Chapter One  

Two fingers pushed between the window blinds, separating them barely an inch. Danny Dillon stood in the dark peering out; his stomach churned. He glanced back at the clock, then at Schmedly, who lay quietly on the living room floor. They both knew the time drew near – the time when she came home.

It was almost five o’clock. A car crept toward the house and pulled up the double driveway. Its headlights illuminated a sign between the two garage doors reading "deliveries and customers", underscored by an arrow pointing to the right side of the house.

Danny stepped away from the window. Following the light from downstairs, he walked across the living room and down the first flight to the front door. He reached for the knob but then pulled back and continued down the second stairway to the lower floor of the split-level ranch home.

Once back at his workbench he poked around inside a half-gutted computer. Schmedly, hearing the sound of the car door, let out a low growl. Danny spun his chair around and put his index finger to his mouth.

"Shhh."

Schmedly lay down and put his snout between his paws; his tail swept the floor. Danny smiled – it was hard not to – the small black and white spotted mutt had one ear flopped over in the middle while the other stood up straight.

His smile disappeared quickly as he heard Cheryl fumbling with her keys, finally sliding the right one into the lock.

"Why aren’t there any lights on in this house when I get home?" his wife screamed to him – her mild southern accent now more pronounced as she yelled.

"I was working on something and I forgot," he called back meekly.

"Come up here and help with these packages – right now."

"I’m coming, Cheryl."

He bent down and patted Schmedly on the head. "You stay here." The dog almost had a look of pity for his loving master.

Danny walked up the stairs and straight out the front door to the car. The powder blue Mercedes was a sharp contrast to his aging white van that sat adjacent. He leaned into the open trunk, snaking each arm through three plastic grocery bag handles. He attempted to lift them but the years of physical inactivity had taken its toll on his diminutive frame and the grocery bags wouldn’t budge. He opted for two instead and wrestled them out of the trunk.

He climbed the first two steps but stopped, catching a glimpse of white in the back seat of her car. He glanced into the house then stepped back to the car, squinting, hoping that what he saw was a magazine or newspaper. His fears were confirmed. A plastic covering with "Saks Fifth Avenue" laid on the back seat.

Damn.

He walked back inside and laid the groceries on the counter. Cheryl returned from the bedroom, her long brown hair now out of the conservative bun that she wore for work as a legal secretary. Her designer outfit was now exchanged for a baggy sweatsuit, which only exaggerated her chubby figure.

"Cheryl, I thought we decided to cut down on the expensive clothes," he said without turning to her.

"You decided that, not me." She took a plate from the cabinet.

Schmedly stood wagging his tail at the entrance to the kitchen. Danny pointed down the stairs and waved his finger for the dog to retreat, which he did.

"We can’t afford it," Danny said.

"Then you’ll have to work harder or get your father to give you some money."

She flipped down a small under the counter TV and switched it on.

"Cheryl, you can’t keep spending money this way."

Their eyes met for the first time.

She raised her voice slightly. "Like I said, you’ll just have to work harder."

Danny hung his head as he left the kitchen. He stopped before descending to the workshop and gazed with disgust at the professionally decorated living room. Ultra modern furniture was accompanied by small, strangely shaped statues. Décor such as this was more suited for a wealthy household rather than their middle class status.

He continued down, but as he passed the front door, he froze – his stomach knotted. He had almost forgotten his daily chore – the bringing of the mail. He returned with a handful of envelopes. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

A fluorescent bulb, one of many in a long row of fixtures spanning the lower level, flickered. Four long tables set together end to end were littered with computers in various stages of repair. Against a wall was an unfinished wooden desk covered with papers but in an orderly fashion. A Budweiser logo swept back and forth as a screen saver on the computer monitor atop the desk. Two file cabinets sat adjacent and a cork bulletin board displayed colorful pushpins holding reminders of overdue bills. This was the accounting and customer service department. In the far corner was Danny’s refuge.

Schmedly greeted him with a low "woof". Danny quickly quieted him.

"C'mon over here and open the mail with me."

Danny motioned for the dog to follow him to his makeshift den. A black leather recliner sat in front of a console television – both more than a decade old. He tapped the TV remote, turning on the news. Schmedly jumped into his lap and licked his face.

"Hey you’re kinda heavy for a lap dog. Thank God I have you. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

He sifted through the mail, separating bills from the junk – it was two to one in favor of the bills. He sliced open envelope after envelope from credit card companies and department stores. He stared at them – at forty years old, this was not the financial position he wanted.

"She’s killing us, Schmed."

Danny could hear Cheryl pull a chair out from under the kitchen table upstairs. They were both hungry but dinner would have to wait until she was finished.

"We can eat soon." He pulled the dog close but then nudged him off his lap as the business phone rang.

"Dillon’s Computer Repair," he answered. "Oh, yes; that’ll be delivered to you in the next couple days – we’re almost finished with it… Very good, thank you."

He walked to the table where the repaired computers were boxed and ready to be sent out. He lifted a tag on one and slid it to the beginning of a line.

"He’s a good customer; let’s get this out to him tomorrow."

Schmedly scratched at the back door.

"You want to go out? Okay, c'mon, I’ll take a walk with you," he said, throwing on a jacket. He pushed open the door.

Schmedly immediately ran to the fence and barked. Danny was right on his heels, grabbing him and holding is mouth closed.

"You want to upset the witch?"

A quiet laugh came from the other side of the fence. The yard was dark but Danny could still make out the silhouette of man and a large cylindrical object.

"Kanook?"

"Yeah Danny, I’m just searchin’ the heavens. You wanna come over and take a look through the telescope?"

"Not right now. I’m hungry and so’s the dog. Just waiting for her to finish."

The tall thin figure came to the fence and reached over to pet Schmedly.

"She just got home?"

"Yeah." Leaves swirled around his ankles – the brisk November breeze gave him a chill. His jaw trembled as he tried to talk. "Let me get back in and see if she’s done eating."

"Hey, you never answered me on my wife’s cousin, Barry Leonard. He’s only in Hartford for a month, man. Then he goes back to LA. Maybe our only chance to see him do his thing for a while," Kanook said.

"I’ll think about it – I’m not too keen on the whole idea… but let me think about it. Let you know in the next couple days." He gave a wave. "C'mon Schmed."

He tiptoed to the stairs and listened. The TV was on in the living room, meaning the kitchen was clear. "Let’s go; I’ll feed you," he whispered to the dog, who already knew the routine of sneaking quietly up the stairs.

Danny reached under the counter and took out a can of dog food. Schmedly danced around in circles – something Danny never tired of watching.

"Danny, is it possible for you to feed that dog downstairs from now on?" Cheryl called in from the living room – or as Danny liked to call it – the temple. "I had a white hair in my food tonight."

He didn’t answer, confused that she had asked him to do something instead of demanding it.

"By the way, how was your day?" she asked.

Danny stood up straight and smacked himself on the side of the head to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. He bent down next to Schmedly who was nose deep in his food. "Somebody stole our Cheryl and replaced her with a robot."

He peeked into the living room. From his angle he could see her profile as she sat in her vibrating massage chair. He watched as she lifted a brandy snifter to her lips and immediately understood the reason for her congeniality. She gulped down the remainder of the liquor.

Danny bent over and whispered into the dog’s ear. "She’s drinking again but I must say she’s much more pleasant to be around. Maybe tomorrow I’ll buy her a case of booze. Hey – maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to have sex tonight." He stood and laughed loudly.

"Danny, what are you laughing about? Did you hear me before?"

He thought a brief minute of polite conversation would be refreshing even though it was the liquor speaking.

"What did you say? I didn’t hear you."

"I said ‘How was your day?’"

Danny tried to find something interesting to say but there were no new contracts and no new money coming in to appease the queen.

"Nothing much happened today – same as every day."

"Oh," she replied with a yawn, and the conversation was over.

Danny sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair. His black, thick rimmed glasses, which were eons old, were now heavy on the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his eyes and held the glasses up to the light. After a quick clean, he was almost ready. He opened the top desk drawer and took out a comb. He stroked it across his slightly greasy, receding black hair as if he were about to go on a date. He hummed quietly as he moved his mouse over the pad, bringing the computer out of hibernation. He logged on to a chat room.

"Hi guys," he said as he typed in the words.

The words "Hi Danny" popped up twelve times on his screen. He looked to see which of his computer buddies were online. This was the only place where he and others could feel safe talking about their shared torment.

"Where’s Sid?" he typed.

Someone came back with, "I spoke to him on the phone – she smashed his computer."

Danny shook his head. He knew that to these men this chat room was their only form of friendship – a place to console each other.

Danny had allotted a half an hour for his friends. The computers behind him required his attention and soon he was into a broken laptop. By midnight he could no longer focus. He gave Schmedly a nudge. The dog lifted his head with a yawn.

"Bedtime," he whispered.

Schmedly got up shaking himself and almost fell over. Danny got behind him and helped him up the stairs. He tiptoed to the master bedroom door and peeked in. Cheryl snored lightly. He could see her face from the glow of a small night-light. He went into the opposite bedroom where Schmedly was already stretched out on the bed.

"Hey, save some room for me, will you?"

The dog thumped his tail as Danny lifted the covers and slid in.

"Goodnight pal."

By six the next morning, Danny was back in the workshop. Cheryl would be extra ornery after her drinking the night before and he didn’t want to cross paths.

They could hear her walking in the kitchen and sat quietly awaiting her departure. She hadn’t said a word and he had hoped it would stay that way but luck wasn’t on his side.

"Danny…Danny, where are you," she yelled.

"Down here."

"I forgot to mention last night that we’re going to dinner with some people from my office on Friday. We’re going to that new restaurant, Shine."

He didn’t say a word. He knew that it was a pricey restaurant but rather than start an argument, he sat quietly. The front door slammed – they were free for nine hours.

Schmedly stood at the back door.

"You want out? You want to wait for him?"

Danny let him out to wait for his assistant, Tommy. Within ten minutes, Danny heard talking outside and Schmedly barking. He held open the door – the excited dog came running in search of a ball.

"Hey Tommy."

"Hi Danny," he replied, bending down to pull the ball out of Schmedly’s mouth. He gave it a soft roll under the table. The dog went scampering after it.

Tommy stood tall and was of Pakistani descent but spoke perfect English. He had only been working with Danny for a month but he was already an indispensable assistant. He knew his way around the inside of a computer and had one important attribute – Schmedly liked him. That was Danny’s sure-fire way of telling if a person was genuine.

"No time for play now Schmed. We have lots of work to do," Danny said.

"Okay Tommy, this is what I need you to do." He handed Tommy a small box. "I need you to deliver a couple that are done. One has to go to Hartford – it’ll take you a little time. You can take the stuff later. Right now start working on that one over there," Danny said, pointing to a laptop.

Tommy seemed preoccupied and wasn’t really paying attention.

"You okay, Tommy?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. It’s just last night I read about a guy that I knew in high school. He was killed in an accident. It’s really bothering me."

"That’s too bad."

"Yeah… Nice guy too."

"Maybe I can hook you up with Kanook for some tickets to Barry Leonard. Maybe your friend will contact you – if you believe in that stuff."

"First, what’s a Kanook?" Tommy asked.

Danny laughed. "I’ve mentioned my neighbor, Kanook, haven’t I? Half Native American, half Eskimo." Danny thought for a moment. "Yes I did – you even met him once."

"Oh, the guy next door," he said, unscrewing the bottom panel of the computer.

"Well he’s rather an odd duck but real good people. Really into alien stuff and astronomy. His wife’s cousin is Barry Leonard – the guy who speaks to the dead. Ever hear of him?" Danny asked.

"Oh…Yeah, I saw a show on him once. He performs all over the country… I guess the best word is performs. Funny… I wouldn’t figure you for someone who would believe in that kinda thing, Danny."

"I thought about trying it. Thought maybe I’d be able to hear from my mom. This guy is coming to Hartford this weekend. I don’t know – then there’s the problem of my wife. I’d have to sneak."

"Sneak? To go see a psychic?" Tommy asked with both sympathy and disbelief.

"I don’t want to get too much into it but let’s just say that my wife and I don’t really get along too well."

"Okay."

"Let me know if you want to go, Tommy, and I’ll see what I can do."

Early afternoon brought a light rain. Danny helped Tommy pack his truck with computers to be delivered.

"Remember, don’t take any wooden nickels," Danny said.

Tommy just looked confused.

"Just go."

Danny turned the corner toward the back door. "Have you been a good dog today?" he called to Schmedly who waited inside. Schmedly knew this signal – it meant let’s go to Grampa’s. The dog was so excited he could barely bark. Danny opened the back door for the out of control mutt.

"Easy now, easy. You want to go see Grampa?"

As Schmedly calmed a bit, his bark returned. Danny watched and laughed, for with every woof that he let out, his one half flopped ear would stand for a second, and then fall again.

Danny harnessed Schmedly into the van’s passenger seat and off they went. Schmedly’s window was cracked just enough to get his nose out for the passing scents. Within fifteen minutes, they were on a country road just outside their residential community. Even with the rain, the freedom of being out of the house – the jail – was exhilarating. How nice it would be if it were just the two of them. Danny glanced over at his dog as he held back tears.

Danny stopped at the guard booth of his father’s gated community. The security guard waved him through. Stately homes on acre plots lined both sides of the Belgian block curbed street. As he passed the community center, Schmedly let out a long bark, sounding almost like a howl, knowing they were near.

"Grampa’s house, Grampa’s house," Danny yelled, egging him on.

He pulled into the driveway. Danny’s father, George was already at the front door. He was rather a non-descript gentleman of average height and grayish white hair.

Schmedly was now in a frenzy. Danny unhooked him and leaned over to open the door. The dog, his nails losing grip on the driveway, ran towards George. They disappeared into the house before Danny was out of the van.

Once inside Danny knew exactly where to find them – the kitchen, where the dog biscuits were.

"Not so many, Dad. Last time he didn’t eat dinner when we got home."

George was down on one knee as Danny came in the kitchen.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you, I heard you. This is only the first one," he said, having a tug of war with the dog.

Danny opened the refrigerator and took out a container of orange juice. He poured while watching his father act like a child, sliding around on the floor. Schmedly let out a playful growl as they both tugged on the large biscuit. Danny knew it couldn’t last long and after a minute George was reaching for a helping hand to lift him.

"Oh, my back," he said, as he rubbed his lower lumbar. "How are you, Son?"

They embraced and then settled in the expansive living room.

"So, how’s things going over there?" George asked.

"Nothing different, Dad."

"Danny, you gotta get out. You gotta leave. Come here and live with me." He looked down at Schmedly, who was lying at his feet. "Tell your father that you want to come live here with me."

Schmedly stood up and barked.

"Dad, every time I come here the conversation starts out the same. Just once I’d like to talk about something else before you start in. You don’t get it… it’s not that easy. I’ll lose my house."

"So what? This’ll be your house when I die. Start living here now."

George got up and searched around. "Now where is that thing? Here it is."

He held up a remote control. "Look what I had put in." He hit the button and the fireplace flame lit automatically.

"Look, dad, all this stuff is nice but I worked hard for my house."

George cut him short.

"But you’re in a prison with that bitch. Now I told you, when I die, my will states that you get nothing ‘til you divorce her – so just leave now and get it started."

Danny looked ashamed. "I can’t, I just can’t."

George nodded his head. "You’re afraid. I understand but you don’t have to tell her. Just move out in the middle of the day. I’ll hire a crew."

Danny kneeled on a couch under the picture window and looked out over the front yard.

"Dad, she’s got something on me, all right? I never told you because I figured you’d be pissed."

"On you? What could she possibly have on you?"

He let out a deep sigh. "I wasn’t exactly honest with my taxes for past seven years."

"Oh, Danny, how could you let her find out about that?"

"When we first got married, she had these visions of me making millions fixing computers. Things were different then – we got along great… I told her everything. Now… well you know."

"If you go to the IRS and tell them what you did, you’d get by with just having to pay the back taxes and penalties."

"We’re talking lots of money, Dad."

"I’ve got lots of money – let’s fix it."

"Can’t let you do that, Dad. Could we talk about something else? I feel like shit now… now that you know I’ve got this hanging over my head."

George walked back to the kitchen. Schmedly's ears perked up hearing the rattling of the biscuit box again. He returned with a glass of juice and biscuit, gently dropping it between the front paws of the lying dog. He sat the glass down and ran for the phone.

"Hello? Hello?" he placed the phone back down. "Every day I’m getting these hang ups. Really annoying. C'mon, I’ll beat you at a few hands of gin."

It was already dark when Danny backed out his father’s driveway. He had to hurry if he wanted to beat her home. It was better that way – no questions about where he was.

Across the street from his father’s, a dark colored van had just turned off its lights. Danny pulled away, and then slowed as he saw the silhouette of a man outside the van. He thought about going back to get the plate number but knew that all vehicles entering the development had to sign in and were expected by a homeowner, unless the guard recognized the driver. He drove on.

Friday night came too soon. Danny reluctantly took his only suit from the guest bedroom closet. He once had space in the master bedroom walk-in but now it held so many designer outfits that there was little room for anything of his. Cheryl had laid a tie on the bed for him. He examined it front and back.

"Cheryl, don’t you think this tie is a little bold?"

"No, it’s fine. Just wear it," she called back. "And put your contacts in."

"But they kill my eyes."

"You can’t go to a high class restaurant with these people wearing those silly looking glasses. Now put the contacts in."

He sat on the bed with his head in his hands. Schmedly, who had been lying on the floor, came up from behind and licked Danny’s ear.

"I know Buddy, I know."

Danny dressed slowly. When it came time to put on the tie, he turned to Schmedly. "What knot should I go with? I’m thinking a hangman’s noose."

"Let’s go, I’m waiting for you," Cheryl yelled from the living room.

"Coming, my little piranha fish," he murmured under his breath. After putting in his contacts, he walked out.

"Let me see," she said, spinning him around and brushing lint off his shoulders. "Doesn’t look bad. Let’s go."

Danny approached the driver’s door. Cheryl came up behind him.

"Get on the other side, I’m driving. Your driving sucks."

Danny glanced around at the neighbors’ houses, praying that no one was watching. He walked to the passenger side.

The valet opened the door for Cheryl and handed her a numbered ticket. Once inside they were greeted by the maitre d’.

"We’re a bit late for the Carlson party. Seven o’clock – party of eight," Cheryl said to the man.

"Right this way, Madam."

The only thing on Danny’s mind was a strong drink but he’d need a second to forget the price of the first.

"Cheryl," an older gentleman called out. "We started to think you weren’t coming."

"Blame my husband. He took his time getting ready."

They made the rounds of shaking hands and kissing hello. The men at the table stood and waited as the maitre d’ slid Cheryl’s chair in.

"That’s a beautiful dress," one of the wives noted.

"Gucci," she announced proudly.

"I guess your computer company is doing very well, Danny."

He gave a little nod and smile and then glanced at Cheryl. Trying to avoid conversation, he picked up a menu and prayed that it wasn’t one of those menus that didn’t include prices. This was going to cost him. He searched for what he thought would be the least expensive item but it seemed that everything was stuffed with lobster, covered with lobster or drizzled with lobster sauce.

The waiter hovered over Cheryl, his pad in hand, as she perused the menu.

"I think I’ll have the surf-n-turf," she said, handing the waiter back the menu. "But make sure there’s nothing in any of my food with nuts – very important."

"I understand, ma’am," the waiter said, making a note. He looked toward the men for their orders. Danny had decided on stuffed pork chops although he would have been much happier with a bowl of warm broth to save money.

He sipped from his glass of water, trying to hide his uneasiness. These weren’t his kind of people. He would have been much more comfortable chatting with the waiters.

Cheryl had just finished her salad when Danny noticed her face turn a fiery red.

"Is it real hot in here all of a sudden?" she asked.

Danny, who was about to put a forkful of food into his mouth, stopped and dropped it onto the plate. He knew what that question meant although Cheryl herself hadn’t figured it out yet.

"How’s your breathing?" he asked.

She gave him a panicked look, quickly realizing what he was asking. She stood up, as did Danny.

"Sit back down and don’t panic. Give me your bag," he said.

"What’s going on," one of the women asked.

"She may have eaten something with nuts – she’s allergic," Danny replied. "Someone call 911."

Cheryl started to wheeze and became light headed. She slumped in the chair. Danny fumbled with her bag as he searched for the kit. He pulled out a small plastic box and withdrew a hypodermic needle.

The entire restaurant was silent, watching Danny as he laid her down on the floor. The waiters and maitre d’ huddled around him. He injected a dose of Epinephrine into her upper arm.

"Now what?" the waiter asked.

"Now we wait for the Epinephrine to take effect and get her to the hospital."

Danny’s heart pounded as he watched Cheryl’s body slipping into anaphylactic shock. None the less, he couldn’t seem to escape the thought that he no longer had to pay for the meal and there would be no doggie bag for Schmedly.

"You still breathing okay?" he asked her.

She nodded. He draped his jacket over her and used another man’s jacket as a pillow.

"The paramedics should be here soon," he said.

Within fifteen minutes, paramedics rolled a stretcher into the restaurant and put an oxygen mask over her face. By then she was almost unconscious.

"We need to intubate her – she’s not getting any air here," one of the paramedics said.

He had the tube down her throat on the first try. Her chest now raised and lowered but not at a normal rate. The paramedic squeezed air into her lungs with a plastic bottle. Her face was still red and now began to swell. She was still starving for oxygen.

"You wanna ride with us to the hospital?" the second paramedic asked Danny.

"No, I’ll follow you. I need a way to get back home."

The paramedic who had inserted the tube held a stethoscope to her chest and listened.

"Her heart rate is way out of whack here. We need to get her there fast." He ripped open a package and jabbed a needle with another dose of Epinephrine into her arm.

Danny held an IV bottle the paramedic had handed him. "Just hold it for a minute ‘til my partner gets a free hand. Hold it higher," he said, grabbing his wrist and raising it up.

As they wheeled her out, Danny stood in shock. Tears rolled down his cheeks, "Cheryl, oh God, Cheryl," he cried.

Her friends offered Danny a ride to the hospital but he didn’t hear them. He finally came around after one man gave him a gentle shake, "No, no, I can get there okay."

He picked up Cheryl’s purse and walked toward the door. He felt true sorrow but in the back of his mind he felt what he hadn’t in many years – possible freedom.