Dangerous by Default

Prologue

You can never tell if the world is upside down or right side up in San Francisco.

As the woman's glassy eyes drifted up to the sky, she felt a freshly peeled slice of orange being slid into the palm of her hand. It had been many years since she used her eyes to look out from her 12th story Pac Heights balcony, but she could imagine it perfectly. As she bit down on the soft citrusy flesh, a summery day from many decades ago floated through her mind like a cool dream. She could hear her grandfather's voice:

See there, my girl! The water blends into the sky, as if the sunset were suspended between two vast oceans. Which way is up and which way is down, can you tell me that my little lady?

The six year old girl from decades past came fluttering back to life: how her grandfather's guard uniform felt stiff on her bare legs, and how his question had made her so afraid she stomped his enormous feet. If the sky wasn't really up, what would keep the ocean from falling? The thought of drowning in the sky had terrified her. Her grandfather, in his infinite sensitivity and kindness, pulled her in close and began to sing a lullaby. The song made just for her Grandmom, that nobody else in the world knew but us.

The old woman bathed in the memory of the words and hummed along, half outloud and half in her mind.

Over the air, you gently float

Into my soul, you strike a note

"Oh honey, a little darkness is all it takes to make me want to curl up into a ball and die."

The caretaker's voice startled her. "What's that?" the old woman replied. She couldn't be sure if she had heard the voice before. Caretakers are coming and going all the time, drifting through her life like time itself.

"I said, that's lovely, Gran. Irving Berlin?"
"No, it's not Irving Berlin. It's a song my granddaddy used to sing" she replied.

"Who's it by?" the caretaker asked while splitting open another orange.

"The gangster Al Capone wrote it. Alcatraz's most famous resident. Most of my granddaddy's friends from his prison guard days were the inmates. He was that kind of guy, saw the good in people. Al wrote a love song for him when my grandmother died. Wrote it by hand and passed it to him between the bars."

"Whatever happened to the manuscript? It must be in a museum by now" the caretaker asked as another orange slice was slid into the woman's hand.

"No, it's not in a museum. I've kept it. He even signed it. Love Al. Love! To think, that a killer like that could feel such emotion." She giggled at the thought, and began to sing again, this time mouthing the words out loud for her nurse to enjoy them with her.

Her blanket fell to the floor, and she bent to pick it up. As she did, she noticed something out of place, a current of air that felt different. It prickled the hairs on her face, as if propelled by someone moving quickly. As soon as she thought to call out it was too late. A searing pain erupted in the side of her neck and leaked across her throat as the blade sliced effortlessly through her thin flesh.

The woman propped herself upright and the pain slowly transformed into a furious, glowing anger. She tried to scream out, to yell, but she couldn't make a sound. As the blood soaked into her blouse she began to feel chilly, first over her chest, then the rest of her body. Her anger subsided. She was now calm.

She slid back into her chair and listened quietly to the sounds of her apartment being thrashed wildly by the stranger, as if an animal had gotten itself trapped inside. A wooden cabinet creaked open and the apartment became quiet again.

"Well this is fucking fabulous! Love, Al. You were right, gorge!" the strange voice said as a stiff sheet of music paper was rolled up and slid it carefully into a metal case.

The old woman had now relaxed completely, and her grandfather's voice continued along with the refrain of the love song. Her eyes rolled across the purple and red sky that surrounded her in her memories.

The strange voice said something else and the words puzzled her. They seemed funny, like they didn't fit together in a sentence. She knew only that they held the secret to why she had to die. She pondered the words as she slid finally into total darkness.

doves are pink... dimensions are blue ...

A button was yanked from the old woman's blouse and the stranger was gone.