Chapter 2
The air lacked humidity and the sun wasn't hot, but there was still something warm about lying on the benches at the bottom of the stands and sunbathing. With an arm over his eyes, Dom could almost imagine he was still alive, just killing a day at the track with nothing of importance to do and no one around to disturb the atmosphere.
Almost- because the row of chairs above him kept creaking, reminding him that he wasn't alone. He had an annoying companion.
"On the bright side, no skin cancer, right?" Brian posed. Dom shifted enough to look up at the other man, who in turn was looking up at the sun. Brian was sprawled over the chairs, body lengthened out, neck stretched, shirt riding up, and Dom was man enough to admit he liked what he saw. "Dark side – no tans."
"I'm dark enough," Dom said with a grunt. "Did you need something?"
"I told you. I'm-"
"Here to make me choose life. Well I got news for you. There ain't no life. I drove into the ocean, Spilner. No oxygen. No oxygen equals no life," Dom said, but Brian did not look deterred.
There were two beats of silence and then Brian leaned forward slightly. "Why?" he asked, and he meant why did Dom kill himself. Dom could tell the question by the look on Brian's face. It was filled with an open and calm expression, and it looked endearing on his features, but Dom had seen similar looks on the faces of too many shrinks.
That look just made Dom shut down, not open up.
"Why's it matter?" he asked and shifted to cover his eyes again.
"Dunno. Does it matter?" Brian asked back, and Dom looked quickly back over. That was never something a shrink asked.
For a long moment, Dom didn't answer and they just stared at each other – brown eyes to blue. But then Dom swung himself to sit up and rested his arms on his knees.
"Alright, Spilner. I got a question for you now," he said. "You say you're some kind of angel. Since when do angels have time to waste on some sorry case like mine? Shouldn't you be focusing on the living?"
"There are older angels doing that. Don't worry about it," Brian said, waving off the idea. The chair on his left creaked and squeaked as Brian removed his leg from it and sat up straighter.
"Older? How old are you?" Dom asked. Angels had ages? He knew about ranks, but was it even possible to have an age when you lived apart from time?
"Twenty-eight," Brian said with a teasing lilt in his tone and smile, as though it were some kind of hidden joke.
"Seriously?" Dom didn't get it. Yeah, Brian looked that age, but no way had he only been around that long.
With a shrug, Brian stood up. There was more creaking involved. Heaven's race track needed some WD-40. "Well time is weird here, but if you include the Earth time after my death…. I guess I'm more like eighty," he said.
That caught Dom's attention. "You died?" he asked.
Too late Brian seemed to realize what he'd said, and his expression betrayed his self-scolding moment before he said, "We're sorta here to talk about you, aren't we? Let's focus on that."
"That how it is?" Dom asked, sour. He tensed his jaw and pressed his hands tight together. "I gotta tell you all my secrets, but you don't gotta tell me anything? Hafta say, you're starting to sound less like an angel and more and more like a shrink." He made sure he and Brian had locked gazes before he narrowed his gaze and said darkly, "And I hate shrinks."
For the first time, Brian looked nervous, and he did his best not to feel bad about that. Brian was trying to get into his head, trying to make him doubt himself and his choices. No matter how pretty his face was, Dom couldn't forgive Brian for that.
"Sorry, Dom," Brian said and put a hand up to stop the confrontation. He sounded sincere enough that Dom stopped glaring at least. "I guess I pressed too hard too quick. I should give you some space."
"Yeah. You should," Dom said, his gravelly voice almost growling.
Brian took a step away and slid his hands into his pockets. For a second he pressed his lips tight together, and then he was frowning outright. "Hey, I'll check in on you later, alright? Maybe we can start over."
"Yeah. Sure," Dom agreed in a voice that spoke volumes on how little he expected that to happen.
The frown on Brian's face tinted with disappointment, but in the next blink he was gone and Dom was left staring up at the empty bleachers. Slowly looking around so that his surprise wouldn't be evident, Dom searched every visible area for the blonde, but he actually gone.
Although he'd been wishing for the other to leave him alone, now that it had happened Dom found himself feeling strangely empty. He remembered the cold, breathlessness that had overcome him when he'd first arrived, and he hoped he could control himself better this time around.
After all, he wasn't alone. He was dead. There was a difference.
The track had been one of Dom's favorite places to spend a few hours when he was growing up. Even with no people in it, he was sure he could find some joy in being stranded here. And really, just how long would he be stranded? Brian called the track a waiting room, but how long did Dom have to wait?
Despite not wanting to go back to his father's office, Dom started up the steps in that direction, heading for the control room. His eyes glanced over where Brian had been, despite himself, and he hesitated in his movement only one row up.
Something red and wet was on the concrete floor. For a moment, Dom thought it looked like blood, but then it faded away as though it had never been there. Just like Brian. Just like the car, which was no longer smoking on the track. Just like everything here.
Shaking off the unsettling feeling the sight gave him, Dom continued walking.
The control room was long and comprised of two levels – one level for the main control board for lighting and sound and automatic door locks and the such, and one level for the announcer's station and a few chairs for corporate viewing. The security cameras also fed into the room, appearing on monitors to the left of the main control board. One chair and a miniature control panel were set up in front of them.
Walking slowly past the monitors, Dom saw what he expected to see. No one. Not a soul could be seen in any area of the track. The food stand downstairs was shuttered, and although Dom usually got hungry when thinking of the great hot dogs they sold, he didn't feel even the slightest tug in his stomach now. Perk of being dead, he supposed. The garage was empty of both people and cars, so that took away the idea of racing to pass time.
His father's office and the hallway outside were still, but even when the track was open for business this wasn't uncommon. The camera on the parking lot was the only interesting screen, really, and that was because it was blank. Not black, per say, but empty. No people, no cars, no objects of any kind, not even the asphalt. It was a pale, empty blue, like a digital TV screen with no incoming signal.
There was no parking lot. The empty feeling in Dom's stomach intensified and he covered the monitor with his hand to block it out. There was nothing outside of the track. He was really and truly stuck.
"Damn," he murmured. "This was not part of the plan."
The window that stretched along the entire far wall drew him to it, and he looked over the track, wishing he had a car. He loved driving. Or he used to. And maybe that was why there were no cars here. Punishment.
Narrowing his eyes, Dom focused on the far side of the track where the garage was set up. Although the camera had said no one was in there, the door was wide open, and Dom could almost make out a car inside.
He moved quickly back to the monitors and found the garage view. His eyes weren't lying. The garage was lit up with outdoor lighting and there was Brian's blue Skyline set up for repairs, wheels two feet off the ground. A moment of watching later and there was Brian, sliding from beneath the body on a creeper seat.
The car didn't really exist. Hell, Brian didn't even really exist. And yet there Brian was, fixing something that shouldn't require any fixing at all. The passenger door had been removed, as well as the roof and hood. Taking a seat, Dom watched Brian meticulously install the new blue hood and test its ability to close.
Angels shouldn't be able to get greasy, and they damn sure as hell shouldn't look so good covered in it.
Grunting in aggravation at himself, Dom pushed away from the monitors and strode quickly from the room. He blocked the sunlight from his eyes as he made his way down the stands and onto the track. It wasn't because he was lonely, he kept telling himself. He just missed the smell of motor oil.
He walked up slow, not wanting to disturb Brian's concentration, and for several moments he was able to observe the work up close without being noticed. Brian's focus was absolute as he went about rebuilding his engine. The car had been lowered to the ground during Dom's trek, but the roof was still missing, as was the passenger door. The grease Dom had noticed through the camera was all the way up to Brian's elbows and a smear of it went across his nose where he'd undoubtedly rubbed an itch.
If Dom knew nothing else about Brian, he at least knew that they shared a knowledge and love of cars. He could tell just by watching Brian work, by the intensity in his eyes as he screwed things in. And maybe that was a little endearing.
He got away with his voyeurism for roughly ten minutes. Then, while tightening a bolt, Brian let out a wrecked gasp and dropped his wrench right through the car and to the ground. It clanged loudly, but it didn't jolt Dom as much as the gasp. At first Dom thought he'd been spotted, but Brian wasn't looking at him. His eyes were closed and he pressed one greasy hand to his chest, pulling at the shirt there. Then he took a slow, deep breath, and glared with annoyance at nothing in particular.
The whole experience lasted less than five seconds, and then Brian was bending down to retrieve his wrench as though nothing had happened. But Dom had stepped forward two paces after hearing the gasp, and with Brian out of his concentration induced blindness, it was enough to have Brian's eyes land on him.
"Dom," he said, surprised, and stood up empty handed.
"Thought this car was gone for good," Dom said and walked the rest of the distance to the car. He bent down and retrieved the wrench, then held it out for Brian to take.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could just get a new one but… Old habits." He laughed once and bent back over the car to finish what he'd been doing.
He could just get a new one? So could Brian pull into existence whatever he wanted?
"Hey, Spilner," he said, catching the other's attention. "How's this work? You want something and it appears?"
"Uh, sorta." Brian pushed back from the car and wiped his hands on each other, doing nothing to clean them off.
"Can I do that too?" Dom leaned on the car and started to imagine what he might want.
"Ah. There's the catch. Not at all. You're not dead yet, Dom. Remember? Only dead people can control dead space." Brian waved the wrench at Dom and then walked away to grab his new car belt. When he came back, he offered the belt to Dom, but the bigger man shook his head and crossed his arms. Brian frowned, but went about installing it.
Frowning deeply, Dom said, "There's another thing. You keep saying stuff like that. So which are you – an angel or dead?" Brian's fingers twitched on the belt and he dropped part of it momentarily. "Because as far as I was taught, they were two different states of being."
"It's complicated," Brian replied unhelpfully and managed to hook the belt around all the pulleys. He tensioned the belt and then stepped back. "Probably about as complicated as why you aren't helping me with the car."
"Nah, that's not complicated at all," Dom said and pushed off from the blue body. "I don't touch other drivers' cars. Simple as that."
Brian looked unconvinced, stepping up close to Dom as he moved around the other man to the driver's side door. "Sure it has nothing to do with why you drove your Charger off a bridge?" he asked as he popped open the door.
Dom frowned. "I never said I drove a Charger."
"You never said a lot of things." Brian said and slid into the front seat.
He grabbed the keys from the cup holder and slid them into the ignition. When the engine turned over, nothing in the popped hood sparked or grinded or flew off. The belt moved smoothly and anything else Brian had been working on was holding firm. The engine was cut and Brian sighed as he dropped the keys back into the cup holder.
"Dom," he said without getting out. "I know you don't want to… but you have to talk to me."
"I don't have to do shit," Dom grunted, stepping away from the car.
He got five steps away before Brian quickly got out of the car and stopped him with the urgency of his movements. "Dom!" he shouted and Dom couldn't help but turn back. "I'm not kidding. You gotta face what happened to you, man. You gotta talk about your dad and your mom and Mia-"
At the mention of his sister, Dom's chest caved and his stomach burned. He rushed Brian and pinned him to the back door of the Skyline, ignoring the grunt of pain the other let escape his lips. His own breath was heavy and hot as he leaned in close, staring into the angel's bright blue eyes as though his glare could dim them.
"You don't talk about my family," he growled. "You don't talk about 'em, cause you don't know anything about 'em. You hear me? You don't know anything!"
"It wasn't your fault," Brian said, his gaze fixed and determined, his voice undeterred by Dom's shouting. His hands were up in a show of surrender, but his words didn't back down, and each one hit Dom like a hammer to a bruise. "What happened to Mia… It was an accident."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Dom snarled and shoved against Brian before releasing him and heading out of the garage.
Behind him, Brian didn't let up. "I know!" he shouted, but Dom kept walking. "I know, cause she told me, Dom! She was here and she told me everything!"
His footsteps stalled and he whirled on his heel to glare back at Brian. The blonde was standing by the tail of the Skyline, hands out wide, daring Dom to challenge him. But Dom couldn't form words. Mia had met Brian? She had been here, in this place? Had she been offered the chance to live as well but chose not to?
Dropping his hands slightly, Brian continued. "Mia knew you were gonna blame yourself, but there was nothin' she or I could do about it. She knew that, but she still told me, and then she was able to move on, Dom. She just wants you to forgive yourself and be happy. Believe me."
It felt like something was clogging Dom's throat. Cottony and hard at the same time. He couldn't remember the last time he'd believed someone at all, much less with enough faith to buy the story Brian was selling. But was it possible? He'd lost his sister so suddenly, and he could definitely imagine her warming up to Brian's easy smile. Perhaps Brian was telling the truth and Mia really had passed through this crossroads on the way to the afterlife.
"Just talk to me, Dom," Brian said, voice softer, almost begging, and he dropped his hands to his sides.
Dom shut his eyes against Brian's sad expression. What good would talking do? It hadn't helped in life, so he couldn't imagine it would help in death. With a deep breath, he reined in the emotion Brian had forced to the surface with Mia.
He couldn't open those memories. The heartache could kill him all over again. Damn it, he just wanted to die in peace. He just wanted to forget all of it. That's why he'd driven off the bridge to begin with. He didn't die just to relive all the pain. What good would talking do?
"No," he murmured.
When he opened his eyes, Brian was gone again.
