A Wind of Change

  When the elegant roads gave way to shabbier, rougher-looking ones, I knew I was nearing home. It was dark by the time the bus finally pulled up at my stop. I took a moment to tuck my bag beneath my jacket and pull up the hood over my head before racing along the shadowy sidewalk toward our apartment block. Only lost tourists were out after dark on these streets. When I had a late shift cleaning up in the restaurant kitchen, Trisha usually let me crash at her place and return home in the morning so I didn’t have to make the journey at night.

  At the entrance to our towering apartment block, two hooded men smoked by the doorway. I fixed my eyes on the ground and strode through the door. I walked to the far corner of the entry area where the mailboxes were stacked. Pulling the key from my bag’s zip pocket, I opened our box. There was only one letter inside. A thin brown envelope addressed to Nadia Haik.

  It was still strange to see my mother being addressed by her maiden name, even though it had been more than two years now since the divorce. I slipped the letter into my bag, locked the box and hurried past the elevator toward the stairs. I never used the elevator anymore, not since it had broken down on me six months ago and I’d been trapped in it alone for two hours before the engineer came.

  I climbed up staircase after staircase until I reached the seventh floor. Panting, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. The smell of delicious cooking wafted into my nostrils. It made me realize how hungry I was.

  I ran the rest of the distance to the door of our two-bedroom apartment and opened it with my key.

  “River?” My mother’s voice drifted through from the kitchen as I shut the door behind me.

  “Hello, Mom,” I called back, untying my shoes.

  She appeared in the hallway wearing an apron, her thick brown hair tied up in a bun. She placed her hands on her waist, her turquoise eyes wide.

  “What happened? I tried to call you.”

  “Sorry. My phone battery died.” I finished taking off my shoes and stood up straight. At five-seven, I was two inches taller than my mother.

  “How come you’re almost an hour late?”

  “I got delayed on the bus journey home.” I reached into my bag for her letter and handed it to her. She took it from me and eyed it briefly before looking back at me. I could see the question behind her eyes, but I knew she’d wait until my sisters had gone to bed.

  “You must be starving.” She took my hand and led me into the kitchen. I dumped my bag on the floor. My three siblings were still seated at the table in the center of the small room.

  “Why are you so late, River?” Lalia, my six-year-old sister, scolded through a mouthful of hummus.

  I heaved a sigh and sat down at the table. “The buses weren’t behaving themselves.”

  My ten-year-old sister Dafne peered at me through her round purple spectacles. “Where did you go?”

  “You know… the restaurant.”

  Dafne, Lalia and I looked more like our mother than our father—more Lebanese than Italian. We shared her eye color, her rich brown hair and light tan skin. My nineteen-year-old brother sitting opposite me resembled our father uncannily with his black hair, brown eyes and whiter skin tone.

  “Hello, Jamil,” I said, giving him a smile.

  He gave me a lopsided half-smile and met my gaze briefly before mumbling inaudibly to himself and looking down at the table. I could see that my mother had been feeding him when I’d arrived back—he had half a plate of stuffed eggplant and falafel still in front of him.

  My mother approached with my plate and set it down in front of me. My mouth watering, I dug right in. There was nothing in the world like my mom’s cooking. She resumed her seat next to Jamil, picked up his fork and continued feeding him.

  “How’s the makdous?” she asked. “I think I added too little salt.”

  “No, it’s perfect,” I said. “So what have you guys been up to today?”

  “We’ve just been hanging around the apartment… Dafne’s been getting a headstart on her history homework—”

  “Hey, River, you know my class is studying the Ancient Egyptians next year?” Dafne interrupted. “Finally!”

  I chuckled. Our grandfather on my mother’s side being an Egyptologist, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Dafne knew more about Egyptian history than her history teacher.

  “And Lalia painted a picture,” my mother continued.

  “Of us!” Lalia piped up. Still clutching a piece of falafel in one hand, she slid off her seat and ran out of the kitchen. She returned with a watercolor painting. It was typical Lalia-style—brave, bold colors and half a dozen giant flowers floating around our stick figures for no discernible reason. This wasn’t the first family portrait Lalia had painted. We had a whole pile of them stacked beneath her bed. But something about this one made me stop chewing.

  Our father was missing. This was the first painting I’d seen of hers where she’d excluded him.

  Although it made me ache inside, I supposed it was a good thing. Perhaps she was letting go. I caught my mother’s eye. From the look of melancholy on her face, I could tell that she was thinking the same thing.

  “It’s beautiful, Laly,” I said, kissing her chubby cheek.

  She grinned proudly before setting the picture down on the kitchen counter and resuming her seat between Dafne and my mother.

  “We also made baklava,” my mother said.

  “Can I have some?” Lalia said, stuffing the last forkful of her main course into her mouth.

  My mother rolled her eyes. “You already sneaked five pieces before dinner, little rascal.”

  “Just one… please?” Lalia fluttered her eyelashes.

  “I’ll give you half a piece,” my mother muttered, standing up and opening the fridge door.

  Lalia pulled her grumpy face.

  “Baklava will start coming out of your ears soon if you’re not careful,” Dafne said, casting Lalia a sideways glance.

  My mother returned with a tray of the sweet, rich pastry. Slicing a piece in half, she handed it to Lalia. Then she scooped up two pieces and handed them to Dafne and placed two pieces in a bowl for me before putting the tray back in the fridge.

  “None for Jamil?” Dafne asked.

  My mother shook her head. “I’m cutting down on his sugar for a while. It’s not good for him.”

  I finished the last of my savory food and pushed my chair back, rubbing my stomach. I was stuffed.

  “Oh, and Grandpa called,” my mother continued. “Dafne spoke to him.”

  “What did he say?” I asked, leaning forward.

  “He just wanted to make sure we were ready for the trip,” Dafne replied. “And he said he’s got a surprise for us when we arrive.”

  My grandfather always had one surprise or another for us when we went to visit in the summer. He lived in Cairo. Dafne, Lalia and I were due to travel there this coming Sunday—without my mother. She’d had a falling out with her father a few months ago.

  “He also said again how disappointed he is that we’re only going for a week this time,” Dafne continued.

  “Yeah.” I breathed out. “Well, I already told him I want to work more this summer. You two could stay on longer than me. Bashira could bring you back… I’m sure Grandpa wouldn’t mind the expense.”

  “You can discuss it with him when you arrive,” my mother said. She eyed Lalia and Dafne, who’d both finished dessert by now. “Okay, time for bed.”

  Lalia crinkled her nose. “But it’s summer break.”

  “And you’ve already stayed up an hour past your usual bedtime. Come.”

  Lalia leapt up from her chair and darted into the living room, while Dafne obediently made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

  My mother chased after Lalia and returned to the kitchen half a minute later, carrying my sister on her back. “River, could you keep an eye on Jamil while I put this monkey to bed?”

  Jamil’s head lolled slightly as he sat strapped to his chair. He’d be ready
to sleep soon.

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up and walking to the sink.

  “When are you coming to bed, River?” Lalia called to me as my mother disappeared with her toward the bathroom.

  “Soon,” I called back.

  I started washing up the plates and cutlery from dinner.

  Jamil grunted suddenly. I whirled around to see his shoulders beginning to tremble. Dropping the plates in the sink, I ran to the kitchen door and unhooked the helmet that hung over the back of it. I strapped it over his head and fastened it just in time before his whole body went into a seizure. If he hadn’t been strapped to the chair, he would have fallen to the floor.

  After his body had stopped shaking so violently, his hands balled into fists and he reached for his head as he attempted to hit himself over and over again. Unstrapping him from the chair, I caught both of his hands gently and helped him to his feet. He continued struggling against me as he tried to punch himself. He was taller and stronger than me, but I was practiced at this by now. I guided both of his hands behind his back and held them there firmly, but gently.

  “It’s okay, Jamil,” I said softly, resting my cheek against his back. “I’ve got you.”

  His groaning and grunting trailed off and he stopped struggling so hard to free his hands. Once I was sure that he wasn’t going to attempt to hit himself again, I slowly let go of him. Although he was unrestrained, both hands remained exactly as I’d positioned them behind his back.

  I slipped an arm around his waist and led him out of the kitchen toward the bathroom. I could hear my mother now in the second bedroom, reading a story to Dafne and Lalia. I entered the bathroom with Jamil, pulled down the toilet lid and sat him down. I removed his helmet, then picked up his toothbrush and helped him to brush his teeth. Then I assisted him in changing into his nightclothes. Once he was ready, I led him to the bedroom he shared with my mother. Although it was a small room, she had to sleep in there in case he needed assistance during the night. I guided Jamil into bed—the left of the two twin beds lined up on opposite sides of the room—and pulled up his blanket.

  The seizure he’d had was the strongest I’d seen in a while. He looked exhausted by it. I held his hand until his eyelids closed and his breathing became steady. It didn’t take long, only five minutes. My mother had finished reading to my sisters by the time I came out and was finishing cleaning up the kitchen.

  “Jamil’s sleeping?” she asked as I entered.

  “Yes. He just had a fit.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s the fifth one today.”

  We were both quiet as my mom finished washing up. Then we headed into the living room and took a seat on the couch.

  “So,” she started, her voice low, “how did it go with your father?”

  “How could it have possibly gone? He said he was sorry. I said goodbye. He wasn’t given long.”

  My mother nodded, biting her lower lip. “Was he disappointed Dafne and Lalia didn’t come?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did he understand why they didn’t?”

  “He seemed to.”

  My mother paused. “Did he ask you to visit him?”

  “Yes. I told him I couldn’t promise anything.”

  She leaned back on the sofa, heaving a sigh. I drew up my feet and wrapped my arms around my knees.

  “Lalia seems to have accepted the situation,” my mother said. “But Dafne keeps asking me where he is. I’m not sure what to say to her anymore. I just… I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Dafne’s mature for her age,” I said. “It might be time to just tell her the truth.”

  Tears burned in my mother’s eyes. But she swallowed hard and held them back. “Next time she asks, I’ll tell her.” She breathed in deeply. “So, are you looking forward to going to Grandpa’s?”

  “Yeah. I mean it will just be like always. It’s nice to have a break there, but… Mom, I’m so worried about how you will cope here all alone with Jamil.”

  “Don’t think of me,” she said. “You just go and enjoy yourself. I’ll manage.”

  I snuggled closer on the couch, resting my head against her shoulder. I doubted I’d be able to pass more than an hour without worrying about her here in this apartment.

  She wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer, brushing my forehead with her other hand. We remained silent in each other’s company for a couple of minutes before she reached for the remote and switched on the TV.

  She began flipping through the channels, and stopped at a news channel.

  “They’re still talking about these kidnappings,” she said. “I just can’t believe on some channels they’re bouncing around words like ‘vampires’ and ‘witches’… I mean, I’m talking about respectable newscasters here. They’re supposed to be delivering news, not spreading hoaxes. The footage they’re showing seems realistic—but so do sci-fi movies these days. It’s nothing a skilled special-effects team couldn’t pull off.”

  “That footage of the attack in Chile,” I said. “You can actually see the man ripping into the person’s throat… And what about that dragon footage shot in California? Why would someone want to create an elaborate hoax like this? And what do you think is the cause of these attacks and kidnappings? What about all the missing people, and the witnesses?”

  “I have no clue. I was hoping one of these news channels could finally shine some light rather than continue to spout this recycled crap… Seems I hoped for too much.”

  “They even closed the schools along the West Coast,” I muttered.

  “Well, some dreadful organized crime is clearly going on here. Whoever’s behind this seems to be having fun leaving this media frenzy after them to cover their tracks.”

  I’d never witnessed such bizarre theories being broadcast around mainstream media. This was the type of thing you’d read about on sketchy conspiracy blogs. Of course, my mother was right. These media conglomerates were just spinning this story to get more views and sell more papers.

  Witches didn’t exist.

  And vampires certainly didn’t.

  Chapter 3: River

  The next few days passed quickly until our trip. Before we knew it, it was the night before and my sisters and I were finishing our packing.

  I was kneeling in the bedroom I shared with Dafne and Lalia, making sure my purse contained all the important documents we needed—all three of our passports and other travel documents. My mother would come with us in a taxi to drop us off at the airport, and our grandfather would be waiting at the other end to pick us up. I’d made this journey several times before with my mother, and was used to it. Besides, the airport staff was always helpful if I wasn’t sure where to go with my sisters.

  “You should put Lalia’s inhaler in your bag,” my mother called from the hallway.

  Lalia’s asthma was better than it had been a few years ago, but there were still occasions when she needed her inhaler.

  My little sister was lounging on her bed, humming an off-tune song to herself as she busied herself with a coloring book.

  “Laly, where’s your inhaler?” I asked.

  “I dunno,” she mumbled, making no motion to get up and look for it.

  I guessed my mother had put it in the bathroom cupboard. I was right. Pulling it out, I placed it in my backpack.

  We went to bed early that night because we were due to leave at 4am the following morning. The three of us woke up to my shrill alarm going off. Stumbling out of bed, we crowded into the bathroom. Lalia was falling asleep standing up, her toothbrush hanging lopsided in her mouth. I grabbed a washcloth and wet it with cold water, brushing it over her face to wake her up.

  We took turns taking a shower and getting dressed. My mother was already in the kitchen, making sandwiches for us to take to the airport.

  Once the taxi driver called up to say that he had arrived, I bundled out of the apartment with my two sisters and our luggage, while my mother made her way down after us with Jamil strapped i
nto his wheelchair. I took the stairs while the rest of them took their chances with the elevator.

  Arriving on the ground floor, we stepped outside and piled into the car. As it drove away, I couldn’t help but feel excitement for the journey. Although I wished that my mother and Jamil could come with us, I couldn’t deny that I would enjoy getting out of the neighborhood for a while.

  Once we had arrived at the airport, my mother and Jamil stayed with us as long as they could until we got in line for the security checks. Then we kissed and said goodbye before my sisters and I passed through the barrier into departures.

  We kept waving until my mother was out of sight. I looked down at my two sisters. Lalia was wide-eyed and looking around at the shops surrounding us in the departure lounge, clutching my forefinger in her pudgy hand. Dafne was looking up at me expectantly.

  “What now?” she asked.

  I took her hand too, holding both of my sisters close to me, and checked the departures board.

  “We don’t have that long to wait. Half an hour before we have to go to our gate. We can hang around the shops.”

  We couldn’t afford to purchase anything, but my sisters enjoyed looking around the perfume shop. After that, we moved to the book shop and spent the rest of our time there before heading to the gate for boarding.

  Lalia requested her sandwich and finished it during the fifteen minutes we had to hang around before we could finally board the plane. We took seats next to each other near the front of the aircraft. Dafne got air sickness so she got the window seat, while I positioned Lalia in the middle and I sat in the aisle seat.

  A mischievous smile slowly spread across Lalia’s face. She looked up at me. “Did Mommy pack any lollipops… or baklava?”

  “No baklava,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “But she gave us lollipops to help keep our ears unblocked. I’ll give you one once the flight takes off.”

  I handed her and Dafne a strawberry lollipop as the plane took off from the runway and unwrapped one for myself too. I leaned back in my chair, looking up at the screen above our seats. We had a long flight ahead of us.