2. Caleph
2
CALEPH
T here’s fire and ice everywhere as a tiny meteor comes hurtling out of nowhere and smacks into me like hell on wheels. The area around me is sparking with shockwaves; short, abrupt spurts of electricity that pierce my skin, setting me alight.
There’s an angry little spitfire – cluttered and clumsy – mumbling what sounds like an apology before she flees just as quickly as she appears. She’s acting like she’s leaving the scene of a crime, and maybe she is, so I make way and let her pass. I’d never consciously stand in the way of someone committing a crime. Not my style.
I watch her as she turns and runs away, this bat out of hell, then watch with an unusual level of interest as her handbag goes skating across the ground, the contents unceremoniously dumped on the concrete walkway. She curses rather loudly, then stomps her foot in irritation, like a child who hasn’t gotten their way. I hear her huff from where I stand before she crouches and hurriedly scrapes her belongings together, throwing them into her bag quickly.
“Boss?”
Manny comes to stand beside me, curiously following my gaze to the woman. It’s extremely unusual for me to take an interest in anything other than my work. And this one small act, stopping to watch something as mundane as a woman losing her shit over the bad day she’s having, has me wondering if I’ve lost my mind.
“I saw her bump into you,” he says. “You want me to have a word with her?”
I turn my assessing gaze toward him. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me; why he feels the need to pull up a woman for pushing past me. She’s obviously in the middle of some sort of emergency.
I’ve spent more than enough time standing here watching a helpless woman collect her things off the sidewalk. She’s a mousy brunette who’s obviously seen better days. I shake my head and turn away as we walk into the hospital, down the halls until I finally come to a stop outside my destination.
There are two soldiers at the door, armed to the teeth, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care either way if they frisked me or not. Because I do care. I smile internally as the first soldier steps forward and indicates for me to turn around. He pats me down and he does it well. He removes the gun strapped to my ankle and puts it into the back of his waistband.
Manny steps forward to intervene, but I stop him with a look, appreciative that he does his job well. Don’t need a gun where I’m going. I don’t need a gun, period. If I wanted to do damage to someone, I’d use my bare hands. My eyes could do the job just as well.
Manny does a good job of protecting me when I come to Seattle, and he does an even better job of running local operations for me. But there’s no need for him to be overly protective. Everyone here knows exactly who I am. They know the power I wield, and they know what I’m capable of.
Even so, I would expect nothing less than the highest security measures for the man laid up in the hospital room regardless of who visits, and I’m glad that security is so tight.
“You’re cleared. They’ve been waiting,” the soldier murmurs after doing his job. He gives me a look of appreciation for letting him frisk me without argument. There’s nothing like earning a man’s respect through your diplomacy rather than through the violence of your fist. I nod and move quietly through the door.
I enter the sparsely furnished room, my eyes immediately falling to the bed where the old man lies. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s at peace. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and I realize how much I’ve missed him in the time I’ve been away. I make a mental note to put more effort into being more active in his life. Especially looking at him and seeing how he’s aged. I don’t know how much time we’ll have left with him, and I don’t want to live my life with regrets. Not with this man.
His son stands on one side of the bed, a woman on the other side. I understand he got married recently; this must be the wife I haven’t yet met. My eyes linger too long on the dark-haired beauty; they must because she moves from her place and goes around the bed until she curls into her husband’s side, looking at me with some discomfort. It could be the scar running above my eyebrow, or it could be my sheer presence. I’ve heard a lot about her, but no one’s mentioned how beautiful she is. They make a beautiful couple.
I heard also that it took them a while to get to the altar. That by the time they got there, they just rushed down the aisle. No sign of a baby, though, so I’m not sure why they were in such a rush.
Her husband winds an arm around her back, his hand resting against her skin, his fingers soothing her softly. It’s a delicate touch but it speaks volumes. It speaks of love and desire and all the emotions we as humans hope to attain at least once in our lifetime. That most of us know we never will.
Something flickers in my chest as I watch them together. They make the perfect couple, complementing each other in every way possible, like two sides of a mirror. He stands about a head taller than her, but they may as well be equals the way they look at each other.
He drops his arm and clasps her hand in his own as he walks toward me.
“Dante,” I greet him.
“So glad you could make it, brother.”