Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (20 page)
Authors: P.K. Tyler
What am I to do?
Al-Bashir prayed:
There is no power and no strength save in Allah…
Recai awoke with a start, coughing and sputtering as if he had water in his lungs.
Her name was on his lips as he kicked off the covers and pulled on a pair of jeans. He'd passed through unconsciousness and woke to the nightmare of having been left behind. Unlike the Queen of Sheba, it seemed he did have nine lives.
How many more must I suffer before I am released from this earth?
He stumbled around in the darkness for a moment, disoriented within his own room. He had fallen asleep unexpectedly after dinner, unable to focus any longer on business or Hasad's increasingly annoying lectures. The night was black, and when he looked out his window he could find no moon.
A night with no moon… Rebekah…
Recai pulled on a shirt and stuffed his feet into the shoes lying on the floor before grabbing his keys and heading out into the darkness.
He pulled his Marussia B2 out of the estate's large garage and toward the streets of the city without turning on the headlights or switching on the radio—he preferred the silence of the abandoned neighborhoods. With his windows down the heat rushed through the car, bringing with it the scent of the desert. Overhead a flash of lightning lit the sky, exposing the orange hue that preceded a sandstorm.
Above, the stars were being snuffed out one by one before him as the night sky became opaque and thick. The acrid scent of burning sand filled the air and rode on the wind, warning all in its path of looming destruction.
The idea of driving into the kum firtinasi entertained Recai as memories of the deaths he should have had swarmed around him. How many times must a man be expected to survive? How many deaths must he witness and be helpless to stop before he can succumb?
Except Sabiha. Sabiha is alive!
Recai sped down the side streets without direction as his mind focused on other, more upsetting thoughts. He lived in the shadow of the parents he had lost, hiding in a past he'd rather forget. He had spent his life wandering, purposeless, never accomplishing anything because of his own self doubt.
Except Sabiha.
Soon the city shrank behind him, the light of civilization reaching up to the heavens and reflecting back the orange glow of the storm. Before him there was no light and nothing but the sand.
Since his time living with the Kurdish nomads after Rebekah's death, Recai had come to think of the desert as a refuge, a place outside of the demands of real life. He missed the simplicity and ease of disappearing into the sea of sand. His car roared, speeding toward the end of the world, prepared to drive off the edge and into the abyss.
The wind picked up, whipping the sand it carried into a cyclone, feeding on its own power and ferocity. Sand beat against the car. Tiny particles ate into the paint and enamel, stripping away everything but speed and power as Recai raced further into nothing.
Soon the storm was too severe, and Recai couldn't see the road ahead. Sand blew into the car through the open window and infiltrated the air vents, causing grit to fill his mouth with each breath. Stopping the car, he pushed the door open and ran toward the building chaos.
"I'm here!" he called to the heavens. "I'm here and there's nothing to stop you this time. Take me! Free me! I'm no good here! I can't do anything! I don't know what you want of me, but I can't do it. Allah, I seek refuge from you!"
The wind howled in response as electricity crackled and sparked in the sky.
With his arms spread out above him Recai closed his eyes. The storm surrounded him and beat against his body. His thin shirt offered little protection and his skin stung. But he stood, braving the elements, wishing to disappear into the ferocity of the storm, to become one with it, to leave himself behind.
"Recai…"
The voice from his dream called to him, and the wind rushed past, making it impossible to breathe. The oxygen pushed out from the eye of the storm, creating an emptiness around him. Only sand and heat filled Recai's lungs as he struggled for breath, his eyes watering as the reality of the danger around him solidified.
"I am with you, always."
Recai fell to the ground as he struggled for breath. The voice that haunted him whispered as his eyes streamed tears and the sand built up around him. So much sand swam in the sky it was as if the earth itself were being ground to powder.
A crack rang out, sounding like the gates of Jahannam had broken open, and the devils themselves were rushing toward him, surrounding Recai with their hellfire. Lightning blazed in the sky and the electricity of the atmosphere intensified until it coalesced into one final thunderbolt, which blazed with the hottest fire and trailed pillars of black smoke. Recai called out to the angel Malik to release him as a thunderbolt rocked through the storm and struck true.
Darya slammed the phone down after reaching her uncle's voicemail for the seventh time.
Two hours!
She had waited for two hours for him to come meet her. He had requested this meeting; he had insisted they discuss the current "structure" face-to-face. All along she worked in the background, twisting and manipulating the leaders of the RTK with various pressure points. Some had weaknesses to exploit, while others had ambitions of their own. The last two years had been dedicated to finding and using every leverage she had.
The money was the final stage. She had been slowly siphoning off the investments into an account in the name of her pseudonym, Dayar Yildirim. There was a second set of documents, a second set of accounts, a second life, all in the name her uncle gave her to hide his need for a woman to run things for him.
Uncle Mahmet was weak, just like the rest of them. Sex, power, greed, shame—with men it was always something. The trick was to find the soft underbelly and strike with precision.
The longer she waited the more agitated she became, anticipating his arrival. She busied herself with email and other tasks, but checking on the various accounts and investments she had only occupied so much time. All of the work she had to do required a kind of dedicated focus she didn't currently possess. She itched to leave her small downtown office and not be here when he finally arrived. That's what she would have done to anyone else who had the audacity to keep her waiting, but this altercation was overdue. It was time for her to receive some respect and compensation for the work she did. It was time for the power of Elih to know that Dayar is Darya.
Perhaps she would call Recai. His green eyes hadn't left her mind since she'd first met him at her uncle's party. He was different from the others she knew in Elih. They were all either philanderers parading as pious men, or bound to the outdated concepts of sexuality and modesty her religion dictated. The proper and expected behavior was to wait: wait for Recai to call, wait for him to inquire about her to her uncle or his friends. He would never contact her directly. Or perhaps he would. Recai was a man even death couldn't contain, so perhaps he wasn't interested in the rules of society. But then, why hadn't she heard from him?
A caged animal desperate for release, she prowled her office restlessly. She yearned to claw and rip at the world that kept her confined. This is why she'd never been a good daughter, or a good Muslim, and why she'd never be a good wife. Dreams of escape occupied her every thought. It was wrong, but she couldn't fight her nature.
The evening sun filtered through the blinds that blocked passersby from seeing into the back room of her office. Even here she was hidden. The front room was a façade; no one worked there or staffed the desk elegantly labeled "Reception." Darya spent most of her days alone, though occasionally she would meet with an investor or a client.
In the corner of her office stood an ornate screen that hid a small desk behind it. She would sit there during meetings, and act as Dayar's secretary, adding another layer to her humiliation and isolation. She couldn't speak with them as herself when the mere presence of a woman in business meetings was so offensive she had to hide herself. At first clients had insisted on speaking with Bey Yildirim in person, but soon they came to accept Darya as his emissary. Millions of dollars passed through her hands as easily as sand sifted though the fingers of a child, and still, her face could not be seen.
Located in the high-priced Safak district, the small space was situated on the ground floor of one of the more elegant buildings in the city. Everyone who passed by either to shop in the high-end stores or dine at one of the many international restaurants saw the sign on her door: Dayar Yildirim, Investment Manager. Every day she entered through that same door and every day her resentment and anger grew.
From behind the screen she negotiated the deals and intimidated the men who now answered to her above their families, above Allah. She held the keys to the kingdom. Today her uncle was coming to try and snatch them back.
Darya glared at the phone, more determined than ever. She held her head high and grabbed her hijab from where it was draped over a guest chair. Wrapping her hair and face in the thin black veil, she swore to herself she would never wait for any man again.
"Here!" Hasad cried when he spotted Recai's half-buried Marussia.
His arthritic finger pointed to the left from the passenger seat, reaching in front of Maryam's face, causing her to flinch back in surprise. The vehicle they rode in was large, but he was still close enough for the motion to temporarily block her view. Swerving, Maryam steered the Hummer they had requisitioned from Recai's garage in the direction Hasad pointed. Sand spun under the wheels for a moment before they found traction and sped forward.
The Marussia B2 looked more like a cartoon than a car to Hasad. It was covered in sand. The storm had moved an entire dune from its original place to directly on top of the vehicle. The back end was buried but the front and driver's side protruded from the edge of the dune's incline.
Premature relief flooded through Maryam
. If his car is here, perhaps he is as well.
Living in Recai's house was uncomfortable for the old man, who was accustomed to making his own way. The house sat eerily still without Recai's presence, making Hasad even more uncomfortable. Hasad found himself spending the time in the senior Osman's office sorting through newspapers, looking for a chink in the armor of the RTK. But his worry mounted when he realized just how long Recai had been gone.
Finally, he had called Maryam, too early to yet be considered morning, but it was as late as he could stand to wait. The television had no reports of anyone notable having been injured, and he didn't dare call hospitals and risk alerting anyone of Recai's disappearance. The nurse who placed so much faith in them—for no reason Hasad could conceive—proved to be the only person he trusted.
Hasad's mind wandered to his unlikely partner in the driver's seat of the Hummer. She was a Muslim and he a Jew, and yet he felt protective of her and impressed by her open heart. She had treated him as an equal despite his age and religion. She had helped Recai and Sabiha despite the risk because it was the right thing to do. Too many people take the easy path. If Maryam could see the goodness in people and work to make things better it really didn't matter by what name she called her God.
"The boy is stupid. There's no reason to doubt it. Been trying to kill himself since the first time I met him."
Hasad had been ranting for hours, his concern and annoyance with Recai growing in direct proportion to the amount of time the man was missing.
"He's not stupid, he's… impetuous," Maryam defended Recai.
"Stupid."
"He's just prone to the dramatic."
Hasad stepped down from the passenger's side once Maryam stopped the car and stormed toward the sand-filled vehicle. Her heart stopped in her chest for a beat as she took in the sheer magnitude of the dune before them. She didn't spend much time in the desert. Having grown up by the water, the sight of so much sand without a sea made her feel exposed and panicky. She worried that at any moment she might disappear into the expanse around her and no one would ever know.
"Besides, his theatrics sometimes work to his benefit," she called after Hasad.
"Stupid. Look at this, the windows are down! Stupid!"
Hasad thrust his hands into the driver's window and began searching in the dry sand. It drifted out the window as he pushed his arm deeper within. Scooping out armfuls of sand, Hasad let it filter to the ground at his feet before reaching in further. Its dry grains stuck to his wrinkled hands and sucked the moisture from his skin. His heart clenched with each handful that passed through his fingers.
Maryam watched the old man's frantic search, unsure how to help. If Recai had come out here alone during a kum firtinasi, the chances he'd survived weren't strong. But she believed in him. His arrogant, indulgent and dramatic ways aside, she believed Recai was a good man, and after what she had seen at the hospital over the past few weeks she questioned how many good men there were left in Elih. Rapes were common in the city, but the past few weeks it seemed there was another every day. It was all she could do to keep her faith intact.
Wherever Recai was, he had to be alive; her faith in humanity depended on it.
"Well, there doesn't seem to be a body behind the wheel anyway," Hasad snorted, pulling his torso out of the window and looking up at the sky. Desperation filled his eyes with tears.
Where could he be?
"He's fine," Maryam insisted automatically for the seventy-thousandth time.
"He knows how to survive in the desert; he knows how to get away from the winds."
"If he wants to…"
Hasad's tone was desperate; he feared he'd lost the only person who understood his pain—his son by death and guilt.
The desert muffled all sound, an arid void within which it was easy to forget who you were or where you were going. Maryam looked around, imagining how easy it would be to disappear here, to lose herself into the nothingness surrounding her. She was thankful for the colorful hijab she had donned this morning; the contrast against the sand might make her body easier to find.
"He's fine," she said again, more to herself than Hasad.
With a grunt and a pass of the hand over his face, Hasad headed toward the edge of the dune. He had spent the better part of the last twenty years out here in the desert. He understood how to avoid an avalanche and navigate the drifts. His body moved to the shifting rhythm of the sand.
"You Muslims aren't supposed to try to kill yourselves are you?" Hasad's tone was mocking, but waves of grief emanated from him.. "Why does this idiot-boy insist on doing every stupid thing he can think of?"
Maryam followed Hasad without responding, imitating the man's steps as she moved across the sand. Her own concern ate at her from within. Had she been wrong to place so much faith in a man she didn't know? Had she been wrong to dream of change?
Plodding forward, the two rounded the curve of the dune. The expanse before them was massive and empty. Sand flowed before them in all directions. They were at the center of the earth. Everything that had ever existed coalesced here. Time seemed to stand still in the desert.
After twenty minutes of hiking through the shifting terrain, Hasad stopped and slumped down to the ground, setting his weight in the sand. His back curved forward and for a moment Maryam stood in front of him and could see the old man Hasad really was. Years of pain and grief shone in his eyes as he peered out into the distance, searching for everything he'd lost.
"Effendi…"
"Stop calling me that," he grunted without looking up at her. He shouldn't have called her. She was another attachment, another emotional investment he could not afford. Perhaps he was the reason for all this pain, perhaps simply by knowing her he would predetermine her death.
"No."
"Why do none of you listen to me? I'm not Turkish and I'm not Muslim and I'm not someone you should look up to! Don't call me that."
"You are Effendi to me," Maryam stated as she curled her legs beneath her and sat next to him.
"We're never going to find him like this."
"He's survived out here before."
"Barely."
They sat in silence as the sun rose higher in the sky, assaulting the desert with its unforgiving heat.
