Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  Hands forming fists, he squinted, concentrating on a mono-colored object among the sea of blue scrubs—an orange pen. Without thinking, he grabbed it and stabbed forward, but his attempt drowned in the air. His limbs felt weighted and his digits weakened as someone gripped his palm and tugged the pen out of his grip.

  “No, you can’t move.” The voice sounded familiar, so did the green glint of the glasses, but Slater couldn’t remember where he’d seen the man. “You aren’t ruining my beautiful stitchwork.”

  “No… Slater needs to see Master. Slater needs to tell Master…” He pleaded before something tiny pierced his inner elbow. Utter bitterness syringed into his mouth as the room plunged into darkness.

  “IN CASE YOU ARE CURIOUS, he woke up,” Miraç’s voice, coming from the phone, sounded pleased.

  “I’m not,” Talha said, but his pulse doubled its rate in excitement.

  “He called for you, tried to break free, pulled the endotracheal tube out of his throat, and even attempted to stab a nurse with a pen,” Miraç kept going, ignoring Talha. “We had to sedate him.”

  “I said, I don’t care.” Stabbing his canine tooth into his lower lip, Talha killed his smile. Despite Miraç’s concern that the blood loss might affect Slater’s organs or brain, the reaper seemed to be almost back to his usual self.

  His chest lightened as if an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders, easing his breathing. Why the fuck am I happy about it? This fucker will die anyway… I can’t forgive him. I can’t pretend that nothing happened, neither can the Hale Family.

  “I’m transferring him into a private room, where I can keep him sedated for a week. Then I’ll take him off morphine. By that time, he should be healed enough to walk carefully.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Talha squinted as he entered the bathroom and switched the lights on. Turning left, he looked in a tall, mosaic mirror. His usually olive skin wore a grayish, ailing hint, black circles outlined his bloodshot eyes, and healing cuts and bruises covered his face. He sighed, feeling no better than he looked. Instead of relief, the night had brought exhaustion and rigidity into his limbs. His head already missed the softness of the pillow, but he didn’t have time to rest, as the conference would begin in five minutes.

  “I say it because I won’t keep him against his will. I prefer him to stay for a month, but I won’t keep him tied to the bed if he wants to leave sooner.”

  “Got it. I’ll think of something by that time. See you later, Doc.”

  “Talha,” Miraç’s voice drubbed in his phone. “Take it easy, and don’t forget your medication.”

  “Thanks, Doc…” Pushing the phone in his back pocket, he pressed his hands against the sink, Miraç‘s words circling in his mind. ‘He called for you … pulled the endotracheal tube out … attempted to stab a nurse with a pen…’

  Talha snorted, hiding the stupid smile in his shoulder. Damn, I’m fucked… What do I do with him?

  Pushing a long breath out, he shook off the merriment and strained his facial muscles into dark, serious determination. His jaw clenched adding an angry cast to his features. Tearing the top buttons of his shirt, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the brownish, chafed skin around his wrists the rope caused. For a few breaths, he stared at his reflection, then sucked in a deep breath. It’s time…

  “THANK YOU FOR COMING.” Standing at the head of the П-shaped table, Talha looked over the crowd. Dressed in black, men and women kept silent, drilling him with their eyes. He instantly divided the crowd into jackals and lambs: those who were eating his every expression with hungry, curious gazes and those who kept looking around rubbing their shoulders with shaky palms. There were also some who kept themselves hostile. He needed to win them over the most. “I’ll be brief.”

  Black, heavy curtains framed the windows; the same black decorated the corners of Camilla’s portrait that stood on his left. Her serious eyes fixed on the crowd. The portraits of the people who had died that night hung all over the wall, behind him.

  Dinçer is fucking good, Talha appreciated the effort, wondering why he hadn’t thought about it himself. Dozens of serious, accusing eyes must have made the people standing in front of him uneasy.

  Ejder and Dinçer, standing on his either side, scanned the crowd with strained, cautious gazes, as Güvenç’s soldiers bracketed the crowd from behind.

  That’s it… Tell them what Slater did. That he was recruited by the Kılıç group and betrayed you. That he will be publicly executed. It’s this easy. Everything will be solved.

  The words scraping his vocal cords, he croaked, “A few days ago the Kılıç group stormed my house and slaughtered my people and those from the Hale Family. Not only have they taken their lives, they…” Talha had to stop to clear his throat, as his voice became unrecognizable. “…mutilated their bodies and disgraced them in death, creating a bloody display for their amusement.”

  He filled his chest with air and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes burning. Someone asked something, but he shook his head, never understanding the question.

  “Reis is not going to answer your questions at the moment, as he has a serious medical condition that affected his hearing. It’s only going to be a statement, so please, keep quiet,” Dinçer butted in, and Talha gave him a nod of appreciation.

  “About Iblīs…” Talha cleared his throat again. His statement was getting out of hand with every second. Not only did it not sound smooth and confident, it was choppy and rough. Yet, he still didn’t say the most important part. Filling his lungs, he proceeded, determined to finish this all in one go, “The rumors you heard about Iblīs. They are false.”

  Ejder’s glare burned his temple, but he chose to ignore it.

  “Threatening my staff, the Kılıç group framed my ripper, forgetting that Iblīs doesn’t leave witnesses and never forgives those who wronged him.” The words gained confidence, as his voice empowered. He didn’t know where his words were coming from, but he didn’t care anymore as speaking became easier. “Me and my consultant, Slater, who the Kılıç group mistakenly took for Iblīs, were held hostage and tortured. Musa Kılıç tried to convert him. Realizing his mistake, he decided to kill him. At this moment, Slater is in the hospital in the intensive care unit, fighting for his life.”

  The mumble ran across the hall, and Talha raised his palm, demanding silence.

  “Not knowing what happened, my brother, Ejder, assumed that Slater betrayed me, so he put a contract on his head. When I escaped, the contract was canceled. Right now, Slater is receiving the best medical attention possible. His condition is stable.”

  “What about Iblīs?”

  Talha nodded his understanding.

  “At the moment of the attack, Iblīs wasn’t present in the country. But he is now, and he’s not happy. It didn’t take him long to track me down and release us. If not for him, Slater and I would be dead. He is waiting for my command to track down those who disgraced me.” He turned to Camilla’s portrait, giving her a long, sad look. “Today in front of the dead, I swear that their lives would be avenged even at the cost of my own. The Kılıç group will pay for insulting me, robbing me of my future and the woman I intended to marry.”

  With a short bow of his head, he finished, “That’s it for today. Now, excuse me.” With a lift of his chin, he pointed out of the window, and toward a motorcade of military jeeps, “Güvenç, let’s go. The Hale Family is welcome to join us.”

  “HOW DID I DO?” Talha asked when the car pulled out of the gates and onto the driveway. The morning sun, breaking through the foliage of horse chestnuts growing on either side of the road, created an unpleasant flickering that jerked Talha’s every nerve. Shielding his eyes from the light, he looked away.

  “Brilliant,” Dinçer’s smiling voice reached him from the driver seat. “I almost believed you.”

  “You will burn in hell,” Ejder ground out from the seat next to him. His face wore a grim expression as he fiddled with his M4 Carbi
ne. “I can’t believe you said it…”

  “Thank you, Kardeşim.” Talha grinned. “Do you think they bought it?”

  “If no, they’ll be persuaded once we raid the warehouse. They are following us.” Lifting his hand, Dinçer corrected the rearview mirror.

  The sunbeam, glinting off Dinçer’s platinum watch, clawed at Talha’s sensitive eyes. Scrunching his face, he hid his eyes in his palms. With every minute, he felt nausea crawling into his body. The headache spread from his temples to his nape, setting his brain on fire.

  “Perfect…” He rubbed his eyes, wondering what to do next. Taking the suspicion off Slater, he left an empty spot that now demanded to be patched. “Dinçer, I’m going to make a deal with Savaş…”

  “What?” Dinçer and Ejder exclaimed with one voice. The car skidded as Dinçer gawked over his shoulder. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.” Talha cracked his neck, hoping the movement would drain the pain from the back of his head. “Ask him to come and see me. Tonight.”

  They spoke simultaneously, Talha’s head felt like splitting. Slamming his palm against the window, he ordered in a low voice that left no room for negotiation, “Shut up, both of you. It’s already decided. Now, I want silence.”

  Thirty minutes later, Talha climbed out of the car and grabbed a compact assault rifle AM-17 from the trunk. From the corner of his eye, he saw Englishmen pulling up and littering the small parking lot. The stomping of many feet and metal clanging suffused the air, as soldiers, dressed in black military uniforms, surrounded the warehouse.

  He nodded to Güvenç, ordering him to begin. Someone rushed to the doors, installing a small explosive device over the lock. The hand grenade, breaking the glass window, blew inside, and a boiling hail of lead ignited the air, stammering in Talha’s head.

  Yanking the bolt of his rifle, he rushed inside, hoping that Ifrīt hadn’t played a joke on him.

  GUNFIRE STILL RANG IN HIS EARS as he stood in the dark, cold room, surrounded by dead bodies and a sickening stench of blood and chemicals. His vertigo aggravated, and he needed a moment to slow down the constant spinning of the room.

  People rushed past him in a blur, but he couldn’t care less. His body felt sluggish, as mortal tiredness washed over him.

  “Oh my fucking god…” Someone breathed by his side, dragging his attention. The young, blond Englishman from the Hale family reached into the refrigerator, and Talha had to grab his forearm to stop his fingers from touching Camilla’s head.

  “Don’t touch her…” He managed. “…with bare hands.”

  Without looking in the huge refrigerator, stocked with meth, he wobbled toward the door. Sensing Camilla’s glare on his back, he stumbled outside, needing air.

  Shoving his rifle to Ejder’s chest, he rested his hands on the roof of the car. The hot metal burned his skin when he doubled over and vomited. Spitting out the filthy taste in his mouth, he cringed, thinking that he should start taking the drugs Miraç gave him. The headache refused to abate, shredding his nerves, and seemed to be draining his body of life source.

  “Talha?” Ejder touched his shoulder. “You look like shit… You should see Miraç.”

  “I’m fine. Run the forensics. I want the official report before night falls,” Talha said, pulling the rear passenger door open and slumping into the seat. “I’ll rest when it’s over.”

  But as soon as his head touched the backrest, a cold swamp of nothingness gulped him down.

  SITTING ON THE MEDICAL BED, Talha stared at the cannula, stuck in his vein. “Seriously, I can’t stay here. I have no time for this.”

  “You are staying. Miraç, tell him!” Ejder’s high-pitched voice sounded unbearable to Talha’s sensitive ears. He had to swallow to ease the pressure in his head.

  “Ejder is right, Talha. I shouldn’t have let you go to begin with, so for the next week consider this home.” With a theatrical gesture, Miraç spread both hands, showing Talha his best room.

  “One day, and then I’m out of here,” Talha compromised.

  Propping up the door with his wide back, Dinçer yawned. “It’s better if you stay in the hospital. Everyone is talking about it now. A torture victim running around the city with a rifle is suspicious enough. Now, they are starting to believe your story. You vomited then lost consciousness after you avenged your bride. Isn’t it romantic?”

  Dinçer searched for Ejder’s support and received an enthusiastic nodding.

  Talha cringed. “I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.”

  “People think you are in a terrible state. Even the Hale Family, so stay in, and we will do the rest. What’s left?”

  “Savaş…”

  Dinçer’s face fell. “Don’t do this. What else can you possibly want?”

  “Execution...”

  WHATEVER MIRAÇ GAVE HIM was working because even before sunset, Talha’s head stopped hurting. His thoughts cleared, and the nausea abated, leaving him starving and bored. He hated hospitals. He hated the stupid gown that left his ass exposed to the wind and gazes. He hated feeling weak and requiring attention.

  “Like hell I’m staying,” he muttered under his breath. Tearing the hospital gown off, he threw his pants and shirt on, then opened the door.

  For a moment, he considered going out for dinner, but his gaze fell on the familiar door across the corridor. He was on the same floor as Slater.

  “Right,” he breathed, taking the first step toward Slater’s room.

  THE WEAKENING DRUG, streaming in his veins, dry-cured his organs and initiated a maddening thirst. His tongue too dry and bloated to swallow. His throat was raw, and his whole body felt desiccated as if mummified alive. For the third time, whenever he’d opened his eyes, another injection of colorful nightmares infused into his system. In them, Master had always left him. In them, the opera ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ haunted him, stuck on a loop. Time after time, shrill violins sawed his brain to pieces, summoning demons. Red and black, they wore masks made from the faces of his victims. They sniggered, waltzing around him, as the music progressed to a mind-numbing crescendo. He hated this music as it attracted more and more demons. Hundreds of clawed hands seized his limbs, dragging him back while Master kept moving forward. No matter how hard Slater fought, how many demons he killed, he couldn’t break the demonic embrace and reach out to him.

  Suffocating and gagging in powerless fury, he wrestled with the barbed wire of demonic claws, his skin ripping apart. In the next instant, a soothing hand caressed his forehead, shooing them all away. Wide and cool, it smelled like bitter almond and leather. Like Master. Slater groaned. Chasing the sensation, he rolled his head after the hand and opened his eyes, but only bright, colorful stains greeted him.

  “Master,” he heard himself croak; every syllable scratched his palate.

  The hand retreated, unsettling his nerves.

  Forcing through the drug-numbed pain and weakness, he lifted up, using his elbows as levers in a last attempt to regain the skin contact. The colorful flickers bled into the streaming light, coming from the corridor, illuminating the contours of Master’s face as another figure fell into the picture. Liquid ice washed over his spine, coating him in a cold sweat as he stared into the wolfish eyes, an amused smile playing over the mutilated face.

  Slater blinked, trying to shake the nightmare off, but Savaş didn’t dissolve.

  No, Master can’t… Not him… A jab of betrayal shot through him. His breathing hitched, as his head jerked to the side, unable to process the image. The chilling dread, radiating from his spine, seeped into his stomach, frosting him from inside.

  Slater’s eyes latched onto Talha’s, as the man examined him with sad disappointment.

  “Master…” Slater rasped, grabbed Talha’s hand, but Master sighed, shook off his grip, and stepped away.

  “Miraç!” Talha called. A shadow in blue scrubs passed around Savaş, approaching the bed. “Sedate him.”

  “No, Master. Slater needs to tell
you something…” Slater gasped as the doctor pinned him down, secured his arm, and something prickled his inner elbow. Heat flared through his veins as a new dose of colorful nightmares rushed up to his brain. Darkness dressed in red, and the Ride of the Valkyries sounded again.

  Blinking with heavy lids, Slater watched Master approach Savaş, slap his shoulder, and say, “Follow me, Ripper. I want to make a deal.”

  No, Master can’t… Please, don’t leave Slater…

  He blinked again, but this time his eyes refused to open.

  SAVAŞ SLUMPED ONTO the medical bed and stretched his limbs across the crumpled bedsheet. His eyes disappeared in a wide yawn as he extruded a low, exhausted noise.

  Leaning against the wall, Talha folded his arms over his chest, watching the ripper.

  “What made you change your mind, Reis?” Prying one wolfish eye open, Savaş rolled to his side, every move dripping with laziness.

  “Does it matter?” Watching the ripper now, he doubted Savaş could be useful. Delicate, slender, he had a fragile feel about him. Slater was lithe too, but he exuded danger and power with every breath he took, even when submitting. His iron muscles were for speed, not strength, still, they weren’t weak. Savaş looked weak.

  “No-o-o, not really.” Savaş stretched the words rolling onto his belly. Propping himself on his elbows, he looked like a cat playing with a meal. “But what to do, Reis? I have already promised you that I won’t offer the deal twice. I can’t go back on my word, can I? What kind of a man would I be?”

  “Can we skip this game and get straight to the price? I know you want something; otherwise, you wouldn’t offer me the deal. Why don’t you name your price?”

  “Hmm… Fine. You want to talk business, here it is. You have three wishes. They can’t be too complex. Nothing impossible like ‘I want you to develop a channel to England’ after what Slater did, is it clear? I’m a reaper, not god.” Savaş’ words hardened with metal. “After I grant them, you will grant one of mine. No cheating, no renunciation. It’s as simple as this. If you try to cheat your way out of the deal, I’ll kill you.”