Chapter Ten: Marked: Daniel
DANIEL shrugged deeper into his coat as the chilly wind soughed in off the night-darkened ocean, bringing with it a faint hint of salt spray. He watched the white line of foam as the inky surf retreated, the rollers unnaturally bright against the lightless water. He had always felt a connection to the sea, finding comfort in its rhythm, in its quietly contained fury. He loved the sense of mystery and ambiguity he always felt when he visited the beach, a feeling enhanced at night, knowing that the waves were roaring shoreward, indifferent to anyone that might be listening. It humbled Daniel, made him feel small and insignificant. Conversely, he also felt as though his presence on the beach listening to the sea communing with the land and sky in its incomprehensible language seemed to signify that he was part of a larger whole, even if that part was relatively modest.
When he had been in high school, it hadn’t concerned him that his greater purpose in life hadn’t been revealed to him yet. As long as that purpose included Nikki, he hadn’t much cared what that future might reveal; with her at his side, he felt as though he could take on anything that came his way. It had shattered his sense of belonging and direction when she’d left so precipitously, so completely. What purpose could he possibly serve that would be worth having without her? On one level, he knew it was histrionic and foolish, but on another level, he felt as though the entire foundation of assumptions he’d built his future on had unexpectedly crumbled.
Feeling cut adrift and lost, he’d often come to the beach, frequenting the haunts that he and Nicolette had shared when they wanted privacy. He had spent hours listening to the surf, hoping his communion with it would give him some hint of an alternative future. All he’d found was a profound sense of loneliness and frustration; the person he kept wanting to turn to and share his burden of frustration and loneliness with was the source of his suffering. It had all come to a head when he’d gotten into an argument with his younger brother, Ryan, an argument which had escalated to violence -- a truly absurd thing, considering how dispassionate and even-keeled Ryan usually was.
Daniel shook his head as he remembered the argument, the words which had set off his hair-trigger temper. He still felt shame at the memory. Ryan had only told him what he already knew, but Ryan’s calm certainty and simple unvarnished opinion of Nicolette had unhinged Daniel. The fight hadn’t gone well for Ryan, two years his junior. Years later, Daniel still felt bad about it, despite the fact that Ryan had accepted Daniel's apology...though Daniel still felt an uneasiness when he spent time with Ryan. He suspected that Ryan hadn’t forgotten it, or even really let it go; it wasn’t in his nature, despite his general dispassion.
It seemed so pointless to revisit these old memories, but he found himself unable to stop re-litigating the past after the bone-jarring hit he’d received earlier that evening.
When it had become clear his anger and his need to fight were only going to make increasingly bigger problems if he didn’t make a change, Daniel had decided to enlist. He had hoped that removing himself from Half Moon Bay, from an environment saturated with things that reminded him of what he’d lost -- or had been taken away from him -- might give him a chance to sort himself out and perhaps find something to fill his sudden lack of purpose. It certainly didn’t hurt that the Army had paid him a generous bonus for enlisting, a bonus that he’d insisted be used for his younger sibling’s college funds; he felt he owed his brother that much. For a little while, the Army had delivered; he had suddenly found his time filled to capacity, leaving little room to think about Half Moon Bay or Nicolette or the imaginary future he had built up with her.
It had been a shock when he mustered out and returned after four years of service to discover that the sense of purpose he had been seeking was still lacking, that he still lacked a center; only now he had post-traumatic memories to contend with as well. While Daniel readily acknowledged that self-pity and introspection were sometimes unavoidable, he needed a sense of forward momentum to maintain even a semblance of sanity or self-worth. Nevertheless, when Ramona, his mother, had suggested that he needed to move forward and find a career, even if it meant going to college, he had hesitated to embrace the idea. Perhaps intuiting some of the guilt he felt as a result of his wartime experiences, Ramona had suggested he pursue work as a paramedic or in some other life-saving capacity. At first he had rejected the idea, content to drink during the day to keep his gremlins at bay while working nights at Dane’s club. But he’d felt a growing sense of restlessness, a sense of stagnation that grew increasingly hard to ignore. It had come as a shock when he’d realized that Ramona's suggestion actually represented a way forward, a rally point around which he could finally start rebuilding.
Ironically, the Army had given him a purpose after all, but only by inflicting injuries to his psyche that were almost as grievous as the ones left by Nikki. He’d thrown himself into his job training and classwork, had worked to find some measure of direction and forward movement...the specific destination didn’t even matter any more, just so long as he wasn’t stuck in an emotional gyre of his own (or Nicolette’s!) making. He had good days where he woke up feeling driven, feeling a sense of direction, but had many more days where it had been a matter of pure willpower to get out of bed, to skip past the bottle of whiskey stashed under the cupboard. The bad days still outnumbered the good, but it had finally felt as though the ratio of bad to good had finally hit an inflection point and might be changing for the better.
Standing on the beach, listening to the wind and the inexorability of the tide as the waves crept up the beach, he felt like a fool.
All it had taken was thirty seconds, maybe ten words of conversation with her, and all the work he’d done to put himself back onto a right path was little more than wishful thinking. He felt like a child fantasizing his sand castle was going to be home to dragons, only to have a rogue wave reduce his fantasy to a pile of sand that would be erased by the indifferent morning tide.
The mental image of all his work and rebuilding being casually destroyed momentarily tipped him over the edge. He bellowed into the darkness, knowing he’d get no answer, but needing the release. He stood, staring intently over the ocean, hoping -- praying -- for some kind of response, some indication what he was supposed to be doing...and suddenly felt silly, screaming like a tantrumy child, whimpering about the unfairness of the universe.
He laughed bitterly as he pulled the oval of whiskey from his pocket, stared blearily at the label before uncapping it and taking a generous swallow. He winced at the burn, noting that he was almost two thirds done. He had bought it just after leaving Harry’s, wanting desperately to escape from the overwhelming feelings the encounter had ignited. He needed time to sort out his confusion and make a plan, formulate some kind of strategy for dealing with this...development...situation. Whatever it was.
Dane had tried to talk to him, to talk him down. Good man. Out of respect for his friend, Daniel had stopped long enough to hear him out, to give Dane a chance to have his say so he could walk away feeling like he’d at least done something.
He toasted Dane then took another drink before recapping the bottle. He suspected he was drinking ahead of the buzz; he’d be insensible if he didn’t stop.
He cocked his head to the side as he considered this.
Insensible. Incapable of sensing. By implication not feeling.
He smirked bitterly as he pulled the bottle of whiskey out of his coat pocket for another draw.
Sounds like a Goddamned good deal just now.
He turned and continued walking along the beach with no real destination in mind, perhaps unconsciously hoping he could temporarily outpace his Gremlins. He had almost reached the end of the beach, where sand gave way to rocky coastline and steep, crumbly cliffs. He stopped almost at the very end, reflecting that the incoming tide was likely to make the return trip to his car pretty miserable.
Fuck it, he thought. He wasn’t expected back on shift until Tuesday n
ight, so he could afford to be irresponsible if he wanted. At the extreme end of the beach, he paused by a shattered boulder sitting at the base of the cliff. There were too many memories wrapped up in this particular spot. He had frequented it with Nikki, the pair of them often sitting side by side, watching the sun set the ocean afire with myriad rubies and citroens, often sharing their most deeply held secrets and dreams. He’d continued to frequent it after she’d left, the memories wrapped up with that oddly shaped boulder giving him a false sense of connection to her while he still held out hope that her departure might only be temporary. Shortly before he shipped out for basic, he’d made a midnight visit with a sledge hammer and in what had felt like a symbolic gesture of closure, he’d reduced it to rubble. He hadn’t been back since.
He found a suitable perch and settled on the chilly, damp sand, setting his back to one of the bigger chunks left over from his previous adventure. He laughed bitterly into the cold wind, the whisky giving him a momentary sense of invulnerability, It was definitely closure, he told himself sarcastically, it definitely wasn't pique or a transferred desire to punish Nikki with a childish and destructive gesture which was ultimately meaningless. 'Course not!
As he sat, staring blindly into the inky darkness, he felt a brief moment of sadness for the boulder, feeling a brief spate of alcohol-induced sentimentality.
Seriously, Daniel? With all the shit you’ve done that’s regrettable, you’re going to take that hit to the feels for a rock?
The absurdity of the line of thought brought a genuine chuckle. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, resting it on the rock, reveling in the gentle whisky-spin that had started. He pulled the bottle from his pocket without opening his eyes, draining it before recapping it and putting it back in his pocket. He reflected once again that he needed to formulate a plan of attack for this situation, knowing that ignoring it wasn’t going to work. You dealt with the situation at hand, not the one you wished you were in.
Insensate. Having no senses. Senseless. Senseless. But she’s come back! She’s here! Probably only a couple of miles away!
When unconsciousness finally came, he was thinking about going in circles, gyres, whirlpools, things that dragged you down, down under the surface, surface calm, turbulent waters....
Daniel had rarely, if ever, experienced lucid dreaming. His brother claimed to experience lucid dreaming on a fairly routine basis, but Daniel could only extrapolate what it must feel like. Or at least, until now; he was pretty sure he was lucid dreaming now. The thought was swept away almost as quickly as it came, leaving behind a vague awareness that something was wrong. He knelt as something caught his eye -- something which caught the light, reflecting redly from the ground as he moved. He stopped, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he knelt for a closer look at the sandy concrete under his feet.
Blood.
A few spots, but as he began casting about in a wider area, he found much bigger drops soaking into the ground, spaced fairly close together.
For a moment, his Army experience and his Paramedic training were at odds, his Army experience feeling like a cold blanket of callousness slipping over his emotions, numbing and insulating them: Motherfucker bleeding out, he thought.
Then his Paramedic training took over, pushing that cold blanket away. It demanded immediate action, impelled by a certain knowledge that anyone bleeding like this was in desperate straits. He found the line of travel and began following the sandy, concrete steps down onto the beach. Unconsciously, he realized that he was on the stairway leading down the cliffs to the beach near the Ritz, perhaps a quarter of a mile from Sunset Rock -- the boulder that he and Nicolette used to share.
As that thought hit him, he felt a bizarre sense of juxtaposition, the certain knowledge that he was already at Sunset Rock...and also here, only a quarter of a mile from himself. He stared back up the beach in confusion, trying to force his eyes to pierce the night time shroud which covered the unlighted beach. For a moment he stood, exactly poised between waking and dreaming, feeling that strange sense of duality. But the moment passed as his first responder imperative reasserted itself, pulling his gaze back to the ground to resume searching. It took a moment of casting about the sand where the steps ended and the beach began, but once he found the trail, it was easy to follow, the heavy droplets of blood leading along the cliff face as he headed back toward the hotel, away from (himself) Sunset Rock. The crash of the waves was muted, as was the sensation of wind coming from the ocean, but he was aware of the cold, feeling a growing numbness in his feet and lower extremities.
He increased his pace, tracking the blood to a disturbed area in the sand. He studied it, bringing to bear his experience following trail sign, coming to the conclusion that there had been some kind of fight with several participants. There was blood scattered all across the beach, along with several different sets of footsteps creating a wide circle around a central depression in the sand. He could almost picture it -- a lone fighter making his stand as several opponents circled him, perhaps harrying him.
Whoever this lone fighter was, the attackers were scared of him. They dodged in and out, but were clearly unwilling to rush him. No one wanted to be first.
He paused, feeling a dull sense of shock as his mind caught up to what his dreaming eyes were seeing. Scattered across the sand, he noted several foreign objects, bits of litter he first supposed, until one of them showed a glint of gold.
Fingers, he realized, sliced cleanly, an attacker’s hand caught in mid-motion, probably. He felt his legs continuing to go numb with cold, giving him a sense of urgency. Daniel stood and continued tracking the blood trail along the beach, pausing only briefly when he encountered another disturbed patch of sand. He was filled with a sudden certainty that his quarry was at the base of the cliffs almost directly under the hotel, the nearness of his destination bringing him to a jog. It was a good thing the tide was out, or he’d be wading through numbingly cold Northern California surf, pounding the rocky cliffs to his right, likely leaving him struggling not to be the nail between the hammer and rocky anvil.
Ahead of him, the hotel sat on top of a finger of land which pushed out into the ocean. As he rounded the bend, he saw a glimmer of steel in the dim light, drawing his eyes to a figure lying amongst the rocks, leaning back against the cliff face. Daniel didn’t hesitate, increasing his jog to a run until he came abreast of the figure; an elderly Chinese man, sitting back against the rock. His stomach sank as his intuition suggested the man was DOA. He hesitated, feeling a sudden certainty that any movement on his part would confirm what his intuitive mind had already served up, a confirmation he unconsciously sought to delay as long as possible. The man lay in stillness, wearing maroon sweat pants and a green and white Hawaiian shirt sporting a bamboo and egret motif. Across his chest, Daniel saw a leather strap which his eyes followed up to an empty sheath poking up over his right shoulder.
Daniel's breath caught as the man’s eyes opened, staring out over the ocean for a moment before focusing on Daniel. He coughed, the sound unpleasantly moist.
He’s almost certainly bleeding into his lungs, probably other injuries as well, if the fights on the beach are any indication.
Daniel moved forward, his stasis broken as relief flooded through him. It wasn’t too late; he could still do some good here. As he approached, Daniel realized the man was covered with long scratches, blood running down his arms, soaking into his shirt. Daniel wondered how much blood had soaked into the man’s trousers, hidden by their dark color.
He adopted his best reassuring professional voice, “It’s going to be okay, just sit back and relax so I can have a look at you.”
The old man smiled as the blade he had concealed on his right side -- the side away from Daniel -- momentarily lifted into Daniel's view, then was carefully put aside.
So that’s what caught my eye.
When the man spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep and resonant, though clearly unde
r strain from the pain of his injuries, “Finally. I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t have enough time.”
Daniel spoke soothingly, keeping his calm for the benefit of the client, “Everything’s going to be okay. Where are you injured?”
The old man smiled, amused, “Relax, Daniel. Odds are good that I’m already dead.”
Daniel shook his head in irritation, though he couldn’t help a grim chuckle, “Liveliest corpse I ever saw. Let me look... How did you...?”
“You have no idea how lively corpses can get, son. Messages delivered via Celestial are sometimes...somewhat nonlinear. “
Daniel’s brows drew together in puzzlement, “Celestials? I--“
“It doesn’t matter -- I don’t have much time. My time has come -- time and my enemies have finally caught up with me. But I intend to leave them an unpleasant surprise.”
Daniel's confusion deepened, but he also found a thread of fear finding its way into the mix, “Who--“
“Miles, if you must know, but it’s irrelevant. I need a successor -- you are ideally qualified. One might even say ‘Chosen’, though I feel somewhat pretentious saying it that way,” he was interrupted by a spasm of wet coughing, blood spattering his lips. Daniel probed along the man’s left side, finding several deep puncture wounds which were still oozing blood. He applied direct pressure, ignoring the resultant hiss of pain, then began casting about for anything that he could use as a bandage.
Daniel began shrugging out of his shirt, intending to rip it up and use it despite the cold, ignoring the numbness he felt spreading up his legs. He was startled when the man reached out and took hold of Daniel's right wrist with his left hand. Daniel winced at the blood-slimed, gritty grip. He looked into his eyes, intending to offer reassurances, to get the man to let go so he could do his work, but he lost the thought. They stayed that way for several long seconds before the old man reached across with his right hand, his grip on Daniel's wrist tightening with surprising strength, despite his apparent frailty and dire injuries.
Daniel stared back wide-eyed, transfixed, his gaze held prisoner by Miles’ dark eyed gaze, feeling something powerful reaching out and holding his attention.
This must be what it feels like when mice are faced with a cobra, he thought, feeling strangely disconnected as he watched Miles’ hand until it filled his vision. He felt the tip of a calloused finger make contact with the skin on his forehead, the contact raising a wave of goosebumps which swept outward on his skin, making his skin prickle with an uncomfortable electrical sensation.
They stayed that way for the briefest instant, Daniel feeling an increasing sense of anticipation, of impending change as though he was standing on a high precipice overlooking the unknown, perfectly poised between a sane rational universe, and tumbling down into something terrifyingly unknown and possibly unknowable. When the fingertip touching his forehead just over the bridge of his nose began moving, Daniel’s skin exploded with searing pain, as though a red-hot poker was being dragged through the skin, doubtlessly leaving a smoking, bubbled mess in its wake.
At the southern end of the beach, still sitting with his head tilted back against the shattered boulder, Daniel's body jerked, then shook and spasmed...
Daniel stared back into Miles’ eyes, his own eyes wide, his breathing coming in harsh gasps, the grip on his wrist becoming painful. The searing pain on the skin of his forehead felt like it went on forever, but was over in seconds as Miles finished sketching the ideogram. He half collapsed, panting, feeling the aftereffects of his experience, as he asked, “What did you do?”
A look of sadness passed across Miles’ pained countenance, “You’ve been drafted into a primal conflict. I’ve marked you for the Celestials; they will visit you soon. The mark will fade given a little time. I apologize; I would have preferred to give you time to adjust, perhaps to train you, but I just...couldn’t.”
Miles sagged back, his skin taking on a deathly pallor which contrasted with the darkening circles under his eyes, giving his physiognomy the aspect of a skull, the skin sagging as though the bones under the skin had shrunk as he whispered, “So little time.”
His eyes widened, focused over Daniel's left shoulder on something standing behind him, his expression shifting through alarm, then surprise. He whispered, “Who... What are you doing here? You were not summoned.”
Daniel glanced over his shoulder in alarm, his head still swimming as he struggled make sense of his surroundings in the aftermath of the pain. He turned back to Miles in puzzlement when he saw nothing behind him. Miles, still looking over Daniel's shoulder, was lost in confusion and concentration, a hint of fear widening his eyes. Daniel pulled back his wrist where Miles still gripped it, hoping to bring him back to the present, to lucidity, but the grip came loose, his wrist slipping free, feeling uncomfortably cool where the skin under Miles’ blood-slick grip met the cooling night air. Abruptly, Miles drew in his breath as his face became animated once more, though his gaze remained focused elsewhere.
He breathed in, awe coloring his words, “You share a true love bond! I’ve only heard such a thing was possible, but...” His voice faltered as he was momentarily lost in thought.
“Yes, I see! The bond! It seems I’ve unintentionally marked you as well, my dear -- I wish I’d realized your connection sooner!” He sighed, as he began sagging back in a way that suggested to Daniel a death rattle was imminent, “I’m sorry for dragging you into this...but perhaps the both of you will be greater for it. This is good news, I think, though I doubt you’ll think so.”
He gestured to his right side, the side opposite Daniel, then he held up his right hand, cupping the air. He extended his right forefinger, tracing an ideogram into the air -- only from this perspective, Daniel could almost see a white lambent tracery of fire trailing after the moving fingertip. As the pattern was concluded, it felt as though an electric current found a pathway through Daniel and Miles, as though a circuit had been completed. He became aware of another in their momentary ring of intimacy, feeling her (he was certain the other was female) sadness, her uncertainty, her pain, and finally her love.
For me?, he wondered, feeling mixed wonderment and confusion.
The last thing he remembered was Miles whispering, his eyes refocused on Daniel as he pointed up toward the cliff face. Daniel couldn’t hear what he was whispering, but as he glanced up something silvery and strangely alive caught his attention, “Rememberrr....”
Daniel let out a confused, pained bellow as his crotch was soaked in freezing seawater, the climbing tide having finally reached out to him. He clumsily climbed back to his feet, feeling as though his testicles had shrunk to the size of kidney beans, his cold, wet clothes intensely uncomfortable as they clung to him. He sat, his feet braced in the wet sand as the wave withdrew, only to be replaced by a slightly less aggressive successor.
Successor... He shook his head groggily, almost immediately regretting it when the whisky-spins were almost replaced with a vomit-train spiral. He stood, slightly bent at the waist, spitting out the sour saliva that was flooding his mouth, but kept his stomach after a bitter struggle. Once his unruly stomach was once again cooperating, he stood and made his uncertain way back up the beach.
That was one freaky bender-dream, he thought, though hours later, he could still feel an uncomfortable sensitivity on his forehead where the old man in the dream had touched him. As he reached his truck, wanting nothing more than to blast the heat for a little while and change his wet trousers for the sweat pants he kept in his emergency kit, he idly wondered where Nicolette was and what she was up to. He could already feel the rudiments of an ill-advised plan forming...