A Life in Snow: A World Shifters Story

"What?" said Billy.

  "You ever wonder what you'd wanna do after all this?" I picked the name "Luis" from Billy’s thoughts.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Like after high school, college," said Luis.

  Billy shrugged. "Not really. I like where I am now."

  "Really? You don't wanna be a cop like your dad."

  Billy tensed a little at the mention of his dad. A flash of memory crossed his thoughts: Sanford Park, eight years ago, his father teaching him how to ride a bike. Billy fell and scraped his knee but he refused to cry. His dad smiled and was proud. Reading Billy’s thoughts and emotions, there was a sadness in him that didn’t touch his face.

  "He was a detective. And no, I don't want to be in law enforcement," said Billy.

  "Okay." Luis made a face, turned away and then started talking to a nearby girl. The exchange having ended Billy began reading through some notes for an algebra test he was going to take in third period. But his mind wasn't focused; he saw the numbers and the equations but not what they meant. I dove in deeper.

  ********

  Thoughts of his father slammed into me like an errant tidal wave. Again the sadness, but underneath that was something else. Anger. Not the unfocused temper of a child but the anger of someone easily three times his years. It was an emotion that no boy his age should’ve had to feel. In my own mind and in my own body I closed my eyes, feeling it, and reliving his memory.

  It was raining when his mom received the news on the phone. He had just turned twelve. Salli was cupping the phone to her ear with both hands, holding on to it like a lifeline about to be torn away from her. Billy was staring at her from the doorway.

  "Mom, what happened?" asked Billy. She didn’t answer.

  "Mom, what happened?" She just stood there with her back to him, still not saying anything. Without warning she dropped to her knees, with the phone still in her hands. Billy closed in to kneel beside her. His mother's eyes were bloodshot, tears were pouring down her face but she wasn't sobbing.

  "Mom, what's wrong?"

  "William..." She never called him that unless there was trouble. He said nothing.

  Salli ended the call and laid the phone on the carpet. Billy barely heard her words: "William, your father has been shot."

  Billy only heard the words "father...shot."

  "But…but he's okay, right?” he said. Staring at his mother, now he could see more tears falling.

  “Mom, please. He's all right, right?" There was desperation in his voice and when he heard it, he knew nothing would ever again be all right.

  The bell rang, jerking Billy from his thoughts and ending homeroom. I prodded his thoughts a couple seconds longer but I got nothing out of it of any significance. He walked out of my line of sight, breaking the direct mental connection with him. He didn't want to go into law enforcement like his dad and he was being honest when he said he had no thoughts as to what his career may be. I was baffled as to what I was doing here. A Class 2? With the discretion to use whatever means necessary to further a positive future for him? To do what?

  I pushed myself off the balcony railing and headed inside, closing the sliding doors behind me. It was about time I headed into the town proper.

  ********

  Donning my pea coat I toured a bit of the city. This Orlando is much smaller than the one I left behind with a population somewhere around fifty thousand people. The tourist industry was next to nothing here; there were no movie studios nor was there a Disney World. If I told Orlandoans here I was expecting to see a Disney World in the area, they'd probably ship me off to some mental institution.

  I found myself at a Starbucks where I sat on a stool looking out the window onto Main Street. I don't drink coffee but I contented myself with a large piece of mocha and chocolate cake. It was only three dollars which was the cheapest of any Starbucks I've ever been to and I've been to a lot. What can I say, I like their mocha and chocolate cakes. Taking a hefty bite of cake I thought about how to approach this assignment. Without intending to I had made Billy aware of me before the appropriate time and worse still, I had made contact with his mother. No sooner than I began trying to solve this problem in my head, Salli walked past the window, stopped, walked back and waved at me. I smiled and waved back and she responded by walking into the Starbucks.

  Closing the door behind her, Salli rubbed her shoes against the carpet, threw her jacket onto the entrance's coat rack and sat on the empty stool next to me.

  "Hey Richard, good to see you again," she said with a smile.

  "Same here." This was the second strike but I was polite and smiled back.

  "I had to mail some letters this way and I was walking back to the supermarket to pick up some stuff for the house. My car is there and I didn’t want to lose the awesome parking spot I found. I’ve been getting real lazy lately."

  I made a face. "You don't seem to be the lazy type."

  She chuckled. "Oh you'd be surprised."

  "So what job allows someone to go to the supermarket on a Tuesday before the lunch hour even starts?"

  "I'm on vacation for the next two weeks and thank God for that. Accounting gets real boring real fast."

  "Fair enough."

  "So, did you get to see your friend?" She emphasized that last word with the raise of an eyebrow.

  I smirked. "No. Actually, she called me up saying she had to leave town due to a family emergency."

  "Oh, no. Is everything all right?" There was genuine concern in her question.

  "Everything is fine,” I said. “Her father had a minor anxiety attack but he’s resting well. He assured her that she didn't need to worry but she overruled him and went anyway. Those two are close."

  "That's good to hear." She paused. "Before I married Billy's father I had a close relationship like that with my uncle once."

  "Once?" She only nodded and didn't explain further. A combination of courtesy and the look on her face convinced me not to pry beyond that.

  "What about you, Richard? I assume you're on vacation as well. What do you do when not visiting Orlando?"

  "I'm a photojournalist. Mostly freelance stuff so I can make my own hours and choose the jobs I want."

  She smiled. "Wow, that's impressive. Most of the time I read the financial papers and that’s about it, but I've picked up a few Time magazines and National Geographic and others as well. Have you had any photos published in those?"

  "Unfortunately, no. I've worked in New York and L.A. and a few times in Chicago for events coverage like concerts and movie premiers."

  "That must be exciting," she said.

  I nodded.

  Coming up with cover stories was a necessity for Shifters and there were many training sessions on this alone. During one such session Bol would snap his fingers at random and as he did so I had to come up with a credible identity and backstory for myself. I've been many people with many histories and I've been doing it for so long it had become second nature to me. But at that moment looking at Salli, it saddened me to have to lie to her.

  "Hey, you mind coming with me to do a little shopping?” she asked. “I could use the company and I could show you around the town a bit after I’m done."

  In my mind I said no. But what I said was, "Yes. I'd love to."

  She smiled. "Perfect."

  She got up, hooked her arm through mine and all but dragged me out of the coffee shop. We headed a couple blocks down to the supermarket and I helped her do some shopping. I think we visited every aisle in that place, even though she only picked up a few things: snacks for Billy, a couple pounds of beef and chicken, cooking supplies, and some stuff for the bathroom. Salli wanted to detour to the books and periodicals section on our way to pick up some milk. Once there I busied myself by looking through some of the new hardcover releases while Salli perused through a few magazines. I saw some familiar names and even ones I’ve never heard of. As I was reading
the back of a recent hardcover release, Salli called my attention to a gardening magazine she was looking through.

  “Hey Richard, isn’t this beautiful?” she said, pointing at a bouquet of purple flowers displayed in a vase on a pristine white table. The photo was part of an editorial on using flowers as a centerpiece for special occasions. Looking over her shoulder at the picture I nodded my head in agreement.

  “I love flowers. Especially purple orchids like these,” she said.

  “Do you have some at your house?”

  “Yup, but they’re fake. It’s hard to get them around here considering how cold it is. And the one or two flower shops in the area are really expensive.” She shrugged as she closed the magazine and put it back on the rack. “It’s not that serious. I’ll just stick to plastic flowers.”

  I smiled.

  She said, “I’ve never been to the northern states like New York or Maine before. I’m jealous that flowers grow there almost every day of year. One day, I’d like to open a flower shop of my own and sell bouquets of nothing but purple flowers.”

  I chuckled. “Wow, you really love flowers.”

  She smiled. “That I do!”

  “So you’ve never been up north? Where are you originally from?” I asked.

  “South Carolina. That’s where I met and married Billy’s father Tyler when he was starting out in law enforcement. Later we moved here when he was transferred and we had Billy.”

  I felt a wave of sadness kept in check as she talked about her deceased husband. Sadness, and love. Noticing she had stopped speaking she forced herself to brighten up a bit and lead the way to the milk aisle.

  ********

  As I was helping Salli pick through milk cartons with later expiration dates when I felt her mood change. Wafting off her like a breeze were the feelings of anger and pure hate. I caught her glancing at two men farther down the aisle and my eyes followed suit.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "It's nothing." She motioned to pick up a gallon of 2% milk.

  I asked, "Who are those guys?”

  She paused for a moment, unaware I had seen them. "They're no one."

  Almost on cue I sensed as much as I saw the two men take notice of the both of us and then stroll our way. Salli saw them approach as well and her emotions grew stronger, tinged this time with apprehension.

  The men were dressed in dark business suits of a fine cut, maybe Armani or Versace. But unlike most businessmen the suits didn't look natural on them; it seemed as if each man had to wear them as part of an ill-fitting uniform. Before long both men stopped themselves a dozen feet away from us and I was able to take the measure of them. The guy in front was average looking with slicked back black hair and a little shorter than I am. His companion standing to the side and a step behind him was almost a foot taller than either of us and bulkier, a combination of muscle and fat. Prior to their arrival I had stepped a little in front of Salli to get in between both sides. Neither Salli nor the two men noticed that. Salli was making an effort not to look at them until the shorter man began speaking.

  "Mrs. Carnham," said the shorter man in a voice devoid of any character, except to say it was somehow irritating to the ear to listen to.

  Salli didn't say anything but kept her eyes at the milk section.

  Again he spoke. "Ah, excuse me. Miss Carnham." The smirk that lifted his lips made his forgettable face an ugly one. I felt Salli stiffen behind me and she was angrier now more than ever before, but still she didn't make a move to acknowledge him.

  He continued, "How are you and your boy doing? Billy, right? It's a shame for a boy to grow up without his father being around."

  I butted in, dispensing with politeness. "And you are?"

  He turned, noticing me for the first time. "Anthony Gionnini. I run a bunch of the businesses in the city. Who might you be?"

  I didn't respond and I was a little satisfied with the way he bristled at my open gesture of rudeness. It seemed he wasn't used to that sort of thing. Regaining his smug attitude he introduced his companion as the big man stepped forward in an attempt to intimidate me. I felt Salli tug on my sleeve closest to her.

  "His name is also Anthony. Except he isn't the talkative type. His line of work doesn't see much use for words," said Gionnini.

  I have this habit of only raising my eyes, and not my entire head to look at taller individuals, which annoys the shit out of them. I was glad to see it worked for this guy.

  "Your parents must've had a sense of humor with a name like 'Also Anthony'. I bet the schoolyard was hell for you," I said.

  Salli tightened her grip, and under her breath she said, "Richard, please."

  "You got a smart mouth you little shit. How 'bout I cut it right off your face?" said the big man in a deep baritone. He might've been a good singer if he wasn't too busy being a full-time scumbag.

  My eyes were still tilted upwards and my voice was calm. "With the dome security cameras in the aisle? Not to mention all these people staring at us?" This last I pointed out with my finger.

  Little Anthony looked around and indeed there were at least half a dozen people looking our way. In fact, an elderly Asian couple was taking pictures of our group with their cell phones. He cursed and tried to usher the bigger guy the way they came. Big Anthony resisted and then relented, but not before giving me a "This ain't over yet" look.

  Before both men were about to turn the corner the shorter man yelled back, "When you pray tonight, tell your husband I said hi." This was followed by an ugly snort.

  I waited a few moments to make sure they were gone and then turned to Salli. I could see there were unshed tears in her eyes. Putting a hand on her shoulder I asked, "Are you all right?"

  She shrugged off my hand and dabbed at her eyes. She said, "I'm fine. Why did you have to do that?" Her anger was now focused on me.

  "Because if I had let it alone, it would've been far worse."

  "You don't know that. You should've..."

  "Men like that pounce on the defenseless like a hyena to the weakened or the dying," I said, tipping my head in the direction the two thugs left.

  Tears began flowing from her eyes and she took a handkerchief from her handbag to wipe them away. The crowd was still milling around until I let out a weak telepathic meme for them to disperse. In a moment it was just the two of us in the aisle. I let her cry. I thought it best for her to let it out. A few minutes passed as she dried the last of her tears.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  I made a little smile. "It's okay."

  She put the handkerchief back in her bag and looked straight into my eyes. As if answering a question she said, "That bastard killed my husband." This, unfortunately, I already knew.

  I didn't say anything and she didn't elaborate further. She turned, picked up a jug of milk and walked off. I followed after her and she paid for the groceries at the register. Still without a word from either her or myself, I helped carry the bags out of the supermarket and to her car. Once the last bag was in the trunk she finally spoke. "Want to stop by my place? I need to prepare some dinner for tonight and you can have some. It's the least I could do, you know, for helping me."

  Out of fear of her recanting her offer I only nodded.

  Her smile returned albeit subdued. I smiled back. "C'mon, hop in," she said. I closed the trunk and obliged her.

  I entered her late model Nissan sedan and what greeted me when she turned the engine on was the radio blasting the number one hit pop track of the week, sung by a girl group. I looked at the radio and then looked at her. She laughed then - a good laugh, open like a clear summer day. It caught me up in its cheerfulness and honesty and I laughed as well. Both the music and the sound of our laughter escorted us out of the parking lot and onto the streets.

  We joked around some more, talked about her work and how much she thought it was boring but paid well. I chimed in here and there but di
dn't volunteer anything about myself I didn't have to. In the last ten minutes of the drive to her house the conversation fell to silence and my thoughts turned to Anthony Gionnini.

  Anthony "Tony" Gionnini was a mid-level member of the mafia. Formerly of New York he was sent down - exiled is the more accurate term - to Florida by his bosses when a racket he ran, which was already in huge trouble for underperforming, was raided by the police. With the authorities unable to pin anything on him he was released but the bosses were far from happy with him. Fearing to be swept under the rug, Tony begged the bosses for another chance. In the end, they decided to send him to Orlando to eke out a living. As much as he was a pain to the men in charge killing him would bring attention no one wanted. They thought it'd be best to just send him somewhere far away where he would at least make some money. And he did, much to everyone's surprise. It was during that time he and Detective Tyler Carnham became caught up in each others' lives.

  ********

  Salli's house was in a quaint white-collar neighborhood with white picket fences. Fitting, I thought, as we pulled into the parking space outside a one-car garage.

  "Here we are," said Salli as she pulled out the car keys and opened the door to step outside. I followed suit and looked at the house as I closed the passenger door. It was a nice two-story home with a faded but pleasant peach color. The yard was covered in snow but a concrete path that was recently shoveled led to a small white-painted wooden porch. The garage was attached on the right side of the house.

  Salli said, "I popped the trunk so start lugging them inside if you don't mind. I'll go and unlock the front door."

  "Sure thing," I said as I walked toward the back of the car to unload the groceries.

  With two bags in each arm I walked into the house, making sure to wipe my feet on the mat. I paused for a moment to look at my surroundings. To the right of me was a small shelf about waist high and an oval-shaped mirror above that. Past that was a light-colored wooden staircase attached to a wall painted golden yellow that led upstairs to the second floor. Situated between the former and the latter was the entrance leading into the kitchen. Across from that was the entryway to a very plush living room with what looked like an unlit fireplace.