Skillful Death (47 page)

Varol grunted and pushed his way to his chair. Dom maneuvered his legs so he could roll to his side. He used his body to block the old man’s view of his hands, which plucked at the loose fibers of the rope.

“I gave her all the dew and rainwater I could collect. I fed her anything I could catch and cook, but she faded each day. Her belly began to look like a growth protruding from her abdomen. Her body treated our baby like a parasite. She couldn’t hide her contractions, but she tried. She gave birth to an abomination. The terrible thing with its black, bulging eyes could fit in the palm of your hand. Even without the baby sucking the life from her flesh, she didn’t live much longer. Her premature delivery was her body’s last attempt to save itself, but she only outlived our child by four days. Those four days were filled with infinite grief. How can the universe maintain balance when so much grief was generated for no reason?”

“You cannot balance suffering by causing more suffering. Take your retribution, but set my daughter free,” Dom said.

“I will take your child, as you took mine.”

“I don’t even possess those memories anymore,” Dom said. “I will admit that there’s much I don’t know, and you’re not the first person to inform me that there’s more to my past than what fits in my head. If what you say is true, I was older then. Perhaps when my body became younger, I lost the memory of you and your friends.”

“Then you will die as bewildered as my wife.”

The old man stood and shuffled towards the door. Dom rolled on his back and hoped the old man wouldn’t inspect the rope before he left. The conversation gave Dom enough time to make some good progress on the knots. Dom got his wish. Varol didn’t even glance at Dom as he opened the heavy door and left.

Dom closed his eyes and imagined the ropes. His fingers fell into their old rhythms. As a boy, he’d trained them to meld furs together, but they proved equally adept at taking the ropes apart. He couldn’t reach the knots, so his fingers pinched and pulled apart the fibers themselves, turning the strong ropes into a pile of disorganized fluff.

Bound and gagged, Diki came in first. A giant man led her through the door and to the far stone wall of the small room. Diki slumped to the floor. The man picked her up under her armpits and placed her in a chair. With her wrists bound behind her, she sat on her own hands. Dom fought his rage and kept his hands busy on the rope.

Varol came back through the door and closed it behind him.

He spoke in the local language. “This man is very angry. He’s the son of the other man you killed today. We have no witnesses to that murder, just the corpse of a friend left in an alley. Nonetheless, we know it was you who killed Gediz. Perhaps if you’d only murdered one man today, you might have escaped unnoticed. Thank you, Hakki. I will finish with Osman and young Diki.”

The giant man delivered a brutal kick to Dom’s side before he left.

Varol leaned closer, as if to tell Dom a special secret. “As angry as he is, I still don’t trust him for the business we have. You cannot know the heart of a man until you see him when blood is spilled. He snatched your daughter. I would trust no one else to do that work, and it’s good to get his hands dirty in this matter. But I don’t believe he would have the will to dispatch her.”

“Don’t,” Dom said, in the old language. He did not want his daughter to understand. “I beg you. You’ve lived long enough to understand the importance of humanity, and you’re close enough to your own end to understand that you’ll never progress with cold revenge on your hands and in your heart.”

“I have no desire to progress on my path to enlightenment,” Varol said, in the language Diki understood. “Everyone in this damned place wants to ascend. I’m not done descending yet. Maybe today I’ll find the bottom.”

“I will let you kill me,” Dom said. “If you release her now, and give me your word that you won’t ever harm my daughter, I will let you have your revenge on my flesh. If you do not, then I will take your life and send you to hell with your two compatriots.”

“You’re in no position to make threats,” Varol said.
 

Dom’s fingers disagreed. They had reduced the ropes around his hands to mere threads.

“I will kill you, and Hakki. I will find Iraz’s wife and his two daughters, and then I’ll find your fourth. You could save me a few minutes and tell me his name as well, but there’s no need. I didn’t know any of your names this morning, and my work is progressing nicely,” Dom said.

“Ah, the fourth. I’m afraid I’m the last. Pehlivan took his own life this afternoon. I’m sure you’ll become well-acquainted once again in the underworld.”

Perhaps with just one more moment, Dom might have saved Diki, but Varol was done talking. Varol produced a shiny blade from his belt. As soon as he saw the blade in the old man’s hands, Dom stopped trying to fray the rope, and simply pulled. His muscles pulsed with strength as he yanked his arms apart and thrust his legs. Several strands of the rope snapped, but it still trapped his arms behind his back. Dom screamed with the exertion as he energized his arms again. The popping of rope behind his back was echoed by the popping of tendons in his shoulders.

Varol gaped at Dom’s effort and then seemed to remember the knife in his fist. The old man jabbed the knife into Diki’s torso, just below her ribs. Her scream was muffled by the gag stuffed in her mouth. Dom popped the last strands of the rope and his hands flew apart. From the floor, he thrust his legs and tried to launch himself at the old man. With his ankles bound, Dom didn’t get enough momentum to reach Varol’s murderous hands.
 

Dom’s fingers landed on Varol’s ankles. Dom climbed the old man like a tree, grabbing fistfuls of clothing and delicate skin, and pulled himself up. Varol emitted a breathy, gasping scream as Dom’s fingers clawed into his flesh. The old man tried to pull his knife from Diki—desperate for a weapon—but his hands had stuck it too well, too deep.

When Dom got his knees to the floor, he threw Varol aside and yanked the knife from Diki’s chest. Her eyes grew even wider as she panted panicked breaths through the gag.

“You’re going to be okay, Diki, I swear it,” Dom said. He pressed his hand to her chest where her bright blood danced in the candlelight. Her eyes flew to the old man and Dom followed her glance. Varol was a crumpled ink spot in the corner of the dark room. “Hold still, darling.”

Dom kept one hand pressed to her wound while his other hand found the hastily dropped knife. He cut the rope that bound her ankles, cut his own rope, and then helped her lean to the side so he could free her hands.

Diki moaned through the gag as she brought her hands to cover the gushing hole in her chest.

“Hold it tight, my darling. You’re going to be okay,” Dom said. He stroked her face and then worked the gag out of her mouth.
 

“Daddy,” she said. Tears gushed from the corners of her eyes as she spoke the word.

“You’ll be okay, I swear it,” he said. “You have to press hard. Press very hard and I’ll carry you to help.”

“Why, Daddy?” she asked. Her question came out as a whisper.

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t know.”

Diki moaned and squeezed her eyes shut as Dom lifted her from the chair. Dom dragged behind him a length of severed rope as he shuffled towards the door. He tugged the door open a tiny bit with his finger and then swept it open the rest of the way with his foot. In the stone-lined hallway, the big man, Hakki, paced. His face drained when he saw Dom carrying Diki soaked in blood. Hakki turned and ran, crashing into the far wall before he was able to turn the corner.

“Wait! Help us!” Dom shouted after him. “We’ll follow him,” Dom said to Diki. He glanced down at her face. The light in the hall was better. Her face looked as translucent as morning fog. Dom dropped to one knee and pressed his hand against her chest. Her hands fell away. Dom couldn’t feel any beating in her chest.

He pressed his ear to her chest, smearing her bright blood on the side of his face. He heard nothing—no breathing or thumping heart.

“Diki, no! Diki!” Dom shouted. He set his daughter down on the hard floor and cradled her head in his hands. Her limp neck offered no resistance. “No, darling, come back to me. Where are you?” He gently shook her head. “Please, darling, you can’t leave me. I’ll take you to find help.”

Dom collected her limp body in his arms and cradled her head in the nook of his elbow. He shuffled in the direction the large man had fled.

♣
   
♢
   
♡
   
♠

Dom sat in the bright hospital lobby with his head slumped. His unseeing eyes dripped tear after tear into a puddle on the tile floor. He didn’t recognize his friend, who sat down next to him. Dom’s shoulders jerked when Pemba put his arm around him.

“Dom,” Pemba said.

Dom didn’t respond.

“Dom. There’s nothing more to do here.”

“She asked me why. I didn’t know what to say.”

“What could you say? There’s no answer to that question.”

“Yes, there is,” Dom said. “I should have told her that she was dying because of my hubris. I didn’t believe in those ghosts. I didn’t believe that they could strike out from the past and stab into my heart. Into her heart.”

“Dom, you were attacked by terrible people. Nobody could have foreseen what they would do to you and Diki.”

“I should have seen,” Dom said. “I went to them today and they tried to stab me in a public cafe. Why would I try to flee without first taking care of my daughter? What crazy arrogance was that?”

“Then blame me,” Pemba said. “I told you to run.”

Dom pressed the sides of his head with his hands and sobbed.

“I’m sorry to say this, Dom, but we need to go. We have to take Diki back to the village. There’s not a moment to spare.”

“I have to go to the authorities so we can bring justice to Varol and the big man who was in league with him.”

“Varol is dead. What’s to be gained from that? At best, Hakki will be prosecuted for kidnapping. They’ll charge you with murder.”

“Varol? Dead?”

♣
   
♢
   
♡
   
♠

Dom: Are you off to notify the authorities?

Malcolm: About Varol? No.

Dom: But I’ve just confessed to killing him. I swept him aside after he stabbed Diki. Surely his death was caused by my blow.

Malcolm: I think that would be classified as voluntary manslaughter at best. You might even argue it down to involuntary, since your objective was not to hurt Varol, but to rescue your daughter. I don’t think a court would convict you.

Dom: It’s too bad you weren’t there at the time. Pemba convinced me of the opposite.
 

Malcolm: I’ve only heard one side of the story. I suppose that someone else’s perspective might lead to a different interpretation.

Dom: Shall I continue then?

Malcolm: Please.

♣
   
♢
   
♡
   
♠

“In the morgue. His death will be ruled accidental if Hakki maintains his story. I’ve spoken with Hakki. His father Gediz died in the alley, but he is willing to put this all behind us. If you press for his prosecution, then he will surely say that you killed Varol. What’s to be gained from both you and Hakki prosecuted?”

“Justice,” Dom said.

“Diki’s death is a tragedy,” Pemba said. “And Varol, Gediz, Pehlivan, and Iraz, are all dead. How long before the authorities link you to those deaths, Dom? Right now they see a troubled old man who mistook you for someone he once knew. Tragically, that old man killed your daughter. If we start flipping more stones for them, that path will bring nothing but trouble for you. Hakki didn’t want to be a part of this. Let’s go home and begin to heal.”

“I don’t know how you could suggest such a thing,” Dom said. “I will go to the authorities. I don’t care what they believe about me.”

“Of course,” Pemba said. “Wait here for a second.”

Pemba left Dom slumped in his chair. Nothing about the previous day made sense. No matter how many times he tried to piece events together into a coherent narrative, the details swam and scrambled into a mess. How could Diki be dead? How could he have let this happen?

Eventually, Pemba returned with a cup of hot tea. Dom hadn’t moved.

“Here, drink this,” Pemba said. He pressed the cup into Dom’s hands and guided it to his lips. Pemba didn’t relent until Dom had finished the entire cup.

“Now we’ll go,” Pemba said.

“To the authorities?” Dom asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Pemba supported Dom’s arm and led him out into the street where he had another carriage waiting. Dom pulled with both hands and tried to step up into the carriage, but he couldn’t seem to get enough momentum. Pemba lifted from behind, and on the third try, Dom slumped up into the carriage.
 

“Wait,” Dom said. His tongue felt thick and he heard the slur in the word.

“What do you need?” Pemba asked.

“What about Diki?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve seen to it,” Pemba said.

“We’re going to…” Dom started. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Pemba said. “We’re going.”