

  Doug gave Gabe's shoulder a squeeze.

  “You can go in and see him,” Gabe said, “Maybe say your goodbyes if you need to.”

  “Sure,” Doug said quietly and stepped into the room. Bill looked smaller yet. His only movement was the rise and fall of his chest during each shallow breath.

  Doug sat in a chair next to the bed.

  “Hey buddy.” he began. “I don't know if you can hear me... some people say when you're in a coma you know what's going on around you... but maybe that'
s bullshit, I don't know. Anyway, you told me to do better than you. And I think I know what you meant by that. I have some regrets, you know... maybe I haven't lived the life I could've or should've. But I can do better than all that. And I will, okay? Somehow I will.” Doug barely managed to keep his voice from breaking. “I promise.”

  Doug paused. He looked down at Bill's still form.

  “Gabe says maybe I should say my goodbyes. But I'm not going to. I'm not going to give up on you. I think you're going to come out of this and we're going to sit down at O'Brien's Pub and have another beer or two. Or three. Sound like a plan?”

  Doug paused for a moment. He listened to the voices in the corridor outside.

  “I'll be back, bud. And I'll try to be here when you wake up. We still have my Forty Year-Old Virgin DVD to watch, alright?” Another pause. “I'll see you tomorrow, buddy.”

  Doug stood and looked at Bill one more time before he slipped out the door.

  Doug knew it probably would have been far better timewise to stop at home first or better yet, skip this little side trip altogether. In the end, though, he knew he had to see her.

  He entered Franklin Elementary through the front door, stopped in the office to sign in, and turned left past the entrance to the gymnasium. The library was the first door on the right. He entered and immediately saw Rebecca talking to a couple of younger students at the checkout desk. She didn't see him at first, so he watched her. She smiled and laughed. She looked up as the two students walked away and saw Doug. Her expression went from her initial bewilderment to delight in an instant.

  Rebecca walked over to Doug, stopping only to direct a girl, apparently a bit younger than Frankie, to the chapter books in the rear of the library.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” she said as she reached him and gave his hand a little squeeze. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  Doug didn't say anything. He was unsure what to say anyway.

  “Is everything okay?” she said.

  “I went to go visit my friend Bill in the hospital,” Doug said. “He slipped into a coma and the doctors aren’t sure that he’s going to come out of it.”

  Rebecca embraced Doug. “I'm sorry,' she said. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “The funny thing is... I left there and all I wanted to do was come see you. I hope that's cool.”

  “Yes. That's cool,” she said.

  A class entered the library. Doug couldn't see them, but heard their small, bright voices all around him.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she said. “Anything at all?”

  Before Doug could answer, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey dad... why are you hugging the librarian?”

  Doug looked down and saw Frankie with a perplexed look on her face.

  “I'll fill you in later,” Doug said and pulled Frankie into their embrace.

  Doug had to rush to get home, change, and make it to work. Even having probably broken a variety of traffic laws, he was still ten minutes late. He hurriedly punched in, hoping to dodge the Brian bullet.

  “Is that Doug?” he heard.

  Not so much.

  Doug entered Brian's office. “What's up?” he said.

  “You're late,” Brian said, not looking away from his computer screen. “I presume you have a good reason.”

  “I had to go visit a friend in the hospital. You remember Bill Murphy, right?”

  “Tardiness is epidemic around here,” Brian said and leveled his gaze at Doug. “That needs to change.”

  “You heard what I just said, right?”

  “I believe in a little something called discipline,” Brian said. “That means doing what you're supposed to be doing... when you're supposed to be doing it.”

  The emphasis on the word “when” was not lost on Doug. “This is the second time I've been late in the past year, Brian.”

  “Good for you,” Brian said, “but I'm more concerned with what's going on now. Today.”

  “Well, I'll tell you what's going on today,” Doug said, mindful of not letting too much venom creep into his voice. “My friend... your employee... is in a coma. It's possible that he'll never regain consciousness. You've pissed off basically everyone that works here and fired one of the best employees this store ever had. Fired her for basically no reason, I might add. That's what's going on.”

  Brian was speechless.

  “You want to write me up for insubordination? Go right ahead. In fact, I dare you.” Doug stepped forward. “You're a bully. That's all there is to it. And it's about time somebody stood up to you.”

  Brian glanced at his computer screen. His face was beet red.

  “We done here?” Doug said.

  Brian nodded, not looking away from his screen.

  “Good. I have to get to work now.”

  “I haven't had this one before, mom,” Doug said, hefting a forkful of his Hamburger Helper. “It's good.” Doug's demeanor had improved greatly since the morning, given the combination of his visit to the library and standing up to Brian. A good, stick to the ribs meal never hurt either.

  “It's Supreme Cheese Pizza,” Karen said from across the table. “I think it might be new. Do you like it, Frankie?”

  Frankie nodded and continued eating.

  “You're quiet tonight,” Karen said to her.

  Frankie smirked. “I have a secret,” she said.

  “A secret?” Dale said with a chuckle.

  Frankie nodded and looked over at Doug.

  “Go ahead,” Doug said, resigned to his fate.

  “Dad was hugging the librarian today,” Frankie said.

  Silence. As expected, neither Karen nor Dale had the first clue what to say.

  “And dad's writing a book.”

  More silence.

  “So... maybe a little explanation is in order?” Doug offered.

  “That would be good,” Karen said.

  Dale nodded in agreement.

  “Um... okay,” Doug began. “So I actually met Rebecca through a guy I work with, her brother... and yes, she just so happens to be the librarian at Franklin. She's quite amazing, really. And as for the book... well, Rebecca had heard one of my warrior stories, you know, the ones I tell Frankie... and suggested I write some of them and then publish them online. I thought, why not?”

  “Wow,” Karen said after a long pause. “Thanks for keeping us in the loop.”

  “Mom--” Doug began.

  “I just like to know what's happening in my son's life, is all.”

  “I wasn't trying to hide anything,” Doug said, putting down his fork. “This all just happened.”

  Karen sighed and was quiet for a moment, as if she was mustering up the energy to speak her piece.

  “I just want to watch out for you,” she said. “I don't want you to get hurt. You remember what happened once before.”

  Frankie looked at her grandmother quizzically. Of course the cool librarian lady would never hurt dad.

  “I'm not...” Doug leaned back in his chair and sighed. Of course she had to bring up Frankie’s mom, albeit subtly. “You think I'm going to get hurt? Is that what your tarot cards say?”

  Karen looked stricken.

  Dale finally spoke up. “You mother doesn't go there anymore, Doug.”

  Doug was silent for a moment. He picked up his fork and stabbed it into his plate of Supreme Cheese Pizza Hamburger Helper.

  “Let's everybody eat, okay?” Dale said.

  Frankie eagerly attacked another forkful. Doug, suddenly back to being filled with an aimless dread, didn't feel quite so hungry anymore.

  Doug was, of course, pleased that there were no strange dreams to be had like there were the previous night. No vivid trips to QuestWorld or surreal attacks by scary men in black. Just sleep. Just pure, blissful sleep. He did take a quick virtual trip to QuestWorld after putting Frankie to bed... there was no Kala-Ru and no Laurel to be found. He sent her another email, but again, no response. He even tried to write more X
en the Warrior adventures, but the creative spigot had been shut off for the time being.

  Doug eventually settled in but had a great deal of trouble actually getting to sleep. Finally he drifted off, only to wake up just shy of 3am. Hungry, he thought perhaps a snack was in order. A jar of pretzels rested on the kitchen counter next to a smaller jar of the cookies he and Frankie had made.

  Doug reached for the cookie jar, and suddenly the kitchen floor buckled under his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. He stood, only to be blasted by hot water from the hose on the sink.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  Doug rose and felt the hair on his arms prickle. Someone or something was right behind him. He whipped around and faced a strangely familiar figure of nothing but inky blackness.

  A Shadow Warrior? One of Dragon Lord's hand-picked team of enforcers?

  Whatever it was, the form shot out an open palm at Doug's face, pushing him back a couple steps. It then swung a high kick at Doug's head that he was barely able to dodge.

  Doug found himself once again in a fighting stance. He then heard a familiar and unwelcome voice.

  “Do you like them?” Damon said. “I plucked them straight from your imagination.”

  Them?

  Doug found a shadowy arm suddenly around his neck. Damon stepped into Doug's view.

  “You're starting to piss me off, Doug,” Damon said.

  “What exactly am I doing to piss you off?” Doug managed to say.

  The Shadow Warrior tightened its grip on his neck. Doug elbowed the Shadow Warrior behind in the ribs, immediately grabbed its arm and twisted it into the other warrior. They both went crashing to the floor.

  “Nice move,” Damon said. “Better than what your sister did. She just tripped me to the ground.”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “When I killed her... you know, on the bridge.”

  Doug smashed his fist into Damon's jaw. Damon reeled, but sprang back with a punch of his own, right to Doug's mid-section, a blow that almost took Doug off his feet. He followed that up with a sharp elbow to the back of Doug's head. Damon grabbed the back of Doug's head by the hair and slammed him into a cabinet. Doug fell in a heap to the floor.