AMANI: Reveal

by Marie, Lydhia

  I gasped.

  “Holy moly—crap! What happened to you?”

  Samera contorted our friend’s arm further for her father to see the tiny scarlet blotches covering Xander’s elbow. Mr. Jensen was as dumbfounded.

  “Do you feel anything?” Karl asked, poking his finger onto the blotch.

  “Ouch! Yeah—kind of feels like a burn—you can stop touching it now. Thanks. The pain started just before we left the Molson building.”

  “Any idea what triggered it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Maybe it’s part of becoming a Rascal?” Sam suggested. “Some sort of mark that appears once you’ve fully transformed.”

  “More than a month after the bite? I believe I became a Rascal the minute I woke up attached to a chair in Bath, Wyatt smirking proudly at me.”

  Xander had never divulged to either Samera or me what the Rascals had done to him in England. Wyatt had told me they had tortured him, but we’d never known how. Plus, Xander had refused to say what his transformation consisted of. He’d merely muttered that he had eventually passed out from the pain before changed the subject. I knew that even if I brought it up now, he wouldn’t want to talk about it.

  Samera and Karl speculated on the smudge until we finished lunch, but none of their ideas made much sense. We would simply have to ask Hibiscus tomorrow.

  Around noon, the three of them accompanied me to the second floor in the library, where I was going to meet the Seraphs. I’d convinced Karl that none of them wanted to drain away my youth, though I suspected Vivian wouldn’t mind if I were to disappear forever. Xander and Mr. Jensen promised they would stay out of the seminar room unless there was real danger around. And then I went in, feeling excited and relived at the prospect of clearing my head from all sorts of theories and conspiracy.

  Until I opened the door and saw Vivian’s face red as a tomato, a contrast with her hands, which were larger than usual and appeared to be made of solid gold.

  Chapter XXVIII

  Ian Cohen

  Dr. Goldbridge never found my father after all. He came back saying he’d looked for him everywhere but without any success. Before I fell asleep in his office, Goldbridge and I had a small argument in which I admitted I did not wish to see my father, but he kept on insisting that he’d promised Melek he would inform him as soon as I woke up. My fiancée, Amanda, had wished to see me too, but just like Melek, they had both been missing.

  Our argument did not end there, however, since I had just found out that he was still investigating Jim’s death, and that he was contemplating the possibility that I might be the killer. I simply couldn’t let him get away with such an idea. Who knew how many people he planned on telling once he discovered the truth? My reputation was on the line.

  So I concocted a little diversion.

  I told him I needed to get something off my chest… the truth about my father. How he used to beat me and my twin sister up as a child, and how one day, he’d gone too far and had drowned her in the lake next to our house. It had been an accident, of course. He hadn’t intended to kill her. But he had all the same. Jemina didn’t know how to swim and my father had refused to help her as a punishment for breaking his most prized statue of the Star of David.

  Dr. Goldbridge nodded along to my story, but he did not seem convinced yet. I had to add a little subterfuge. So I found a good bruise on my leg and pressed my fingers into it as hard I could. My eyes filled with tears.

  I kept on, telling him about the reason why my dad had left for Europe soon after Jemina’s death. I explained how I’d been so angry with him, so angry I’d told him he had to go or I would tell the police what he had done. I couldn’t take the beatings anymore and I was going through such grief, I needed time alone to figure out how I was going to live on without my twin by my side.

  That seemed to finally strike a chord with my interlocutor. Everyone at our Headquarters knew Melek had left the States only a few days after my sister’s death. But my father was a very secretive man; he hadn’t told anyone the reason for his departure. He was very proud and did not like anyone’s nose into his business. So his colleagues had probably assumed he’d left because he needed time to mourn. I was merely adding one more explanation, one more color to the already existing rainbow.

  Guilt.

  My dad had always been a bully anyway, at home as well as with his colleagues, so it made sense he would beat his own children when they struggled against his authority.

  Anyway, years passed, I told Goldbridge, who was now hanging onto my every word, and I learned to make the best of what I had. I was now engaged to a remarkable woman and we’d been planning on inviting everyone at HQ to our wedding, but then my father had reappeared into my life and wrecked the beautiful ship I’d been building for years.

  “This”—I pointed to my swollen eye—“is my father’s work.”

  Goldbridge was in shock; he kept muttering, “That cannot be… no, not Melek…” and he took quick notes on a pad.

  I told him my father had been interfering in my relationship with Amanda from the minute he arrived at Headquarters, giving me advice on how to treat a woman and how to raise our future children. But I didn’t want to end up like my dad, so I’d been avoiding him.

  Dr. Goldbridge was now sitting on his chair, looking directly at me as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

  “You are the first person I recount this story to,” I continued. “And I would appreciate if you did not tell anyone. My father and I have a past, but I would never wish his colleagues to think any less of him because of me.”

  I fought hard not to laugh at this one.

  “Of course, of course,” he answered immediately. “I will not speak a word. However, I would advise that you see a counselor who might be able to ease this—um—troubled past of yours.”

  I told him I would have to think about it, and he finally left me to sleep.

  In the morning, I felt refreshed and ready for a hard day at work. This falsified story about my father had given me an idea and I was all too eager to set it in motion.

  I ate breakfast early in the empty cafeteria and went directly to my own office to plan my next move.

  Around ten in the morning, the surveillance cameras showed my father and Amanda’s arrival. My fiancée’s puffy eyes and swollen nose told me she had been crying all night, and she wore long sleeves, probably to hide the rope marks around her wrists.

  Instead of greeting them immediately, I called for Henry and asked him to access the surveillance camera near Amanda’s apartment and get his hands on the footage of yesterday evening. I also let him know I was worried my father had spent the night with her.

  He came back to me ten minutes later, knocking quietly on my door for the first time—he normally used his phone to deliver messages—but I guessed this was too personal. He told me my dad had indeed spent the night at my girlfriend’s. He looked genuinely confused and apologetic, while I tried to make myself as miserable as possible.

  “This is embarrassing,” I said. “Please, you mustn’t think any less of me. I confronted him, but look where it got me,” I added, gesturing toward my multiple injuries.

  When Henry left my office, I was certain he would speak of this to several of his colleagues, spreading the word about my father’s dubious habits.

  Check.

  Satisfied, I moved on to the third phase of my plan. I positioned my feet on my desk and reread Dr. Goldbridge’s notes, which I had stolen from his office.

  Jonathan Cohen, accused of murdering Jim Bianchi on the third of October, was admitted in prison.

  There is no evidence that J.C. killed J.B, except for his own confession.

  J.C. presents signs of a mental illness. Delusion? Schizophrenia?

  J.C. started scraping his own skin. Attempting suicide? Guilt?

  A partial fingerprint was found on mirror fragments.

  The repetition of the initials ‘J.C.’ struck me as unu
sual. And why was Goldbridge keeping notes on his desk, where anyone could read them? I had known him for years and I’d never seen him write notes as much as he had these last few weeks. He had such a good memory for details… And his desk was always tidy…

  I read the notes again, my new hypothesis in mind. There were both affirmations and questions, as though he needed to keep track of his thoughts… as though he knew he would forget important clues if he did not write them.

  A possible explanation was short-term memory loss, which could be caused by Alzheimer’s disease or dementia, either of which would in turn justify the significant chaos in his office.

  And if Dr. Goldbridge was suffering from short-term memory loss, then he was unlikely to remember he’d even written those notes in the first place. I could simply destroy them and make sure his mind was on an important project so he wouldn’t wander into my business again.

  Just before eleven, I visited him in his office and found him muttering to himself and going through a series of files.

  “Dr. Goldbridge,” I said, startling him.

  “Oh, Mr. Cohen. Come in, come in.”

  I grinned and bowed my head slightly. “About what I told you yesterday… I noticed this morning, when my fiancée arrived at work—considerably later than usual—that her wrists bear red marks. I’m sure she won’t tell me what happened or if it has anything to do with… well… you see, I don’t want to speculate… I would like you to talk to her and find out where she got those marks…”

  I looked away for a moment and noticed a pile of papers titled “TRUTH” on his desk. My father’s name appeared several time on the notes, as well as my own. I smiled to myself. He had written down the story I had told him the previous night, which meant he wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon. “I am afraid that my father is behind it,” I added, staring at my feet.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed abruptly, before he grabbed the pile of sheets I had spotted and scribbled down a few words at the end of the last page. “Of course I will. I’ll call her in before lunch and get back to you with more information. Have you thought about my proposition? I know a very competent psychologist, you see.”

  “Haven’t made up my mind yet,” I replied. “I am more worried about Amanda than anything else at the moment. I want to keep an eye on my father at all times, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  I left Goldbridge to his notes and headed back to my office, where I found my father and Amanda waiting for me.

  “I can get rid of them if you wish, sir,” Max told me.

  “That will not be necessary,” I said, before I added in his ears, “I need you to listen carefully, and if my father raises his voice, he is to be carried out of our Headquarters. Whatever he tells you, don’t listen. He is a liar and a manipulator who cannot be trusted.”

  I walked in, smiling slightly, and closed the door behind me. Amanda and Melek both had their backs to me. Walking across the room, I greeted them politely.

  “What are you playing at?” my father snapped. “We’re not here to play games, Ian. Miss O’Neil deserves an apology.”

  “Oh, I know,” I replied, staring at Amanda. I took a deep breath and got my Scotch tape dispenser out of my drawer. “I should have done this the minute we got engaged.” Slowly, I rolled a piece of Scotch tape on its length, and then rolled another. “I am a stupid man who has difficulty recognizing something good even when it’s standing right in front of his eyes.” Amanda’s eyebrows rose in surprise. I did not have to glance at my father to know he was frowning. “I have made mistakes… innumerable mistakes, of which I could not be more ashamed,” I continued, still staring deeply into Amanda’s tearful eyes and finishing binding the two pieces of Scotch tape together in order to form a circular shape.

  Then, I got up, walked to Amanda’s side, and dropped onto one knee.

  “But I know you can see the good in me. I know that deep down”—I took her hand and pulled it to my chest—“you’ve always known I was yours. You’ve always seen through my stubbornness of keeping you away. You know I am afraid, afraid to love.” At that, Amanda started crying. “Afraid to be happy with someone who deserves so much better than me.” I raised her hand to my mouth and kissed it as she wept louder. I kissed it a second time, and then trailed to the side and up to her wrist, which was red and bruised. Then I kissed the bruises gently.

  “But I wish to put my past behind me and become a better man. Your better man. And I need you by my side to keep me away from evil,” I said, peeking at my father before focusing back on my fiancée. “Will you forgive me? Will you put all my mistakes behind us so we can have a better future?” She was already nodding when I added, “Actually, what I’m trying to say is: Amanda O’Neil, will you marry me?”

  I did not have time to put my handmade ring around her finger before she threw herself at me and kissed me on the mouth. She tasted of salt and toothpaste, but I was so relieved she hadn’t turned me down that I didn’t care. Still kissing her as tenderly as I could, I got her up and lifted her off the floor. She laughed and cried and laughed again.

  Our lovely moment was interrupted when my father started clapping his hands together. Slowly, still looking at my fiancée, I set her down and slid my hand in hers before I turned to face Melek.

  “What?” I said, a mild smirk on my face. “Aren’t you happy for us?”

  “As much as I was happy for Jack and Rose in Titanic when they finally got together,” he replied. “But, just like now, it was just an act.”

  “You don’t believe I love her, do you?”

  “Not when your lover—Meo, was it?—is a man.”

  I flinched at the mention of his name, but Amanda seemed to believe it was because I was scared. She squeezed my hand.

  “Like I said earlier, I have made mistakes. This affair with Meo was a simple experiment, nothing more. I have found myself now and I am ready for something real.” I squeezed back.

  “So why tie Miss O’Neil to the top balcony of a building in another Dimension? Surely you could have explained this to her, couldn’t you?”

  Truly, the reason why I had taken Amanda away was because I’d thought Meo had told her I was working with Rascals. But I couldn’t say that.

  “I was scared, scared of what she would think of me,” I said instead. “I reacted impulsively. I’m ashamed to say that, even though you left me when I was just a child, I behave more like you than I would like to admit.”

  My words seemed to take a while to reach my dad’s ears, but when it did, he reacted like I had just slapped him.

  “How dare you say such a thing? I never lost my temper with you, Ian—”

  “Oh, but you did,” I affirmed. Even Amanda needed to believe my father was a violent man in order for my plan to work. “Don’t you remember how you reacted when Jemina and I disobeyed your orders?” I let images form in Amanda’s head before I continued. “No wonder why I feel such anger all the time. Those are your genes, Father. This is your doing.”

  “I have never laid a hand on you,” he snapped, raising his voice. “Why would you say that? Miss O’Neil, I beg you not to listen to—”

  “Don’t speak to her anymore,” I said firmly. “I know you slept at her apartment. It’s all right, sweetheart,” I added when Amanda gasped. “I understand you were afraid, and angry at me, but don’t go thinking he wanted to help you.” I stared at my father and drew strength from the mix of horror and apprehension on his face. “It’s what he does… all the time. He manipulates people into thinking I am good for nothing. He twists my words, and soon enough, if I let him stay here, he’ll make you believe everything he wants. Just to hurt me. Just to prove he’s always been more powerful than me.”

  “How dare you!” Melek yelled. “All I ever wanted was for you to become a man! For you to reflect on your actions and understand the consequences!”

  “Beating me up doesn’t work, though, now does it?”

  “I NEVER—”

  He never got to f
inish his sentence, because Max and Dick came rushing into my office, gripped both his arms, and, not paying attention to my father’s struggles and complaints, dragged him out of the room… And out of Headquarters.

  Chapter XXIX

  Amya Priam

  “And there I thought I was having a good day,” Vivian snarled, hiding her glistening golden hands under the table.

  “Hi, Amya!” Mary exclaimed, beaming, followed by greetings from the rest of the group.

  “We were experiencing Viv’s talent—” Patrick began before Vivian herself, clearing her throat, interrupted him.

  “We can move onto someone else now,” she said. “That’ll be all for today.”

  “Of course not!” Patrick insisted. “The main goal of this club is to accept ourselves and our ability. For that, you need to know just how powerful you are and the consequences of your particular talent. We are amongst ourselves; you don’t need to fear—”

  Vivian snorted. “I don’t fear her,” she said, her lips curled. “I don’t trust her, that’s all.”

  “Just because she’s more powerful than any of us doesn’t mean she can’t be trusted,” Mary blurted out before she realized what she’d just said. She blushed scarlet and cowered.

  “No, if you really want to know, it is because she is part Rascal.” As all fourteen eyes shifted to me, she added, “Yeah, Patrick told us.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kristin said. “Pat’s the queen of gossips, but we don’t mind that your father was a Rascal. It’s actually pretty cool.”

  “Oh!” Vivian uttered, mimicking Kristin’s voice. “It’s so cool that your father’s a monster!” She shot a murderous look at the twin and added in a severe tone, “Spare me. Do you have any idea what a Rascal is? H told me some of them can kill by merely touching you. Is that your definition of cool?”

  “I’ve known about Rascals almost my entire life, so don’t lecture me on what they can and can’t do. Yes, some of them are dangerous, but I believe that, like humans, they’re not all evil. Surely Amya would have noticed if her father was a serial killer.”