NightSide - Asynchronous Mud

And every night, without fail? She shook herself free of the darkness, walked away from the shadow and back into the kitchen.

Why? What was it about the dream that had so focused her mind?

She walked to the garage with her coffee and put her bag on the passenger seat. She started the car and backed out the drive, then made her way through heavy snow to the crew lot at Logan. Once on the crew shuttle she relaxed, sat back and drifted back to the dream...

...dark gray mist. Everywhere, walls of silent, bare trees her only company...

...a vast carpet of brittle leaves -- leaves haunted by something unseen...

...always the one lamppost, its feeble glow so lost, and she was also very much alone...

The shuttle stopped at Terminal 3 and she hopped off, went to the dispatch office. There were new RNAV approach plates for LAX and she put them in her binder, then she looked over the METARs along this morning's route, and she put that weather information sheet on her clipboard too. Weights and balances checked and signed, and then the passenger manifest: checked and signed. Fuel load-out: signed. Mechanical issues, looked over and signed. She wondered where Doug Ross, her First Officer this morning, was; he was usually early and always prepared, but not today.

She looked at the dispatcher, caught his eye: "Where's my F.O.?" she said.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Called in, has the flu. Your F.O. has checked in already," he said, looking at the clock on the wall, "maybe fifteen minutes ago. Reckon she went out to the gate."

She looked at the bug list, pointed at it: "What's with the hydraulic pressure on two?"

"Already got it. A pinhole leak, new fitting. The issue's supposed to be resolved."

"Okay," she said, "thanks Dale."

"You bet, Captain. Have a nice flight."

She left the office and walked out into the terminal, through the bleary-eyed, early-morning crowds shuffling on their way to the security line. She went through the crew line then walked out to the gate, dropped her bag in the cockpit then walked down the stairs off the Jetway down to the ramp. She saw her F.O. on the far side of the aircraft, on a ladder with her head inside the number two engine nacelle, so she walked over to the ladder.

"What's it look like, Katie?" she said to her First Officer up there on the ladder.

Katie Douglas popped her head out of the engine and almost dropped the flashlight in her hand. "Looks dry, Captain. I powered up Bus Two, actuated some systems. If there's a leak I can't find it."

She nodded. "Okay. I'll finish the walk-around. See you upstairs."

"Right, Captain."

Laura Richardson walked aft, towards the rear of the Boeing 777, checking wheels and tires and brakes, then cargo doors and the RAT hatch, the Ram Air Turbine that powered limited electrical systems in an emergency, then she walked over to the number one engine, where the Fuel Boss was finishing-up their load-out. Satisfied things were ship-shape, she walked back up to the Jetway, then into the aircraft.

Jake Steinway was in the first class galley, opening a bottle of champagne. She always got a chuckle out of him, always had something fun to say about a female captain and a "boy-toy stewardess" being in charge of the flight, and today was no different...

"Had your sex change operation yet, Captain?"

"Yeah, well," she said, "Mine's all set -- right after yours!"

He high-fived her, came close and hugged her. "I can't wait!" he lisped in his staggeringly effeminate way. "You'll do me first then, won't you?"

The other flight attendants were left giggling as she groaned, then she walked forward into the cockpit. She found the flight-plan in her case and began waking up the ship's systems...

+++++

He woke slowly, rubbed his throbbing temples and wiped away drool from the corners of his lips. He sprinted to the toilet, stood for hours until he'd drained his bladder, then went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup from the brew Laura had left on the coffeemaker. He looked at his wristwatch, saw he was up earlier than expected and went to Dana's room and woke her with a kiss on the forehead...

"Time to get up, sweetheart," he said softly. He watched her grumble and groan, stretch out under the covers, her arms hitting the headboard -- and he wondered once again how they grew up so fast.

"Hi, daddy," Dana said warily. "Has mom left already?"

He smiled. "There's lipstick on your forehead, and it sure isn't mine!"

They laughed.

"You taking me to school today?"

"You betcha."

"Cool."

"Cool. We'll leave 'bout a quarter 'til, okay?"

"Okay..."

He went to the kitchen and made french toast and bacon, poured juice and had it all ready by the time Dana came out. They ate in silence, then he slipped the dishes into the dishwasher before they walked out to the car. He was buckling in when the phone rang.

"It's your mom," he said, handing the phone over to Dana.

"Mom?"

"Are you up yet?"

"Yeah, we're in the car. Dad made french toast and bacon!"

"Did he?"

"Better than yours, too," she said, laughing with an insider's quiet glee.

"That wouldn't be too hard to do," Laura said. "Could I speak with your father?"

"Sure. Will you call when you get in tonight?"

"Don't I always?" She heard Dana passing the phone to her father. "Ralph? You there?"

"Yup. Missed you this morning," he said quietly, knowingly.

"I missed you last night," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So, what are you doing today?" she asked, changing the subject quickly lest the black hole return.

"I don't know. Laundry, I guess. I need to shovel out around the basement windows, do the sidewalks before they ice over. You coming back Friday?"

"Yup. I'll be home around four."

"Okay. Dana's recital is at seven. I'll have dinner ready by five," he said.

"Thanks Ralph, but why don't we eat out for a change."

"Fine with me."

"Okay. Guess I'll talk to you tonight. Bye-d-bye."

He said goodbye and switched off the phone. "What say we do pizza tonight?"

"Sure, Dad...sounds fun."

+++++

"Two-two heavy, taxi to position and hold."

"Two-two heavy." Richardson advanced the throttles ten percent and let off the toe-brakes and the fully loaded 777 eased forward onto the runway. She steered with the nose-wheel paddle until they were on the centerline.

"Two-two heavy, clear for take-off."

"Two-two heavy, rolling." She advanced the throttles to forty percent and watched the readouts stabilize, then she ran up the throttles to take-off power and kept the aircraft on the centerline while Douglas called out their power and speeds --

"V-one...and...rotate!"

The "Trip-seven" lifted and at seven degrees nose-up began climbing, Richardson scanning the instruments. "Positive rate, gear up," she called out, and Douglas lifted the lever by her left knee, raising the landing gears.

"Two-two heavy, turn left two three five degrees to KIRAA, clear to BLZZR at four thousand, contact departure on one three three-point zero."

"Two-three-five at four. Departure on three three zero," Douglas said as she switched to COMMs 2 and checked in with air traffic control.

Richardson keyed in rates and headings and cut in the autopilot, then she scanned the instruments while they climbed out towards Hartford. "Hydraulic pressure still looks good on two," she said, and Douglas grunted a quick "Okay, got it."

"Two-two heavy, traffic at your ten o'clock, four miles, three thousand and descending."

"Two-two heavy, got him," Richardson replied to ATC. They entered a layer of solid cloud, hit a little mild turbulence as they flew through the seemingly impenetrable gray layer, then the 777 broke out into sunshine and a 'bluebirds' sky -- clear, and not a cloud in the sky ahead. With high pressure moving in from Baja through the southwest, they'd have a strong jet stream to contend after they crossed the Mississippi, but other than that they'd enjoy a non-eventful flight...

+++++

It had been a bad night, Lakwan thought as he looked over the bedroom.

First, they'd tried to hit a liquor store but the old Korean dude behind the counter had been armed, and so was his kid -- and the kid had been working in the walk-in refrigerator when they came in, and what followed had turned into a slow motion blood-bath. Five of his brothers had walked in the store with guns drawn, and the old man stood back from the counter, hitting the silent alarm before he put his hands up. But then the kid had come out of the walk-in with a Remington 870 pump and got three rounds of double-00 buckshot off, hitting Soultrain in the chest and legs before he'd turned and shot the kid. By then, the old man had some kind of hand-cannon up and started shooting, hitting Soultrain in the face, then his little brother Markus got it in the main pump. Both had fallen to the tile floor in a bloody heap -- just as he heard sirens coming from only a few blocks away.

They'd 'jacked a car and took off down Sepulveda, slipped into the 'hood and dumped the car a few blocks from his crib, then the three remaining brothers walked to their house and crashed for a while. Still, Lakwan couldn't sleep and he was still all buzzed-up from killing the Korean kid -- when he remembered the shocked-sad look of disbelief in the kid's eyes when he knew he'd been hit and that he was going to die.

Then he heard Laqeesha knocking around in the other bedroom and went to see what she was up to, and he looked at her in the early morning light as he walked in the room. She was wiping her neck with an alcohol pad, then she slipped the H into a vein in her neck and soon fell back on the bed in a shuddering sigh, the syringe still dangling from her neck. Lakwan shook his head, went over and pulled the needle out and wiped her skin with the pad, but she had spread her legs wide now and was rubbing her clit. He was hard in a flash and put his face between her legs, and they spent the next few hours fucking and sucking, and he finally shot his load up her ass -- her favorite way to end this particular game -- and his, too.

He looked around the room now that the sun was coming up, and he could barely remember the Korean kid now, but he knew they were going to need some flash in a hurry, 'cause the girls were already running low on H.

Still...he'd been watching a bank over in Culver City for a few days now, and now he had a plan...

+++++

Ralph Richardson got back to the house after dropping Dana off at school, and he walked into the kitchen, finished the dishes then walked to their bedroom and cleaned-up before he went to Dana's and picked up her dirty clothes. He went to the living room and turned on the television, found an old movie on cable and sat quietly, watching John Wayne and Dean Martin and Ricky Nelson outsmart the bad guys one more time. He picked at his fingers from time to time, leaned forward and put his face in his hands, then walked to the kitchen, looked in the cabinet over the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Chivas.

He held it in his hand, looked at the cinnamon-colored liquid in the bottle as he rolled it round and round, then he took it to the garage and threw it in the trash. He went back to the kitchen cabinet and grabbed every bottle he could find, then he carried them all to the trash. He went around the house, found every bottle he'd stashed over the last few months and dumped those too, and by the time he'd finished his hands were shaking, his heart pounding in his chest, burning little ripples of fear coursing through his forehead. He sat and rubbed his forehead again, his wringing hands miming the poetry of despair, and he could see the whole charade playing out in his mind again... the walking back to the garage, pulling bottle after bottle of booze out of the trash and fixing a strong one...then up there on the screen he saw Dean Martin's 'Dude' confronting his own demons in the bottle and everything was suddenly very clear again. He had to -- just stop. Bring this part of his life to an end. Move on from self-pity, move back into the light of his love for Laura and Dana, because if he didn't he was going to lose it all.

He heard the phone ringing and muted the TV as he walked into the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Ralph Richardson? My name is..."

And it turned out that Goldman Sachs had received his resume and wanted to talk with him. "Will today work for you? Say in about two hours?"

He was dressed and out the door fifteen minutes later...

+++++

"What do we have for grub?" Richardson asked as she looked at the outside air temp, then the cabin temp. She checked the auto-temp panel once again, after one of the flight attendants called to report the last ten rows in coach seemed colder than usual.

"Sandwiches, and, uh, well, it looks like sushi," Douglas said.

"Sushi? You have gotta be kidding me... Like what?"

"Looks like California rolls, maybe salmon and tuna sashimi."

"Jesus, is nothing sacred?" she said, almost laughing but still shocked. "Where's my moldy tuna sandwich when I really need it?"

Douglas pulled the sandwich out, looked it over and frowned. "I think you're in luck. It's not green yet, though."

"Ah, sweet. Let me have it."

"You don't like sushi?"

"Me? Are you kidding? I love sushi, just not sushi made at Logan, and probably a week ago, at that." She unwrapped the sandwich and gave it a sniff. "This sandwich, on the other hand, was probably made last August. It's had time to sit for weeks, if not months, time to reach it's full potential."

"It smells potent, alright," Douglas said as she took a piece of sashimi and held it up to her nose. She threw it back in the sack then took the other tuna sandwich. "I think they prepared that fish back in August, too." She shook her head, bit into the sandwich. "Not too bad," she said, shaking her head. "Kind of like a panty-liner, ya know?"

"It's the mercury," Richardson said. "No self-respecting bug would hang out in a sandwich this old."

"I hope you're right...oh, St Louis coming up on the left."

Richardson looked down at the city, could see downtown and the river gleaming in the sunrise. She switched on the intercom. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Richardson up on the flight deck, and those of you on the left side of the cabin can look down right about now and see downtown St Louis, Missouri. There's some sun on the river, but if you look close you'll just be able to make out the Gateway Arch. By the way, we're currently at thirty-four thousand feet and we're looking good to make our scheduled arrival time of 12:45. The air's still pretty smooth up here but we ask that you keep your seat belts fastened as we're expecting some rough air over the Rockies in Colorado and again as we pass over southern Utah. We'll pass just north of the Grand Canyon in about two hours, and if it looks like we'll be able to see it, we'll let you know."

She switched from intercom back to COMMs as she finished her sandwich. "I wish they'd pack Tums with these goddamn things."

Douglas belched, handed her a can of raspberry-flavored seltzer water. "This might help."

"No Dr Pepper?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Fuck."

"Yup. What's going on with Ralph? Anything new?"

She shook her head. "Nope. SSDD."

"Oh? Well, how's Dana doing?"

"Really good. Piano recital this Friday evening, and she's doing really well. You ought to come."

"Yeah? Sounds good. What's she playing?"

"I'm not really sure. Some piece by a Danish composer...Imogen Schwarzwald, I think."

"She have a boyfriend yet?"

"Oh hell yes. Non-stop calls, and of course now she wants her own phone."

Douglas sighed. "And so it begins. The Wonder Years..."

"Oh...shut the fuck up!" They both laughed.

"Two-two heavy, St Louis center."

"Center, go ahead," Douglas said.

"Two-two heavy, traffic at your eleven o'clock is a Delta MD80, he'll pass under you at flight level three three."

Richardson looked down, nodded her head. "Yup."

"Two-two heavy, okay, we got him. Thanks."

"Two-two heavy, good day, contact Kansas City on one two one one."

"Two-two heavy, twenty one one," Douglas repeated. "Looks like some weather up there."

Richardson changed the range scale on the weather radar. "Big stuff for this time of year. We ought to pass south of it, though."

"Okay."

She drifted off for a moment, drifted back to the dream...

...to the lamppost, glowing in the mist, lighting her way through the gloom...

...then she appeared, just as she did every night in every dream, right here, right now...

...the woman in the maroon cape turned and looked at her, beckoned her to follow...

...and following the woman through more lamps in the mist, until soon they came to the stairway...

"Captain?!"

"Hm-m, what?"

"I said, should we ask to divert south a little, away from that cell?"

Richardson looked at the display, wondered how long she'd been out, then she called Kansas City...

+++++

Ralph walked out of the interview feeling almost ecstatic, better than he had in months, anyway. One of his friends from Lehman was already on board and had put in a good word for him; they'd check his references and give him a call next week. If there were no problems, could he start next Friday?

Could he start next Friday? Hell, he'd wanted to kiss that prickly-assed son of a bitch, and now he just couldn't believe it. Could it happen -- so fast? In the middle of this wicked downturn? Shit! He was the luckiest man alive!

He took the T from the Prudential Center back through downtown, then switched to the Red Line and rode out past Cambridge. He found his car now had about four inches of snow on top and started the motor, set the defrost to MAX and went around the outside brushing off snow off the hood and glass, chipping ice off the passenger door handle just in case. His hands freezing, he got in and drove through the slush and ice to Dana's school, but he was early, so he reclined the seat and snoozed...until he heard her tapping on the glass.

He jerked awake, flipped the switch to unlock the doors and she hopped in...

And she looked at him, the question in her eyes plain to see.

"Why're you so dressed up?"

He looked at her, grinning. "Job interview today. It went well, I think."

She smiled, even though she wasn't quite old enough to know what all this really meant, but she seemed happy to see him happy and that was all that mattered. "Way to go, Dad!" She held up her hand and they 'high-fived', then they both laughed the laugh that had held them together through all the good times -- and the bad.

"Home first, then pizza?" he asked, grinning that grin she'd missed for so many months.

"You know, I'm really hungry," she replied. "Think they're open yet?"

"They will be by the time we get there. It's homemade root beer night, remember?"

"Ooh, right-on!"

They laughed and talked about her day as he pulled out into traffic, and they made it to Gino's in time to be the first ones seated. A house special pie and two pitchers of root beer later they were deep in the zone, as happy as they'd been in months...

+++++

Dana Goodman sat at her desk, looking at the list of names on her screen. Dozens of names, many of them friends, friends she'd hired. And all of them would be laid off in the next few days, by Friday at the latest. And it was her job to get the job done "in a timely and expeditious manner."

She stood and walked to her office's wall of tinted glass and looked out over Beverly Hills, and the Hollywood Hills beyond, lost in thought. Lost in life's choices, the choices that had carried her from Minnesota to Israel, only to be chased by death back to America. Home first, to Minnesota but then on to California, to Los Angeles. Where her life, she laughed, had finally begun.

The chase. Oh, the chase. It had all started that night in Zermatt. Killing those six Iranians. She'd thought she was so strong, so tough, yet all that death had burned a hole in her soul, but it had taken months for the searing pain to slip past denial and reach consciousness. She was working in Tel Aviv when a telephone call in the middle of the night shattered all her illusions and her life changed course once again.