A Great Tribulation
Page 4
“Are you all right?” she heard her say once more, bringing him back to the present.
Rafel stilled, his heart pounding in his chest when he saw a small furrow appear between her brows. He waited thinking she would somehow unmask him as he slowly lifted his gaze to hers. Rafel didn't move a muscle nor take a breath as their eyes collided and unhindered—behind a headdress or veil—for the first time.
When she gasped, he knew it was all over.
The face can be changed or hindered, but the eyes never change, Rafel thought as he waited for the voice to ring out with the words that would condemn him.
CHAPTER V
Nightfall was descending quickly for Eustace and his new, make-fit family with over twenty miles between them and their set-ablaze home as they plunged deeper into the wild unknown along Eustace's trap-line.
“Golly!” Eustace sighed leaning heavily on a branch he'd improvised into a walking stick. “The cabin shouldn't be far off now.”
“It's been hours...” Keira said; expressing everyone's feelings. “Why are we slowing down if the cabin isn't that far away?”
“Three reasons why. Fat ones actually,” Eustace said eyeing the squirrels on the tree with a delightful smile.
Caroline raised her rifle to take aim, but Eustace leveled down the weapon. “Are you trying to give away our position, silly?”
“Right,” Caroline said contritely. “Do you think they are still following us?”
Eustace was unsure, but “they will hunt us down at all cost,” Michael said.
“How do you know?”
“They promised they would and so far so good. I won't make the mistake of underestimating them no more,” Eustace said.
“They are an extremist, militant wolf-pack. The worst kind at that. They feed on power and...” your dad dropped some major balls back there, Michael struggled for words that would translate more kindly.
“Besides they torched our house...” Eustace edited out killed my wife and your mother. “We have nothing to return to.” He picked up a few rocks from the dirt before repeatedly casting them at the tree like a whiz with whips. Two squirrels plopped on the ground, and Hunter was on the prowl to retrieve them.
“Wow,” the boys exclaimed collectively in awe. “How did you do that!?”
“Practice. Practice. Practice.”
After Hunter fetched the squirrels, they continued on until the cabin became visible.
They had their fingers crossed, hoping it hadn't been visited by the wild, furry neighbors. When they reached the vicinity of the cabin, Eustace held up his hand for all to stand back, while he continued forward with his readied rifle to inspect the surrounding. The windows were still barred, the snares and traps still live, before Eustace made them redundant.
Eustace emerged from behind the cabin with a smile on his face.
It was excitement all around—Eustace urging them to contain themselves. He delegated the boys to “make a fire—a small fire—you don't want to give away where we are,” while he skinned and spit the squirrels for the fire.
“I have a secret recipe,” Eustace told them before unveiling a jar of bear grease he'd preserved in the cabin. Only Caroline got excited. “Nothing...?” he said to the rest of them.
They shrugged.
“Dang city kids,” he said glazing the squirrels with the grease. Not before long Eustace had the spit hissing under a crackling fire as the air gradually filled with the mouth-watering smell of smoked meat. "That's why you get excited over beer grease...wait until you taste it."
Eustace returned to the shed to savage the fur from the squirrel, while the others huddled around the warmth of the cooking fire, eyeing their cooking dinner.
Marty shared a “campfire story!” of how he was once chased by a moose that took off with his shirt.
"How did the moose manage to get away with your shirt?" Caroline asked.
"That's the beauty of it..." he fessed up.
They all laughed at Marty's misadventure.
Michael noticed his sister, Keira, casting furtive looks at the ever quiet Alfie who was humored as the others, except with a rather quiet demure. It was the first time he'd seen the teen not sulking. Michael could tell Keira was froth with a keenness for Alfie. She'd always been fond of broken things—not to say they weren't all broken with loss—but Alfie seemed the most pitiful as he was the youngest of them all.
Eustace walked out the shed, urging them to “hush...It's good to see you all finding some humor in our misfortune, but keep it down. We are on the run, remember.” He passed out some hunting knives. “Let that knife be your best friend out here. That means it goes where ever you go."
He moved forward to the fire to examine the meat. The pieces were glistening and rosy with a few livable charred spots. Eustace plucked out a leg for the taste test... “golly!” he testified delightfully. “Dig in.”
They all got a handful to fill their bellies.
Donald was elated. “Pajaros.”
“It's not a bird...it's a squirrel,” Keira corrected.
"I meant it was wonderful,” Donald asserted. “Pajaros!"
“Pajaros is the same as a maricon, a homosexual,” Marty said.
Alfie joined in. “I thought Pajaros was Batman's Mexican Gardner sidekick who fights crime for five dollars an hour.”
“What?”
“No! That's not what pajaros means,” Michael said stirring up the conversation.
It stoked into an argument that was both feisty and jolly. It was plain-out-silly.
“Enough!” Eustace stopped ruckus. “Let's all agree to disagree. Pajaros is the wonderful, gay Gardner who fights crime alongside Batman.”
“That is also a bird?” Michael blurted. “That's if you decide to go that way—which is what Pajaros actually means: a bird!”
“Michael. Enough. We settled it!”
CHAPTER VI
Addison was bored. Not from lack of activities—from the tennis court, pool or streaming her favorite television shows—but her utter disinterest in the items at her disposal. All she found herself doing was pouting. She feared she might be coming down with a case of clinical depression.
She was overwhelmed with troubling emotions, from her career-torpedoing and a marriage comparable to a medieval, political marriage and devoid of consummate intimacy. Her father had offered her as a ransom in exchange for the Heims family financial and investment largesse. The Heims, in turn, saw the advantage of using her exemplary journalism career to further their son—Fred whose future was a presidential—political career.
Addi and Fred had been childhood friends. She would have unwittingly married him and had no qualms if she hadn't got a whiff of the unspoken pact between their families. Hence, her taking an assignment in Syria—an assignment she thought would take her far away—and it did until fate intervened. Her running away only facilitated in her becoming a Heims when the Heims family influence in the United States military and government secured her return from her Syrian captors.
It was during her courting period with Fred did she realize Fred was being forced into the marriage just as she was. Fred was a gay man without the courage of stepping out the closet, despite the enlightenment of the twenty-first century.
On her wedding day, she whimpered like a sacrificial victim on an Aztec altar—tears that somehow translated to onlookers as tears of joy.
Why wouldn't it?
The wealth, the fame, the grandeur, and privilege of marrying into a reputable, wealthy and influential family. Ironically, her rock through her wedding day was Fred. He even offered to try women for the first time that night. That was a mistake.
All the marital rites were done except for the consummation of the marriage bed. They never really talked about how their sexual needs would be satisfied, but she always knew he had his gigolos. It was easy for him, he was a silver-tongued hound, while she was the shy, nerdy girl with a serious case of late bodily blossom in school who nobody wanted. By the
time she blossomed with one sexual encounter to her belt, she was off the market—taken against her wish by a gay man. She didn't even have friends since they moved to DC six months ago. She was yet to develop her social life mainly due to her lack of trying.
Telling herself it was nothing—the rage roiling in her chest, the tears trickling down her cheeks—she forced herself to bed. She must have bitten from a poisoned fruit curse with a dose of “a loveless life”.
She curled into a ball in an attempt stifle her roaring emotions until she couldn't handle her self-pity any longer. She was going to do something drastic...
Go on a wild night out perhaps!?
Addison dashed for her wardrobe looking for the sluttiest outfit she had in her arsenal. She found one of her old skinny jeans and a top to highlight her petite curves.
Taking her keys and her purse, she headed downstairs for the garage. She emerged into the night in her sporty Jaguar. At the gate, her security retinue for the evening, Samantha, who preferred to be called "Sam" and dressed the part of a tomboy asked if she needed “driving assistance?”
“No,” she said. “Take the night off, Sam.”
“I'm afraid I can't do that.”
“Well, am going out and I need my privacy, so do as you please.”
“But—”
“That's an order!” she said with a grin before speeding off into the night.
However, Addison didn't drive for long as she felt she needed to lighten up if she was going to a night club. She stopped at the Cafe Bourgeois, two blocks over to buy a cup of coffee.
“Black,” she told the cashier.
With a sweet smile, she asked, “what size?”
“Large.”
She was on her way out when from the corner of her eye she caught someone familiar: the gardener.
It was him...
She remembered his face quite well. His eyes especially. Those brown oriental eyes were unmistakable. It was like she'd always known them. The other day she offered him shelter in the garage from the rain. They didn't talk much, but she remembered him telling her his name was “Rafel.”
“I'm not quite there, but I'm making progress,” Rafel told Aziz concerning his reconnaissance at the Heims home as they sat breaking bread at the Cafe Bourgeois.
“I have to say, I don't know why you feel the senator's wife is important, but...” Aziz paused when a newcomer entered the cafe, “looks like Allah is bringing good tidings your way, brother” Aziz abruptly ended their conversation, taking his leave.
Rafel was puzzled as to "why...?" until he saw the very familiar face.
“Rafel?”
He stood. “Mrs. Heims.”
“Good to see you.”
“Likewise.”
"I didn't know you come here."
“Sometimes."
"I am not sure why they call it Cafe Bourgeois, but they have the best coffee in town,” she said tritely.
“I've always thought bourgeois was a fancy, French word for bullshit—” he'd let out a curse word— “am sor—”
She was disarming. “I know!”
They both laughed.
“You must be heading back home.”
“Out actually, for once.”
“Good.”
“Do you know somewhere fun?”
Her question took Rafel by surprise, but he focused more on seizing the moment. “I was heading to this great club, not far from here,” Rafel lied. His next stop was actually home after meeting with Aziz.
“Mind if I tag along?”
Even more surprising. “Sure.”
They were outside the cafe when Addi noted the "macabre about the air; like the darkness that came over Pride Rock after Scar’s usurpation in The Lion King.”
Rafel understood what she meant. It was mostly noticeable during the daytime—the dark shroud of cloud that seemed to envelop the city. "Maybe Washington is becoming overly decadent and evil."
“Or smog from pollution.”
He arched a brow in agreement and like a gentleman, Rafel closed the car door for her before returning to his car. Then they were off for the club, Rafel leading the way.
It was a ten-minute drive to the nearest, best club Rafel knew of: The Dynasty. Club life wasn't exactly Rafel's cup of tea, but he'd heard “The Dynasty” was the place to be. Not before long, he signaled her and they pulled up at the parking lot teeming with people and their vehicles. For a minute or two, he lost track of her as they had separated, trying to find a parking spot.
“Rafel,” a tiny voice called.
He spun. “There you are.”
Together they went into the club, fitting into the crazy rowdiness. It was dark inside, but with the traditional orchestral of club multi-color flashing lights and the relentless thumping of techno-rap music that made Rafel want to slit his wrist. This was not his crowd or place. For the mission, he reminded himself.
“Chairs are over there,” he bid her to a take a seat. "I'll go get some drinks. What do you like?”
“Surprise me.”
"No complaining now," he poked at her before going off to the crowded bar. He kept an eye on her as he waited for the bartender. She was stunning. The way the flashing light fell on her made her appear irresistible. Not only to him apparently as he watched a couple of men stalking for her. Soon enough one of them was pressing and rubbing against her to initiate a dance. As was the other. They were utterly unaware of how naive she was—something Rafel noted from afar where he stood—she was scared witless like a fish out of water.
Rafel moved briskly from the bar to save her, when he saw a third person attempting to join the duo: a tomboy this time. But he was quick enough to pull her away from both men before they amassed to a triad.
“Hey!” one of the men growled, raising his fist at Rafel—a threat he quickly quelled with a heavy punch that sent the man reeling back in pain. The other man simply backed away with his hand in the air, sensing Rafel's intolerance for any comers.
“Let's get out of here,” Rafel told her.
They forced their way through the crowd as surgically possible, turning a few heads.
“Thank you,” Addi told him once they were outside.
“It's all right...your first time?”
Reluctantly she replied, “yes.”
“I figured,” he said. “I'll take you to a much more mellow place, that's if you still in the mood.”
“Sure.”
As he watched her get into her car, Rafel thought he saw something out of place, but after another quick look, he didn't make much of it. At least not until they got to the bar he had in mind.
There was something amiss after all.
They were being followed.
Instead of parking in front of the bar, he continued on to the next street over, where he parked. So did Addi. There were just a couple of storage units between them and the back of the bar with an alley to get back to the entrance.
“Why didn't we park out front?” Addi asked when they were together again.
“Sometimes they tow your car for no reason out there,” he said not wanting to trouble her about their tail. As he suspected the headlights of the vehicle that had been following them appeared. “Common.”
They were halfway up the alley when he excused himself to “ease nature. Go on. I'll catch up with you.”
Once she was clear from the alley, Rafel retraced his steps down the alley and what do you know—the vehicle was pulling up. He dashed behind the cover of one of the storage units to lie in wait. He took a peek as he waited...
It was the tomboy from the club. Her gait was unmistakable—like she was trained.
She went past him without a whiff of his presence.
He made sure she was alone before he pounced on her from behind, seizing her by the neck with one hand while the other covered her mouth. She tried shaking him off with all the strength she could muster—which was impressive, but fruitless. She might be trained, but he was a mercenary mi
litant. She only calmed down when he caught her in a choke-hold. “Who are you? Who do you work for? And why are you following me?”
She was stubborn and didn't speak until he applied some pressure on her windpipe, then she replied: “I'm with the agency!”
Rafel cursed. They were on him already. “Which one?”
“DDS. Mrs. Heims is a client of ours.”
“Oh...” he'd feared the worst. "The private security firm for the Heims family?”
“Yes,” she choked.
"Why haven't I seen you before?"
"We rotate. I work the evening shift mostly."
“No sudden movements now...” Rafel said, slowly letting go of her. “I'm sorry, I thought you were trouble.”
“You are the trouble,” she said tightly—her hands over her knees —trying to catch her breath.
“I was at a cafe when she found me.”
“She's married to a powerful man, I might add.”
“A senator,” he said. “She's in good hands, and if you will excuse me, I have to get back to her.”
A couple of days passed before Rafel returned to the Heims home after the delightful night out with Addi. He had some hedging to do.
The gate opened to a familiar face...
“You...”
It was the tomboy guard from the bar on duty today. He got a better look at her face that was peculiar to a pubescent boy with blond cut-short hair, blue eyes, and a flat chest.
Her expression was cold. “Who really are you?”
“I have been gardening for a while now, ask your boss if you will. That's how she knew me from the cafe.”
“Your real job! I mean...you flagged me as a tail, doubled back and ambushed...” she edited between gritted teeth. “Despite my training. I graduated top of my class. I'm a former CIA.”