***
A little while later, trying to wiping a drop of blood from her shirt, the woman in the suit smoothed out her clothes and picked up her briefcase. Ben joined her, wiping a smear of blood from her face before leaning in to kiss her. They began to walk towards the exit, but he paused to bring her body closer to his for a moment. “I love when you take control of situations like that Violet, after playing the victim…” Ben said breathing her in deeply, before leaning in to kiss her neck. She yielded to him, rolling her head back and ginning before she stared him in the eye and a seriousness came over her.
“I hate pretending Ben. I think we need to get away from everything - just you and I” Violet appealed.
“What do you think your sisters would say, if we just ran away like that. What would he say.” Ben countered.
“I don’t care anymore” Violet said straightening herself and turning towards the stairwell. Ben followed reluctant to comment further.
They walked away from the blood covered car park floor, Violet tossing the keys over her shoulder from where she stood by the steps. They landed on the bonnet of the Camry, causing a small divot to form and the alarm to start up again.
Moving from the car park to street level and then descending into the underground train station, Violet and Ben were intertwined moving in unison. Once past the ticket booth, they wandered towards a staircase leading to Platform 3, when a boy around 12 years old ran in to them. He looked worried, and was desperately searching with his eyes for something. Violet lowered to his level.
“You lost?” she asked, knowing the answer. The boy nodded silently. “What’s your name child?” she pressed.
“Matt” he responded, tears in his eyes now.
“Matt, I’m Violet. Let’s find your parents” she cooed placing a hand on his shoulder.
Ben tried to reason with her. “Vi. We don’t have time to do this.” She shrugged, ignoring him, but as it was, the boy’s mother came running through the crowd and pulled the boy to her, an older boy was by her side.
“Thank you, thank you” the mother gushed looking up at the couple. Violet smiled, and the lady extended her hand. Violet took it expecting a handshake, but the lady clasped her cold hand tightly, drawing it close instead of shaking it. The mother flinched only momentarily on feeling Violet’s cold skin, as she rubbed her hand in reassurance and gratitude.
“My boys are everything” she said. “My Antoine, and Matthias. Thank you. You make a lovely couple. Bless You.” Violet would have blushed if she could, in spite of her years of practicing indifference. Instead she pulled her hand away, and she and Ben proceeded towards the exit, as the mother held her boys close, the taller one rolling his eyes at the fuss.
Before disappearing, Violet looked back at the boy that had run into them, curious.
“What is it?” Ben asked looking back as well.
“Nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing.” she replied linking in under his arm.
Arriving at their destination, Violet and Ben walked a dark street approaching a graffiti ridden building with a small shop front window adorned by ducks hanging in the window. Having separated from each other’s side they created a gap between them by the time the man standing at the door of the building, dressed in a deep red shirt saw them and greeted their arrival with a firm nod.
Ben betrayed his concerns at seeing the man, by balking at going inside, but Violet kept her cool and urged him forward. Untrusting, Ben reluctantly followed her inside and the man in red shadowed them inside.
Once through the door, Violet and Ben proceeded to the back where a man dressed in rich green and black was waiting, with two more guards stood beside him.
“Belil” Violet said respectfully.
“Violet” the man responded in a heavy accent. “You have been busy I see” he continued on nodding towards her collar. Violet lowered her gaze to the spot of blood on the front of her blouse.
“A girl has to keep her strength up.” she smiled back at him. Even Violet knew there was something unsettling about the situation, though her confidence remained undestroyed. “Why the welcome party. There’s nothing to worry about here.” she offered Belil.
As if on cue, the two guards moved forward and seized Ben, his skin burning in response to cuffs forced across his wrists. A muffled yell escaped him as a bag was placed over his head and he continued to struggle. Violet moved immediately to respond, but fell to her knees as Belil spoke foreign words she only barely recognised and held up an amulet. She grabbed at her ears, and lowered her head between her knees.
Belil moved forward to stand over her. “Strength seems quite relative in the grand scheme of things. Do you think because you spent a few decades more than me in existence that you can stand against me? Not while I master those things that you take for granted.” He waved the amulet in the air, rolling it between his fingers before securing it to his neck.
Violet’s eyes widened in concern and she squirmed in pain on the ground. Her body failed to move as she wanted, but her eyes darted over to Belil who continued on. “Violet, you should have known better. You should know to keep your distance, but then, you don’t strike me as someone of common sense.”
One of Belil’s men pulled out a silver blade and placed in at Ben’s throat, at the base of the bag. It sizzled against his flesh and Violet tried to move again. Belil nodded his head, and the blade slashed across Ben’s neck. Violet closed her eyes against tears as she lay on the floor. Rage built past the grief.
“I. Am. Going to. Kill you” she gritted with great effort.
“Have to find me first. Or find your way out.” He smiled, and the last thing she saw was a bag going over her head.
Chapter 1 The Beginning
I used to be the kind of guy every mother wants a daughter to bring home. Well-behaved, did all the right things, saved, worked hard, and respected my parents. If anyone had asked me to describe myself it would have been quite ordinary. I blended in well and it was done on purpose. With an extravagant family and overbearing brother, the less attention I drew to people about myself, the more I liked it. People in general that is. There was always one person's attention that I wanted to keep - Sarah’s.
I nearly always wore a brown leather jacket my girlfriend Sarah gave me. She said she chose it to match my hair that I always kept cropped because she said she liked it that way. I had a decent savings deposit and worked a full time job, while studying, to save for my life’s plan. But I just finished my Art degree and was due to confer in two months, in March.
I planned to propose to Sarah in France, marry within a year, once I had a proper job, whatever that meant. Obviously we would need somewhere to live, and be 'happily ever after'. She is beautiful I thought as I flipped open my wallet to look at a picture of her on the inside. I couldn’t believe my luck in finding her. We had met through friends at a college party. I was sitting on the couch trying to look like I belonged when she passed out on the couch opposite me as music blasted and lights flashed. I usually avoided large crowds, but this party had been the place one of my friends had promised me was where all the single college girls were going to be.
When I had arrived all my instincts had been to run from the alcohol soaked velveteen and sateen clad bodies that bumped and grinded into each other. I had looked in vain for an opening into the small group conversations that had cropped up in the far corners and out on the deck, but finally, I had taken refuge on the couch in the corner and resigned myself to drinking until I was socially lubricated enough to not care about the superficial and ridiculous anymore. That was when she had sat across from me, her golden hair spilling down her shoulders as she struggled to stay upright.
Though she pulled out her mobile and fumbled with the keypad with an exaggerated look of anger on her face, she struggled greatly to text the right message and eventually gave up before shooting me an accusing look. “You guys, you have no idea” she had slurred. “You make me so…” There
had been a long pause that greeted my confused expression before she put her head in her hands and fell asleep. After trying to find any friends she might have had, and failing, I had taken her upstairs to one of the bedrooms, and stayed with her until she woke up the next morning. We had been nearly inseparable since then. Except for her other friends who she met twice a week, and the yoga classes three times a week. The time apart had been good though. It had given me time to help with the books at my dad’s auto shop where my brother worked, time to read, to visit the museums and art shows I had grown so attached to over the years. It also gave me time to take care of ‘things’ for us.
Take care of things like getting tickets to France. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited to collect the tickets from the travel agent across the counter, who wore a sharp suit and a big red lip-sticked smile. I gripped the tickets between my fingers, pleased with myself. I expected Sarah would be blown away. I could imagine her face when I presented her the tickets, biting her lip, elated, flushed in the face, and she would kiss me. That fine kiss which made the world stop for me. This was it, a final trip together before things really got serious. It took all my savings to plan the trip, ring included. It was supposed to be the start of my life's plan.
I can see myself in that moment like I’m detached from it: Walking out of the travel agent, slapping the tickets in my palm before stuffing them in the pocket of my jacket next to my wallet. I headed down the road and into the jeweler I had been spending time in once a month paying off the ring I was giving Sarah. As I walked to the counter, Grace, the woman behind it smiled at me. “Johan” she called towards the back, “Johan! It’s Matt. Come to pick it up finally”.
The friendly face of the shop owner who was my best friend’s father and had helped me pick the ring, came, jovial as usual, out of the back room. “Matthias, how are you doing today? You know Michael has missed you. I spoke with him yesterday and he says you two haven’t seen each other in six months”.
“I know Jo. Since he started college and I have been so busy – it’s been hard finding time to get out there”. I felt sheepish saying this. Michael had been my best friend since primary school and I felt I should’ve made more of an effort.
Johan continued on: “Of course he could stay with you …” He leaned close and whispered while looking in Grace’s direction… “But he seems too busy even to call his mother these days. I called him yesterday, told her he called for us….” Johan seemed irritated and I wandered how much was for show, and how much real.
“He always has a couch at my place….” I responded.
Grace piped in, clearly having been an audience to the half attempt at subterfuge: “As if Matthew would want our son cramping his style with his fiancé. You just want him to visit without the trouble of him taking over our couch. And he calls in as often as he is supposed to old man. Just because they didn’t have phones when you were his age…” She smiled cheekily.
I put an envelope on the counter and smiled at Johan. I didn’t need to say a thing.
“Ah you want the ring, of course. I have it right here”. Johan produced a blue velvet box, opened it and pushed it across the counter.
“Congratulations….” Grace beamed from behind Johan.
“You will be very happy I am sure.” Johan encouraged. “You go overseas, and at some fancy restaurant, or walk in the park, you hold her hand…. And give her this….. how can she say no!”
Grace lightly squeezed Johan’s arm “You old romantic” she smiled.
“I have been accused of worse” he chuckled. “Usually by my wife” he added in a lower tone. Grace gave him a fake glare and beamed her big smile at Johan and I before moving to the shop window to arrange pieces. I took the ring box, snapped it shut and placed it in my pocket next to the tickets.
“Thank you Johan” I said leaning across the counter.
“Ah young love is a beautiful thing. You work hard, you are a nice boy Matthias. Your age – you can do anything and everything. I should be your age again.”I paused to reflect on his words for a moment wondering what he really would do different, or the same. All those choices we have and make only to look back on later. Smiling back, I said my goodbyes and turned for the door.
As I left, Grace spoke up from the window she was dressing “Tell us everything when you get back. I can’t wait.” Before the door closed behind me I heard Grace in the background chastising Johan “Why don’t you call him Matthew or Matt. You know he doesn’t like Matthias…..?”
So then I headed home to see her, and with my navy Converse shoes bouncing down the steps to the train platform, I had no idea that my life was about to change meaning for me completely.
My phone rang and I answered. Immediately I rolled my eyes. It was my father verbalising his opinions on an issue. I held the phone away from my ear as his loud voice boomed passionately on the topic of my uncle asking me to run an errand for him, and my reluctance to call my uncle back to accept. When the tirade calmed, I replaced the receiver to my ear and ventured into the conversation. “Yes dad, yes I know he’s family but I am going away this weekend….. What do you mean where? I told you, …. Sarah’s parents are there. Yes it is … serious. You know that, I told you already. Yes, I am sure. I am going to tell her about the trip tonight, and I’ll come over later, but I can’t help out this weekend. …..I know. I know family comes first, but…. I can’t – it takes like three days to drive out there. Uncle Theo will understand. It’s not like he can’t ask someone else at the dealership to take it.” I decided to fake the call dropping out. “Anyway, Dad – I’m losing you; What -can’t hear you, gotta go”. I closed the mobile phone as I hit the last steps and the train rushed in to the station.
My family had immigrated with great hopes. I had one older brother, 5 uncles and 2 natural aunts, and about 100 cousins scattered across Europe and the Middle East. My uncle Theo is the only one who moved when we did, to live near us, while the rest of the family chose to stay overseas. My parents were also slightly confused culturally and emigrating gave them the fresh start they needed.
My father was at the time a sprightly Italian auto shop worker, and extremely proud of his wife, my mother. At every birthday gathering, he always said ‘she was the one’, and that he knew it when he first met her. My mother would blush and call him something in one of the many languages she knew. I wanted so badly to have part of that. Other than Theo, I think he had grown up feeling rather isolated. Once he met my mother his family came together and he loved us unconditionally and protectively. He had come over a farmer’s son, and to be at a stage where he owned his own shop, ran his business in the black and had one of his sons (Anton) working hands on with him was a huge generational issue for him.
I was just as loved of course, but he had issues with my choice of trade. No calluses, no scars, no dirt under the nails. It was foreign for him, but I had never taken an interest in cars, tools, or even in any sports for that matter (unless you count running away from school bullies). The only time I remember him proudly announcing something I had done across the dinner table was when I was 14 and he had caught me kissing Mary Bain from across the road. He had announced it mid dinner like I had won an award, he patted me on the back and I remember wishing I could crawl under the table and die a thousand deaths. He must have been relieved somehow, though why he was worried in the first place always escaped me. I liked science, I liked art, I liked the way the human condition could be enhanced, forwarded and exalted through the arts. I had tools, but they were just shaped differently to my brother’s. At least he let me find my own way – more or less without issue – though that probably came from my mothers strong cautions to let me be or she would curse him with some family magic trick she always threatened she had up her sleeve.
My mother made a great deal of calling herself Persian. Yes Persian. Mom had been weird about that forever. Whenever anyone asked about her heritage she advised them in a stately manner she was Persian. She felt this
lent her more of an ‘up market’ appeal than saying Iranian, even though Persia had technically been Iran since 1935. Apparently it had been a big deal to my grandmother, and it was important to my mother now, so whenever anyone asked, I let them know my family was Persian. I had only ever once been pulled up on it and apologised citing my mother as the reason. I had received polite nods of understanding and a sneaky grin from another overhearing the discussion. When it came to parents idiosyncrasies, most people seemed understanding, and forgiving.
My poor Nani, my Grandmother. I only had one memory of her. Tucked away in some nursing home, darkened by age and poor lighting. She couldn’t even remember my father’s name, though he later suggested she knew it just fine, but chose to call him another name just to irritate him. I smiled when I thought of this. Visiting her in the facility back home had been a big deal for me at the time. I was only about six and my brother eight. I remember her asking us to come closer and sticking out her frail arm so she could feel across my brother’s shoulders, and then my face. She smelled odd, unfamiliar and I remember being scared and wishing she would just go away. I found out later that night that she had died and I had, in the back of my mind wondered if I had wished her death somehow because I didn’t want her near me. When I had told my mother that I feared that I had caused her passing my mother hugged me tight and told me that it was impossible. Clear as the night sky, I remember her reassuring me that if I had wished someone else’s death I would far more likely be struck down myself instead because that was how karma worked. Strangely, I did not find this comforting. It took about a week before I slept properly again.
At the base of the apartment building where I lived there used to be a cafe that marked the entrance. Focused on getting upstairs to see Sarah again I gave a quick wave to the guy who religiously made my coffee every morning who was wiping down a table in the far left corner of the shop. The key hit the lock perfectly, and I raced through the door and up the stairs because I just couldn't wait for the elevator. I walked through the door of my apartment and called out Sarah’s name as I reached to hang up my jacket on the rack. I didn’t hang it up though. Instead I strained to hear properly. I had heard heavy breathing, and then a sudden gasp instead of the usual ‘Hey baby’ that I would hear from Sarah. I rounded the corner from the entranceway curiously. There she was, beautiful, slim, sexual. Perfect. Butt naked. And there he was with his pants around his knees while she was bent backwards over the couch….
“Oh My God” she squealed. She looked at me with such a look of guilty mortification I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
The world turned and my stomach hit the floor. I gripped that jacket and walked straight out the door. It was indescribable. My head was spinning, my eyes stung and I was fairly certain I would throw up at any second. I heard her voice behind me in the corridor: “Matt!. Matt!!, Matthew. I really am sorry” I heard as I took the first two steps down the stairwell…. and I just kept walking down the steps, out the door. I stood outside in the fresh air with my eyes closed my head spinning, my lungs gasping for breath.
I was standing next to the tables outside the cafe when the coffee guy came out to clear a table. “Hey man what's up?” he said. I must have looked pale because he had a second look at me. “Hey what's wrong?” he asked more serious than first time.
“I, I can't talk about it I just gotta get out of here” and I took a step away. It was as though I didn’t say anything because he kept on talking.
“OK, ok. I haven't seen Sarah for a while. Make sure you say hello for me. She is one good-looking girl my friend. Thought I saw her before, but I must have been wrong because she was with some biker looking guy. I wish I could find a girl like that” he mused.
I stopped in my tracks and half turned my head back: “Have her” I said. I walked over to him and he sharpened his body, confronted by my invasion of his personal space. I took the jacket still in my hand, pulled out my wallet, phone, ring box and tickets and threw the jacket at him. “Have this too” I yelled, and finally, nonverbal I just walked off.