Elpida

by C. Kennedy

  Christy lifted his chin with gentle fingertips. “Do not be. How is the pain?”

  Thimi made a so-so gesture with his good hand.

  “Dr. Jordanou will give you something. Now, I will give you clothes. They are for you.”

  “We will share them,” Thimi promised.

  “I have many clothes now. These are your first clothes for your new life.”

  “Christophoros, it is a dream.”

  “A good dream, I hope.”

  “You died.”

  Christy stilled. “I did not die. I am here.”

  Thimi shook his head. “You died on the floor. I saw it.”

  “General Sotíras saved me. You did not see him?”

  Thimi shook his head. “I went to the fireplace. You died, and I climbed inside the stone.”

  Christy closed his eyes briefly, reliving the terror of that fateful night, and mentally shoved the memories away again. “It is over now. We begin again. Together. You will like it here.” Christy slipped the cotton shirt over Thimi’s head and helped with his arms. It was too big, and Christy carefully folded the long sleeves so they didn’t overhang his hands. He placed the purple marble in Thimi’s palm and closed his fingers around it. It amazed him that, through everything, Thimi still had the thing. It had miraculously survived every horror of Thimi’s life.

  Christy held the pants so Thimi could slip his feet into them and then bunched them around his knees. “I will help you stand and you bring them up.”

  Christy placed Thimi’s dirty clothes in the laundry basket. “Now, let us clean teeth.” Christy riffled through the bathroom drawers until he found a new toothbrush. “Here we are.”

  Thimi turned to the sink and began to wilt, and Christy caught him around the waist. “You are weak from the medicine. I will hold you.”

  Thimi brushed his teeth and seemed exhausted by the end of the small task.

  “A little food and you will have more strength,” Christy said gently. “Here. To the chair.” He turned Thimi carefully and helped him into the chair. “I will brush the hair.”

  Thimi almost smiled. “You care for me as if I am small again.”

  Now Christy smiled. “I will always care for you.” He brushed Thimi’s hair and studied him for a long moment. He still couldn’t believe Thimi was here in the US with him, and emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. He surveyed his hair efforts and, satisfied, he went to the bathroom drawer that held his small pads of paper and pens. They’d been his constant soldiers while his larynx healed, and he still couldn’t bear to part with them. He reached for one of the Sharpie markers that his friends had used to sign his leg casts. It was purple and perfect for Thimi. He reached for Thimi’s cast and wrote in Greek script, While there is life, there is hope, little brother. Christy.

  Thimi read it and frowned. “We dare not hope for anything. We have always known this, Christophoros.”

  “You can hope now. You will see.” He turned the radio up to Everclear’s “Wonderful.” “This song is for you.” He handed the marker to him. “Keep this for others to sign.”

  Christy went to the closet, returned with a pair of white cotton socks, and set them in Thimi’s lap. “I wish to check your temperature before you wear these. How do you feel?”

  “Like I am in a dream.”

  “Do you feel warm?”

  Thimi shook his head and abruptly stopped. “Dizzy.”

  “It is the medicine. The food will help. Are you ready?”

  “Must I speak?”

  “You must let Dr. Jordanou check you, you must try to eat, and then you must try to sleep.”

  “When do we work?”

  Christy’s heart sank, and he cupped Thimi’s face with his hands. “I know it is hard to believe. No work. No punishments. It is over. You are safe here.”

  Thimi’s lower lip quivered, and the distrust Christy saw in his eyes didn’t surprise him. “You are safe here,” he repeated. “In time you will see.” He reached to the tissue box and handed two to Thimi. “We go now. If it is too much, you go to bed to sleep.”

  Thimi nodded, and Christy wheeled him from the room.

  “Ah, you look wonderful. Do you feel better?” Dr. Jordanou asked when Christy helped Thimi up onto a barstool.

  Thimi nodded.

  “He has wrist pain,” Christy said in Greek.

  Thimi held two fingers up, and Dr. Jordanou smiled.

  “Let us take your temperature, and then I will give you something for pain.” Thimi waited patiently as Dr. Jordanou inserted the probe of a fiber optic thermometer into his ear. It beeped after a moment, and Dr. Jordanou smiled. “Not too warm.”

  “The socks?” Christy asked.

  Dr. Jordanou nodded. “A good idea.”

  Christy tried to squat to put the socks on Thimi’s feet, and pain shot up his thigh. He reached for the counter, righted himself quickly, and breathed through it.

  Concern etched Rob’s face. “Make sure you speak with Dr. Sattler about that.”

  Christy nodded but said nothing.

  “Gwen?” Rob gestured to the socks.

  She squatted, and Thimi shrank away.

  “She is a nurse. It is okay,” Christy reassured.

  Thimi peered down and watched her every move as she fitted the socks on his feet.

  Rob had arranged additional barstools around the kitchen island, and everyone took a seat to eat.

  “Okay. We have the soup and pasta if you wish,” Christy announced as he uncovered the plates before them.”

  “Drink the broth slowly,” Dr. Jordanou instructed.

  “Ah, wait,” Christy said as he uncovered the Jell-O. “This is my favorite. I will give you a small taste.” He spooned a small bit of Jell-O and held it to Thimi’s lips. “Try.”

  Thimi’s eyes went wide as it melted in his mouth.

  “One more.” Christy stretched a marshmallow until a small part broke away and held it to Thimi’s lips.

  Thimi tried it, and his eyes went very wide.

  Christy smiled. “Okay. Now you drink broth and have more when you finish.”

  They ate in quiet conversation. Dr. Jordanou explained to Thimi what he’d learned from Rob about Wellington, and General Sotíras chimed in with accolades of Christy’s progress. Thimi eyed everyone suspiciously, but trained eyes didn’t react, and Christy was grateful that no one pressured Thimi to speak. Thimi ate well, though not much, and was soon exhausted.

  Christy took charge again. “Okay, you sleep now.” He put Thimi to bed, held his hand until he slept—which occurred within moments—and still marveled that Thimi was right there with him, in the US, in his cabin.

  When Christy joined everyone in the living room area, the room fell silent.

  “What do you think?” Rob finally asked.

  “He is like I am when I first come here.”

  “We’ll take care of him,” Rob reassured.

  Christy turned to Gwen. “Thank you for the help. I know it is past your work time.”

  “I’m here any time you need me.”

  A small smile filled Christy’s face. “Only if Darien does not need attention.”

  She laughed softly. “Well, there is that.”

  Christy studied everyone, one by one and thought it amazing that he was here. Now. So changed from what he was fifteen months ago. His gaze settled on General Sotíras. “Thank you. I would not be alive but for your help, General.”

  “We’re only happy you survived.”

  “Tell me. You did not find Thimi when you find me?”

  Sotíras shook his head. “I would have sought to save him as well.”

  Christy nodded once and looked off into the distance, fragmented images from that unspeakable night bouncing off the walls of his mind.

  Rob cleared his throat. “What’s on your mind, Christy?”

  Christy frowned as he worked to gather his thoughts and leave the painful memories behind, unsure what to say. He ignored Rob’s question.
“Thimi climbed in the fireplace and up the stone to the house ventilation.”

  “Clever,” Sotíras commented.

  “He says he watched me die.”

  Sotíras’s face smoothed, emptying of all emotion. “It was difficult to revive you,” he admitted.

  “How did you know to come to my father’s house?”

  “Your father’s butler called emergency services.”

  Christy fought to contain his astonishment. The bastard hadn’t only known what his father had been up to but had worked to cover it up for as long as Christy could remember. “Where is he now?”

  “He disappeared. We believe he is in Turkey.”

  “Did you speak with my father?”

  Sotíras gave Christy a long considering look. “I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said nothing about you.”

  “What did he say?” Christy repeated, forever annoyed when people didn’t answer his questions.

  After a beat, Sotíras spoke. “He threatened my job as I arrested him.”

  “Did you speak with him after?”

  “Only to interrogate him.”

  “Did he speak of me?”

  Sotíras looked mildly uncomfortable. “No. But that is not surprising. Your father didn’t believe we had a right to investigate his personal life. We also had a hard time identifying you at first. Thanks to Dr. Jordanou, we identified you through dental records.”

  This surprised the hell out of Christy. “Why?”

  “Records showed that you had died in the accident with your mother.”

  Christy couldn’t prevent amazement from filling his face. Sotíras’s boss was the only one with authority to order a death certificate entered without a body. “Colonomos,” he finally said under his breath, then bit his tongue. He needed to stop letting things slip from his lips.

  “I’m sorry, Christy,” the general said sincerely.

  “Where is Colonomos now?”

  “In custody awaiting trial.”

  “You are certain?”

  “He is held under presidential order with my best men.”

  “Do not underestimate him, General.”

  Sotíras’s gaze narrowed on Christy. “What concerns you?”

  “He will pay and someone will release him.”

  Sotíras’s flinch was nearly indiscernible, but Christy didn’t miss it.

  “I will place extra men on him. Thank you for the advice,” Sotíras said gravely.

  “Tell me about Sophia.”

  Sotíras cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to learn that she is your sister from Yosef.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Jordanou interjected. “I ran the DNA tests myself.”

  Sotíras took a sip of water and continued. “A death certificate was entered for Sophia and, concurrently, Ariel adopted a female child.”

  “Michael believes my mother moved Sophia to Ariel to protect her from my father, and she kept me believing I would be safe with her. Why make the false record Sophia as dead? Why not simply allow Ariel to adopt her?”

  “That is a good question, and I don’t know the answer,” Sotíras said flatly.

  Christy continued, “If Michael is correct, why would my father go along with such an idea from my mother? Why would he allow Sophia to go with Ariel?”

  “That is another good question, Christy,” Rob added.

  “I can only guess that Ariel will know more,” the general said.

  Christy gestured impatiently for him to continue.

  Sotíras considered Christy for another long moment before he spoke. “I would suggest that your father no longer wished Sophia to be an heir apparent to his fortune.”

  “An adoption would repair this, no?”

  “You would think so. The irony is that your mother was wealthy in her own right, and Ariel inherited her fortune—part of which remains held in trust for you and Sophia. This also includes your mother’s portion of your father’s assets.”

  Surprise became a tidal wave against Christy’s emotionally taxed shore. It washed over him, and his insides trembled, threatening to turn to jelly. He was a frightened small child again, old fear permeating his veins along with new fear of the unknown. He wasn’t sure how many more surprises his nervous system could take before it became a puddle of raw emotion. He could only imagine the secrets Ariel knew, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he struggled to remain steady. “Did you speak with Ariel?”

  Sotíras shook his head. “I left it to Nero to speak with her.”

  “She will not speak to Kýrios Santini. She will not speak to Sophia.” He turned to Rob. “I believe I will speak with Ariel.”

  Rob made a go ahead motion with his hand. “So long as you believe you’re strong enough, do it. I’d speak with Nero first, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Your emotional reserves are spent, Christy. You want to ensure you suffer the least amount of upset possible, and you need a discussion plan to do that.”

  Christy couldn’t deny that Rob had guided him through the maze that was his road to healing and helped him resolve his differences with Sophia over Thimi. He turned to Dr. Jordanou. “Thank you for saving my life and Thimi’s life.”

  “The credit is all yours. You are both incredibly resilient. As Nicos said, we only hoped you would survive.”

  A small smile graced Christy’s lips again. “Hope is often all we have.”

  Now Sotíras smiled. “True.”

  CHRISTY SLEPT for less than an hour before Thimi’s dreams came. Christy knew the dreams well. They were stealthy, quiet in the beginning, kind. Always with an offer of alluring, yet ever elusive, food. And then the dreams morphed, you lost continence and vomited in your sleep. Nightmare was a pathetic word for what wrought Thimi’s soul into nothing more than raw carnage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “HEY, COACH!” Michael greeted as he guy-hugged Coach O’Malley.

  Coach O’Malley grinned from ear to ear. “How’s it going, Michael? Jake?”

  Jake shook Coach’s hand. “Thanks a lot for helping us out over the summer, Coach.”

  “My pleasure. I’m glad your dad called. I was having a hard time sitting around trying to act retired.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. “You’re not old enough to retire!”

  “Oh, man. Why didn’t you tell us?” Jake asked.

  “The ol’ ticker is giving me some trouble, and who in hell wants to talk about getting old?”

  Heart trouble was nothing to take lightly, and Michael looked at him now, concerned. “You okay, Coach?”

  “I feel great!”

  “You’re only as old as you feel!” Jake teased.

  “True! How’s Christy doing, Michael?”

  “All things considered, good. Things are getting back to normal.”

  “Excellent to hear. Have you had a chance to get any practice in?”

  Michael gestured to Jake. “Yep. Our running times are good.”

  “All right. Why don’t we work on you coming out of the blocks?”

  “Works for me,” Michael said.

  “Sounds good,” Jake agreed.

  They made sure to place the block pedals carefully, the front pedal two paces behind the starting line, the rear pedal three. The front pedal lay flat against the ground, the rear pedal slightly elevated. In the blocks, Coach O’Malley checked their three-point sets.

  “Jake, get your shoulders back a fraction.”

  Jake adjusted his set.

  “Michael, fingertips.”

  Michael flexed each hand and set his fingertips.

  “Set!” Coach O’Malley shouted.

  They raised their hips and flexed their back feet to make full contact with the block.

  “All the way, Michael, or you’ll be disqualified.”

  Michael flattened his back foot against the pedal.

  “Jake, hips higher.”

  Jake complied.r />
  “Go!”

  They shot out of the blocks, and Coach O’Malley blew the whistle and called them back. “Michael, your timing’s off. You’ll be lucky to skim your first hurdle.”

  After four hours of working at starts, they were exhausted and Michael’s knee ached.

  “Knee?” Coach O’Malley asked.

  Michael shook his head. “Too much crouching in the blocks. It gives me a little trouble on squats too.”

  Coach O’Malley nodded. “Tomorrow we’ll give it a rest and work on sprints.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Jake swore under his breath, and Michael and Coach O’Malley turned to him. He gestured toward the parking lot.

  Michael looked out and was stunned to see a plethora of motorcycles parked in the lot.

  “Who are they?” Coach O’Malley asked.

  Jake turned to Michael. “Do you want to call Smitty?”

  “Yeah.” Michael sighed in frustration as he dug into his bag for his cell phone.

  “I take it they aren’t part of Lisa’s family?” Coach O’Malley asked.

  “No, and they’ve been hassling us,” Jake answered.

  Coach O’Malley frowned. “Over what?”

  “Don’t know, exactly.” Jake explained the situation as Michael tried to reach Lisa, to no avail.

  “Can’t reach Lisa, Jake. At least we have security out there.”

  “With that many bikers, two guys may not be enough.” Jake retrieved his cell phone and made a call. “Hi, Myra. Is Dad around?”

  “Hello, Jake. He’s in a meeting.”

  “Is it a meeting meeting or an important meeting?”

  “It’s a meeting meeting. What do you need?”

  “Tell him we’re at track practice, and the parking lot is full of motorcycles. And tell him we’re fine. We’re with Coach.”

  “One moment.”

  Michael cocked a brow at Jake. “Bro, a meeting meeting?”

  Jake smirked. “One I can interrupt without dying a slow and ugly death.”

  Nero took the call. “Jacob, do you see the press?”

  “Hey, Papà. No. Why?”

  “This is one time they would be useful. Let me make a few calls. Be prepared not to answer questions for the press.”

  Jake laughed. “Okay. Thanks, Papà.” Jake terminated the call and met Michael’s gaze. “Dad’s sending the press.”