Domino narrowed her eyes against the wind and rain whirling around her as she crouched at the edge of the rooftop, her mind in an almost meditative state. The sky churned above her, the low, dense clouds an ominous yellow-grey as they reflected the lights of the city. The air carried a palpable charge, an indeterminate energy which was serving only to deepen Domino's sense of anticipation.
She often found herself coming to this spot when she felt her centre in turmoil. It calmed her somehow, this aerie, her 'phoenix perch', as Angel had dubbed it. Perhaps in attaining perfect balance at the very edge of a seventy-story drop, she also found an inner balance. It was one of the few constants she allowed herself; predictability could prove very dangerous in her line of work but this place had always seemed worth the risk.
Now, as she hunched in the shadows cast by a giant video board, Domino scanned the windows of the apartment building across the street. Distant sirens blended with announcements and music blaring from advertising screens, the familiar sounds of the city her soundtrack as she searched for meaning in the tiny amber squares of light. This was one of her games; on one level, it was a simple voyeuristic pleasure, a safe way of spending time with others. At the same time, it often fuelled recall of memories lost, fragments of an obfuscated past.
As she sought to make some form of connection, her eyes found the image of a wiry man, gaunt-featured in his braces and fedora, a relic of a bygone age as he sat polishing a revolver over the green baize of a card table.
Her fingertips find the components of the rifle, even in the absolute black imposed by the blindfold. His voice tells her to begin and motor memory kicks in, almost an autonomic response. She feels and hears the click and slide of the parts, smells the gun oil, even lingers over the haptic buzz of the targeting module as it slams home. She was made to do this, and it is almost as if the rifle understands this simple truth. She sets it on the table, complete, and his voice tells her, “three seconds. Again. Faster.”
The echo of her past faded, leaving behind a confusion of emotions, most of them unpleasant. She continued her search, hoping for something more, some indication of a life more ordinary. Minutes passed, and she almost turned from the windows in disappointment. Then the girl appeared, wrapped in her blanket, a steaming mug in her hand.
All the shapes of the garden and the street beyond are indistinct, changed by the twinkling blanket of snow. The soft white flakes are still swirling in flurries through the air and several even hang there before her, dancing silently, just for her. She smells her grandfather's cologne and smiles as he gently wraps one of his itchy sweaters around her shoulders.
“Keep warm, Yukiko,” he says in his gravely voice. “I made your favourite hot chocolate. The one from the store in the village.”
“Thank you,” she says, delighted by the treat. She takes the hot mug in her hands and the sweet scent of the drink fills her with a deep comfort.
“It snowed like this on the day you were born,” says her grandfather. “That's why your parents named you Yukiko – child of the snow.”
She feels his soft kiss on the back of her head and smiles. She has known the meaning of her name for some time but her grandfather makes it sound special, magical, even. Here in his house, she is a princess in a grand palace of ice, and all the creatures in the snow are gathering to see her...
As the drone of a passing air car pulled her from the memory, Domino felt the hot trail of tears on her cheeks and rubbed at her eyes angrily. So much had been taken from her. She was incomplete, a sadist's bad joke, cast in a mould of perfection, fractured by uncaring hands. Where others saw her beauty, she felt her inadequacies. While others feared her precision and skill, she feared her nightmares and weaknesses.
She forced herself to sublimate her anguish, focus on the mission before her. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on her breathing once more, resuming her review of the plan. She had worked with Angel on the logistics of gaining access to Yamada tirelessly, long hours spent together pouring over data and blueprints, working through the options. In the end, the most effective solution to the problem of Yamada's increased security proved to be both the simplest and the most dangerous.
While she was prepared physically, Domino knew she must also be the equal of the task in heart and mind. So now she entered zazen, and her mind was filled with a quiet nothingness, an absence of thought.
[What're you thinking about? You've been quiet for hours, Yuki.]
The neural link communication from Angel broke Domino's meditative state and brought her focus back to the physical world.
[Just clearing my head. I want to be ready.]
[You could wait. See if he leaves that place some time.]
[No. He never leaves. You know that. I need to go in after him.]
[I... I know. But... I'm just worried. Sorry.]
[Don't be. It's... it helps to know you're watching over me.]
[Always.]
The link went silent for a few breaths, neither of them feeling sure what to say next.
[Angel, is Borislav still available to help with the plan?]
[As far as I know, yes.]
[I think it's the best chance we have. I'm coming back now. I want to go in tomorrow night.]
[You sure?]
[Completely.]
[Okay. Take care.]
[Don't I always?]
[If only...]
Domino chuckled as she signed off. She understood Angel's concerns. The plan involved so many variables which could spin out of control. During the conversation with Angel, her eyes had stared unfocussed across the city skyline, the thousands of buildings and brightly coloured signs little more than indistinct shapes. As her vision regained focus, she found herself looking directly at the sharp lines and black fascia of Yamada's hotel. He would be there now, in his tower, luxuriating in his penthouse while homogenised security guards kept watch over him. They would do him little good, in the end.
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
Copyright © A. Flood 2010
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