Deviant Fixation

by Valencia Carmelita

  Rachael was right, taking someone's life means so little to these men.

  Yet Serge seems to possess some ounce of compassion unlike Vladimir who seems down right atrocious and frightening.

  ◆◆◆

  After changing into fresh set of clothes and hijab, I sit down on the edge of the bed and stare around vacantly at my surrounding.

  A few minutes pass and I reach for the bedside phone, I needed to get in touch with Mister Mirza. Instead of rings, an automatic voice states the number is out of service.

  My brows crease in dismay as I redial and hear the same again.

  Why would he cancel his phone service ?

  Concern engulfs my mind as I wonder the worst.

  Allah forbid, I hope Imran hasn't harmed Mister Mirza!

  The worry eats away at me as I bolt up from the bed and head towards the door. I needed to find Rachael and ask her what should be done. I needed to apprise her of the potential danger Mister Mirza could be in right now.

  Stepping out into the corridor, I'm at a sudden loss for directions.

  How am I to find her when I don't even know where she is right now?

  Returning inside of my new bedroom, I reach for the bedside phone again and dial the kitchen extension. This time Anya picks up.

  "Do you know where Rachael could be at the moment ?" I query.

  She replies without hesitation. "Miss Rachael is on the first floor, in the left wing at the very last room. Take the first entrance near the left stairwell of the foyer."

  I thank her and depart my bedroom again, my mind repeating the directions she's provided me as I make a long trek through the second floor corridor.

  Finally I come across the stairwells of the foyer and hastily descend, then pivot left towards the first arching entrance.

  Within minutes I'm nearly close to the last door when I'm halted by the loud angered voices emanating out from within.

  The door is slightly askew but not enough for me to see the occupants inside. Yet I recognize them by voice.

  "Don't be ridiculous !" Rachael's fuming tone. "She will be staying here and that is final!"

  "I must agree with Rachael, It most certainly isn't safe for her out there." Huxley affirms.

  "That vermin's safety be damned." Proceeds the cold and disturbingly calm reply of my hater. "What becomes of the fucking Muslim should matter not the least bit to either of you."

  "Vladimir, you have proven today there is no bounds to your cruelty!" Rachael laments in disbelief.

  "Vladimir.." Huxley begans in an austere voice. "Don't utter such words for a girl who has rescued the very niece and nephew you hold so dear to your heart. Does that gesture not mean anything to you?"

  "I had never perceived a day would arrive wherein you'd be emotionally tied as a woman.." Embittered disapproving reply issues from Vladimir. Suddenly his voice transmits a warning full of dark intent. "From me you've garnered disappointment, Huxley and if you know what's good for you then be advised in my presence not another word uttered in favour of the vermin."

  "Answer his question!" Rachael demands. "Does it not mean anything to you?" She earnestly begs.

  "I do not give a fuck about a filthy Muslim." Vladimir's remark as rigid and venomous as ever. "For all I care, the vermin should die and rot somewhere. Good riddance!"

  "I will not allow that, so help me God." Rachael's tone overshadowed by vehemence. "If you dare try to hurt her, Katie and I along with everyone else in this household will never forgive you. Never!"

  An irate inaudible low response issues from Vladimir. Followed by muffled sounds of someone beginning to weep, increasing louder by the seconds. I realize its Rachael as I hear Huxley consoling her.

  But then I realize, I too am weeping silently. I start retreating in haste as my tears blur my vision. Vladimir's heartless words ringing through out my mind. Trepidation and fear taking ahold of my being. I rush back up the stairs to my room.

  Slamming the door behind me closed, I try calming my nerves. But it was proving to be a useless effort as I frantically pace back and forth infront of the bed.

  What should I do?

  I couldn't stay here next to that inhumane monster. I had to find a way out of here, away from all of this mess I have gotten entangled within.

  In a split second, I reach for the phone and dial Leila.

  Perhaps she could help me some way some how.

  But the automatic voicemail states international calls are unable to be made on this service.

  I needed a phone card.

  How the heck do I obtain a phone card?

  Rushing towards the windows, I yank apart the heavy drapes. Only to be disappointed by the view.

  Miles of greenery lay ahead between the faint glimmer of the barely there outlines of the city.

  How can I get to the city from here ?

  It was Some two hour drive.

  How long would it take by foot?

  Noticing the sunrays disappear gradually as dusk crept upon the scene, I realize its time for my evening prayer. I wipe at my tears, ardently hoping that Allah helps me out of my troubles. Unraveling my mother's prayer rug, I head to the washroom for the ablution.

  Each prostration I take before God, I can't help but weep uncontrollably. Silently in my mind I beg forgiveness, intercession and His help. I seek out His refuge.

  Who else can help me but you, Allah?

  I'm so profoundly concentrated within my supplications, that a sharp rapping against the door obstructs me from my thoughts.

  "Hello?!" Anya vociferates. "Miss Kashani are you alright in there?!"

  In haste, I scramble to my feet and traverse the room. Unbolting the door, I come face to face with a concerned Anya.

  "You're crying miss Kashani!" She gasps in alarm. "Is everything alright ? I've been knocking many times!"

  Clearing my throat, I manage to reply with a small smile. "Oh no, I'm fine. I had been praying ..."

  She blinks in worry and then her features relax. "Well I'm sorry I didn't mean to intrude!" Then a knowing smile graces her lips as she continues. "I can understand, prayer has that power over us!"

  "It's fine, I have completed my prayer so you haven't intruded at all." Gently, I assure her.

  "Well, I'm glad." She nods, her smile unfaltering. "I had come to remind you dinner will be served shortly and that you may follow me to the dining area. Everyone is there already. Miss Rachael awaits you."

  Immediately my mind is drawn towards Vladimir, I didn't want to face that contemptuous demon again.

  I shake my head at her in solid decline. "I'm not hungry, please tell her that." I lie.

  Anya's smile vanishes as her brows crease in renewed concern. "Are you certain, miss Kashani?"

  I nod, affirming my lie. "Yes, I'm not hungry."

  "Oh alright then..." She seems uncertain as she turns to leave.

  Closing the door, I lean my back against it while uttering AstaghfirAllah under my breath for lying.

  I had no courage to dine in the presence of a tyrant who loathes me unconditionally.

  I needed to devise a plan of my escape from here.

  ◆◆◆

  .Glossary:

  AstaghfirAllah is Arabic term for seeking forgiveness from God.

  Chapter 13

  Some say recurring dreams symbolize incidents of our past experience. Events which may have had some very troubling and profound impact upon our emotional and physical state.

  While yet others say such dreams may represent incessant and equivocal conflicts currently plaguing the dreamer. But ofcourse it all depends on the content of the dream.

  Laying awake for the past 20 minutes while eyes fixed on the intricate ceiling, I've vaguely concluded that my recurring dream could likely be premonitions of what is stored ahead in my future.

  It's that recurring dream, shadowy figures looming ever closer and nearly suffocating me when suddenly another darkened figure emerges and plucks me away.

  I di
mly recall a pair of eyes as blue and vast as the ocean. At the very next junction for some ridiculous reason, my mind construes up an image of Vladimir's eyes.

  An instant scowl furrows my brows as I shake my head in denial at such a notion. That jerk would frighten me senseless in a dream instead of offering security.

  Why would I be stupid enough to think of his eyes...

  I kick at the silky duvet, tossing it away from my legs and I leap off from the comforting bed. Ceasing my dream contemplation, I glimpse at the bedside table clock, 4:30am-it would be time for my morning prayer soon.

  Some twenty minutes later after a hasty refreshing shower and prayer, I switch off the ceiling bamboo fan and yank apart the drapes at the windows.

  I hadn't taken notice until now that these windows were equipped with a nice diminutive balcony. I unbolt and slid apart the windows.

  I'm greeted by a fresh morning breeze. It's laden with the scent of tropical flowers adrift from the vast outstreching gardens below.

  Miles ahead, the cityscape's glimmer begins to fade as the horizon is kissed by the Sun's warming rays.

  It was the start to a beautiful cloudless day, and for many in the world it would be a beautiful day. Except for me, wherein my mind was clouded with bleakness.

  The start of a new sunny sky did nothing to calm my nerves which were once again as restless as they were the previous night.

  What am I to do? I need to get out of here!

  Till late night, I had in relentless desperation phoned Mister Mirza repeatedly while Vladimir's malignant words swamped my thoughts.

  But to no avail, Mister Mirza's phone service had gone inactive. My mind was having a difficult time adjusting to that fact. Yet only in the moment do I vaguely remember his last few words, that he may not be in touch with me again.

  Even at present, those words did no less than pain me emotionally. He had refused to respond as to why and alluded to the envelope as the answer.

  Just one more day and I will finally unveil the contents within.

  My stomach grumbles in obvious hunger, obstructing me out of my brooding. Since I hadn't eaten any supper last night, I decide I could make a brief trip to the kitchen now.

  Currently the residents of the manor were most likely all asleep, especially that jerk and it would prove much safer for me to venture out.

  Although, one issue...how do I get to the kitchen when I don't even know where it is ?

  Before thinking, I reach for the bedside phone and easily discover Anya's bedroom extension number in the list.

  I stare at it for a minute or two, contemplating whether I should inconvenience her this early. I decide I'll only ask for directions.

  I hope she doesn't mind my calling this early.

  After ringing twice, she picks up with a groggy voice and sudden regret muddles my mind as it's too late for me to have any second thoughts.

  I should have waited another two hours instead of bothering her this early.

  "I'm sorry to have awoken you!" My apology leaks in complete guilt. "But I was hoping if you could give me the directions to the kitchen? I'd very much appreciate it"

  "That's alright.." She begins with a stifled yawn. "Is there something I can serve you ? I'll awaken Mrs.Agnelli to cook you something."

  "Oh no don't !" I interject in earnest haste. "I can cook myself, all I need is the directions."

  "Are you sure ?" She reiterates. "It won't take us long."

  "I'm sure" I confirm.

  "Well alright then.." She responds wearily. "On the first floor just turn into the left entrance behind the right stairwell of the foyer, you'll come across two sets of double doors. The pair of doors on your left is the kitchen while the others lead to the dining hall."

  I offer her a prompt gratitude before ending the call. Swiftly, I donned a plain navy coloured hijab over my cream coloured cardigan and navy skirt.

  I set forth from my room for the kitchen through the immensity of this luxurious palace like manor.

  With ease, in no time I have managed to locate the double swinging wooden doors and give them a gentle push inwards.

  Yet I come to a complete and abrupt halt at the impressive sight before me which is beyond a mere kitchen. Just like most of the mansion, it contains a warm Mediterranean vibrancy.

  Potted exotic plants embellished every corner of the walls. Three finely carved wooden and marble top kitchen islands were placed vertically side by side with enough of a gap in between each to pass through.

  All three were equipped with a rustic classy basin and faucet. The floors were a earthy polished tile work and dark wooden logs fixed the ceiling in intervals.

  On the far left was an airy and spacious breakfast area with a long black elegant yet simple table to seat more than a dozen people.

  Right before it, Sunlight poured forth from the floor length windows, showcasing a splendid view of the gardens. Glass sliding doors next to it led out on a wooden deck.

  Infront of the kitchen a couple of feet across was a soaring and stylishly casual seating lounge area with brown leathery couches, a flat screen t.v., a rustic classy fireplace. Right above it black filigree banister covered yet another corridor leading elsewhere, which started from a small set of spiralled stairwell at the left.

  With tentative steps forward, I turn sideways and find two sets of large refrigerators. Next to it on the right is a long kitchen shelf under which is two sets of dishwashers and then a series of cabinets stopping at two sets of large stoves.

  On the left of the refrigerators is the door to the kitchen pantry and another door of steel labelled Freezer storage.

  Talk about opulence ! These folks are extremely wealthy !

  I resurvey my surrounding and instantly a slight scowl knits my brows thinking of the jerk.

  Jerk is Filthy rich ...an emphasis on the word filthy.

  I trudge towards one of the fridges and tug open the doors while wondering in what dastardly criminal ways he acquired all of this wealth.

  My eyes scan in amazement at the densely packed interior containing varieties of mouth watering food and delicacies stored in luxury packaging, containers and plastic wraps.

  Expensive edible stuff with unknown ingredients from the foreign labelings in Italian, Russian and German. I couldn't eat them unless I knew if they were halal.

  Finally I discover a carton of organic brown eggs and a packaging of tortilla wraps. I decide on cooking scrambled eggs served with tortilla.

  Placing the eggs and tortilla wraps on one of the kitchen islands, I roam through some of the cabinets for cooking utensils. Which I find in another minute.

  I select out two eggs on the island surface and just when I'm attempting to close the carton I feel something furry brush against my ankles in a circular motion.