The Past III Part 2

The Past III
Part 2

October 31, 1982

Dan hoped and prayed that he still had four days. Luke seemed to be spacing his visits about two weeks apart, and ten days had elapsed since his last warning--although it would be eleven since the brick through the window.

Luke was a bully and always had been. Running the neighborhood with him had been exciting, but unpredictable. Dan had never been sure when Luke’s nasty side would emerge. Luke was apt to help an old lady across the street, then turn and steal her purse. Likewise, he could be buddy-buddy with Dan one moment, and beating on him the next. He had taught Dan a lot of sneaky tricks; how to pick a lock and a pocket, how to deal with a fence in Harlem, how to intimidate those smaller and weaker than he was, and how to keep his mouth shut and just sneer when the cops started asking questions.

Dan just hoped he could use what he’d learned to escape his mentor.

The doorbell rang, and Yaya opened it, exposing four small children dressed for trick-or-treating. As she complimented them on their costumes, Dan handed out the candy and worried about how much time he had left.

In between the candy snatchers, he checked and rechecked his emergency bag. He was ready to leave; all he needed was a destination.

As the hands of the clock crept toward midnight, Dan tossed and turned on his bed. He’d nibbled his fair share of the candy he had been distributing, but it wasn’t a chocolate high that kept him awake. He had to decide where to go. He didn’t have enough money to leave the country, and he had no relatives--save for the missing Liam, whom he was beginning to think didn’t want to be found. In Florida, he might find people who had known his father, but Tim had left the Everglades nearly eighteen years before, and his son had only a few first names in his recall. Dan supposed that his grandfather might still be alive, but even if he were, he would be serving a life sentence in prison. Tim Mangan had had no use for the man who had abused him, and killed his mother. No, Saul Cavanaugh was not an option.

Sighing, Dan rolled onto his back, watching the snow drifting down outside his window. He wished, not for the first time, that he knew where Tessa had gone. “Is she in Idaho? Or did her uncle take her all the way back to Hawaii? Why hasn’t she written?” Tomorrow he would get out a map, close his eyes, and pick someplace--any place. As long as it was far away, he would find a way to make it work. The little voice in the back of his mind whispered, “Yeah. With the cops after you, and half a semester of high school under your belt. Sure you’re gonna make it.”

Dan shut out the voice and closed his eyes. He would make it. He had to.

November 1st, 1982
2:00 am

“Wake up, Stupid!” It was Archie’s voice, echoing in Dan’s head. The Rat Bastard stood there, all six feet four inches of him, a lit cigarette hanging from his lip, his belt dangling from his hand. Dan tried to move away, but he was frozen in place, his eyes moving frantically from Archie’s hand to his mouth. Sneering, the man moved stealthily closer, swinging the belt back and forth. He towered over Dan’s motionless body, blowing smoke in the boy’s face. “You stupid punk. You thought you could hide, but I found you, and now you’re going to die. I got a whole pack in my pocket, just for you and that old witch, too.” He laughed, and blew out more smoke. “I said, WAKE UP!”

Dan did. He opened his eyes with a gasp, and found himself alone in his room, in Yelena Maxim’s house. He tried to breathe deeply, to calm his rapidly beating heart, but all he got was a lung full of smoke tinged air.

Fire! Luke’s casual comments about the apartment building came roaring back. The place was on fire!

Fighting down panic, Dan rolled out of bed and onto the floor. His room was half full of smoke, and as he scrambled for his shoes and jacket, he tried to calculate an escape route. Searching his memory for fire drill information, he placed his hand flat on his bedroom door. It was cool. Cautiously, he opened it, and crawled out into the main room. Smoke was filling this room as well. Dan moved to the front door, felt it, and then opened it. The hallway was smoky, but he could see no flames. He turned back, and headed for Yaya’s room.

Dan could hear her coughing behind her door. He knocked once, and then pushed the door open. Yelena Maxim was lying on the floor, dressed in a flannel nightgown and a pair of fluffy slippers. “Daniel,” she rasped when she saw him. “Daniel, we must get out of here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dan agreed, his eyes watering as the smoke thickened. “I didn’t see the fire, but we need to get out.” He crawled to her, and helped her up on to her feet. “This way.”

Dan guided her through the living room and into the hall. He helped her move slowly and steadily down the service stairs. When they reached the third floor, Yaya stopped. “Daniel, you must warn the others to get out. Please.”

Dan hesitated, and then nodded. “Stay here,” he told her. Opening up the door, he ran down the hall, pounding on the walls and yelling “FIRE!!!” He was gasping for breath when he returned to the stairs, and they started down again.

They stopped at the second floor, but as Dan opened the door, flames leapt towards him. He slammed the door, and looked at Yaya with panic-filled eyes. She grimaced, and took his arm. It was already too late.

It seemed to take a year to get down the last two flights of stairs. Both Dan and Yaya were choking and gasping when they finally forced open the door to the street. Taking only a moment to fill his lungs with cold, somewhat clearer air, Dan half-dragged Yaya through the snow, and across the street to safety. He could hear the fire trucks arrive, sirens blasting the night. Everything seemed to slow down in the flashing lights. Dan watched in a semi-stupor as the crowds gathered, and other tenants rushed from the building. His attention was riveted to the men fighting the fire, until Yaya collapsed against him and tumbled into the snow.

Kneeling beside her, Dan shook the elderly woman gently. “Yaya?” Frightened, he cried out, “Yaya? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer, her frail body shaking with the cold, her eyes closed tightly against the destruction of her home. She coughed weakly, and shivered again. Desperately, Dan stripped off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her. “It’s going to be okay, Yaya,” he whispered. Gaining his feet, Dan took off toward the fire trucks, looking for help. Finally, he spotted an ambulance and some paramedics, working on other residents of the apartment building.

“Help! Please. I need help!” Dan tried to shout the words, but they came out as a squeak as he stumbled up to the medics.

“Are you hurt, son?” One of the paramedics reached for him, but Dan shook him off.

“No. Not me. My...grandmother. We were on the fourth floor and now she’s in the snow. Please?”

“Show me,” the man said, motioning for a stretcher. “Show me where she is.”

Gratefully, Dan led them back to where Yaya lay, still covered by Dan’s jacket. The paramedic handed Dan the jacket, and he stood there, clutching it to his chest while the man examined Yaya. They loaded her onto the stretcher, covering her with a yellow blanket. A second paramedic gestured at Dan to follow them. He did, climbing after her into the ambulance and sitting next to her still body. Someone draped a blanket around Dan’s shoulders, and he found himself huddling under it, clinging to Yaya’s limp hand for the ride to the hospital.

At the hospital, Dan found himself shuttled into one examining room, while Yaya was whisked down the corridor to another. People ran in and out of his curtained area. One, a nurse, stopped and handed him a hospital gown, instructing him to disrobe for examination. Dazed, Dan did as requested, stripping off his smoke-stained sweat pants and t-shirt. When the nurse returned, he had a doctor in tow.

“What’s your name, son?” the doctor asked, placing her cold stethoscope on Dan’s chest. “Breathe in and out.”

“Daniel,” Dan whispered, neglecting to mention a surname.

“And your grandmother?” The doctor pulled out a tongue depressor. “Say ahhhh.”

“Yelena Maxim,” Dan said, opening his mouth. “Ahhhh.”

“Can we get hold of your parents?” The doctor moved around behind Dan. Dan stiffened as she hesitated before her gloved hands pressed the stethoscope against his back.

Dan coughed. “My parents are...out of the country right now,” he lied. “But my...Uncle...Nika lives nearby. I should call him.”

“Bob can get you a phone.” The doctor gestured toward the nurse. “I’ll want to talk to your uncle before I release you. You’ve taken in a lot of smoke, but with some rest I think you’ll be fine. I expect your throat and eyes will be sore for a day or two, but we’ll give you some medication for that, and for your cough.” She paused, sitting down so that they were eye level. “You have some interesting marks on your body. Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Dan met her gaze and forced a slight smile. “No, ma’am. I was in an accident a few months ago. It was before I came to New Jersey. That’s why I didn’t go with my parents.” The doctor looked skeptical, so Dan changed the subject. “What about Yaya? Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. She isn’t my patient.”

“Could you maybe check for me? Please?” Dan felt tears welling in his already burning eyes, but for once, he didn’t try to blink them back.

Her face softened slightly, and she nodded as she handed him a tissue. “I’ll check on your grandmother for you, and Bob will call your family. You take it easy.”

Dan wiped his eyes and leaned back against the pillow. When Nurse Bob approached with the phone, he dialed the number, but let the nurse do the talking. Inside, Dan felt guilt nibbling away at him. He had brought this disaster down on Yaya. She had done nothing but love him and keep him; he had destroyed her home. He could only pray he had not also destroyed her person.

Nikodim had arrived first, with a change of clothes for Dan taken from his older son’s closet. He had listened intently to the doctor as she asked questions and issued directions regarding Dan. Dan stayed still on the gurney, eyes half closed, waiting. He noticed Nikodim glance strangely at him a few times, but when the burly blond man approached him, both his voice and manner were gentle.

Now, dressed in a pair of comfortably worn jeans and a black t-shirt, Dan huddled in the hospital family room, trying to make himself invisible. The room was crowded with Yaya’s family, all of them anxious and upset, waiting for news.

Mostly they ignored him, and Dan was thankful for that. He didn’t know how he could face them, especially if Yaya...Dan pushed that thought away. He noticed Nikodim striding toward a man in uniform. Dan stiffened, ready to bolt. Then he recognized the man as the paramedic from the fire.

The man spoke to Nika quietly, pointing once or twice at Dan. Dan shrank in his seat, trying vainly to make himself smaller. He caught Nikodim’s gaze and looked away. He couldn’t take any more. Dan waited until Nika was deep in conversation, and then silently slipped away from the family and out of the hospital.

November 2, 1982

There wasn’t much left. Dan stared at the sad shell of what had been his last home. The burned out husk made his stomach turn. He couldn’t get too close, as there was a guard as well as the yellow police tape around the perimeter. Somehow, the maple trees had survived, merely scorched on the edges. Like me, he thought. Shrugging his shoulders, Dan wandered down the street, wondering where to go.

After escaping the hospital, Dan had hidden in the library before tripping the back lock on Garibaldi’s store and making himself a bed in the storeroom. It was a temporary solution. He had to find shelter. If it were a different season-- spring or summer--he might be able to get by sleeping outside, but not in late fall, heading into winter. It was just too cold.

Pushing snow off a park bench, Dan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his mother’s locket. Rubbing it between his fingers, pondered his lack of options: His cash, and most everything else he owned, had gone up with the apartment, so leaving was impossible. Yaya was out. She was still unconscious in the hospital. The Maxims were out. They would hate him, once they found out the fire was his fault. If he turned himself in to the police or Social Services, he’d end up in jail, or worse: Archie. There was only one choice, and that was Luke. Luke, the beginning and end of all Dan’s problems. Sighing, Dan headed toward his old neighborhood, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

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