As Noah finished the ark, she felt his hands on her thighs. She wore a blue dress, knee high. Soon, his hand had managed to find its way under her skirt. A tear fell from her eye as she felt his dirty fingers journey up her leg. Just before reaching his intended destination, Maria screamed at the top of her lungs. It was a wild scream, animal like.
‘How dare you? You filthy, old man,’ she yelled, jumping up. She swung the Bible hard round and hit him on the head.
‘My child, you misunderstood…’
‘Fuck you!’ she screamed the words she had heard many times before by her parents and ran out the door.
She ran faster than ever before. The mountain landscape around her fading into a blur as the wind blew directly at her, wiping her continuous flow of tears. She did not stop running until she reached her garden’s green gate. She had to gather herself. Unsure what to say, unsure how and what to explain, she decided to pause her ordeal. With maturity beyond her years, she acted as if nothing had happened and went on with helping her mother with Sunday dinner. Chicken and potatoes again.
Bedtime came quickly and soon she was alone, able to think. She felt disgusted by Father Anastasio’s actions. She always hated the way her father groped her mother. Love seemed very cheap to her. She curled up, pushing back her filthy sheets. She could still feel his hands on her.
Suddenly, her door flew open. Her dad stormed into her room, anger flashing in his eyes. He was huffing and puffing; his hands clenched into a punch. Her mother stood behind him. Her worried look caused shivers down Maria’s spine.
‘You little whore. You little bitch…’ The words colored with hate, coming out one by one with heavy breathing.
‘Dad, what…’
‘Don’t you play innocent with me!’ he yelled. ‘There I was, with my mates at the coffee shop and I get pulled aside by Father Anastasio…’ Her eyes opened wide, her jaw in free fall. ‘… And he tells me that you stay after school and ask him to read stories for you and you ask to sit on his lap and rub yourself against him…’
‘That’s a lie!’
‘Shut it,’ he screamed.
‘No,’ she yelled back. ‘He touched me. I did nothing.’ Her mother started to sob.
‘You disgusting, little slut. You have shamed this family…’ He did not continue his sentence. He just unloosened his black leather belt and approached her slowly.
The first strike hurt the worst. The belt slapped against her white, tender skin, cutting into it.
The shock of being beaten like one of his farm animals, as if a stubborn donkey refusing to move, blocked out the pain of the next eight strikes. Her skinny arms tried to cover her face, only causing more anger to her father. He lifted her up by the hair and threw her bleeding body to the hard, cold floor.
‘Mama, please help…’ she started to say, only to be kicked hard in the mouth. Blood shot out and her mother screamed.
‘Andrea, you are killing her.’
Andrea knelt on top of Maria and whispered evilly into her ear.
‘You are grounded for life. No school, no church, no friends, nothing.’
The next morning, Maria awoke, bruised and sore on the floor. She had passed out and her parents had left her there. It was her first day as an animal. She did not feel human anymore. She did not get treated like one anymore. Both her parents looked upon her in utter disgust. They barked orders at her and took joy removing the demon from inside her as they said, by having her scrub the entire house with a bar of soap and an old toothbrush. They both took turns in beating her at night. She was not allowed to talk, look them in the eyes, shower or eat with the family. She served them all dinner and stood silently in the corner. When the family had finished, only then was she allowed to eat their leftovers. Her brothers quickly picked up on what was going on and joined the family fun. They pushed her around and called her names and ordered her around. Once, she tried to ask her older brother for help, only to receive his spit on her face, followed by the line ‘Do not speak to me, whore.’
She hated them for everything. She hated Father Anastasio. She hated her life.
The fatal night arrived on a sweet summer day.
She lay in bed, bones aching from a tiring day. Her eyelids journeyed down and began to cover her eyes. That was when she heard her window open. She sat up and watched in terror as a stranger stood in her room. She opened her mouth, ready to scream and the young man leaped upon her. His hand covered her mouth. She recognized him now. He was their neighbor’s sixteen year old son.
‘Shh, don’t move or I will hurt you,’ he whispered uneasily. More of a pep talk for his ears than a threat. ‘I paid your brother for a good time.’ His free hand fell upon her breast. Maria bit down hard and did not let go. She felt his blood drip into her mouth. He pulled back in pain, leaving skin behind.
‘Get out!’
‘Now, listen here, whore. I paid good money…’
He did not finish his sentence. The doorknob rattled and the youth ran to the window. Her father entered the room, just in time to see the lad flee the scene.
‘You dirty cunt. You dare bring men under my roof?’
She had no time to react, to explain. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the house and into the barn. The rough and rocky ground cut into her body and animal manure stuck to her body and hair. Andrea picked her up, slapped her around and kicked her back down to the dirt. He fell on top of her, ripping off her clothes. He, then, stood up and lifted her up by her hair, ignoring her screams. He walked over to the pigsty and, without a second thought, he threw her in the mud.
‘Welcome to your new home,’ he said, spat on the floor and left.
Maria stood up, covered in mud. The pigs began to surround her. She jumped out of the muddy environment and sat down in the pile of hay. She promised not to cry. She sat there still, for over an hour, thoughts running freely inside her mind’s darkest corners. This had to end.
The red gasoline tank was heavy, but her anger provided her with extra strength. The house opposite her stood silent, everyone was asleep. She strolled around the house wearing only mud, pig feces and an evil, twisted smile. Gasoline leaked out as she went. She walked up the porch steps, leaving fuel puddles behind. A snakelike line of gasoline followed her into the kitchen. She quietly opened the top drawer and took out a pack of matches. She emptied the ten-liter tank outside her parent’s door, said her goodbyes and exited the house. She took the tank back to its place in the barn, took a deep breath and went back to the house. She stood outside and lit a match. She used it to light the whole box and dropped the box on the wooden porch steps.
Blue flames rose alive and red fire ran around the house. Maria took a few steps back and sat down in the dirt, the flames reflecting in her hollow eyes. The corners of her smile moved upwards at the sound of the first screams. Thick, black smoke climbed out of open windows and gaps in the roof. A loud bang came from the fire reaching the kitchen and the small, wooden house collapsed, burying all her problems.
Maria did not move a muscle. Not even when the fire truck arrived. Not even when the tall policeman tried to get answers from her. Not even when the paramedics picked her up. She did not even speak or show any kind of emotion when two days later she was informed that none of her family had survived.
‘Who started the fire, Maria? We know it was no accident,’ the police questioned her over and over again. Maria did not utter a word. Her silence puzzled investigators. They could not blame her for anything. They did not have any proof of any wrong doing on her behalf. They washed their hands of the case and passed it over to the hospital’s psych ward.
The hospital’s psychiatrist and the local judge decided on sending her to CareForGirls. An institution set up by nuns for troubled, underage girls. She was to remain there until the age of eighteen and to be treated for shock and grief.
At the institution, Maria lost the only thing left to her. Her faith.
The institution was a fine example of a
shiny shop window with all its goods on display. On paper, it was a great project. In reality, it was a prison for girls who got into trouble and society needed somewhere to get rid of them. The nuns thought of the girls as sinners and as such, needed to be punished. Thieves, whores, drug addicts all under the same roof. All made to work long hours for free at the monastery’s laundry service and bakery. The nuns received the money and the girls received a piece of bread, lukewarm soup and a good beating.
God was nowhere to be found.
Maria realized He did not exist. He was just a story, a fable made up for people like her parents to look good on Sundays, for people like Father Anastasio to place his dirty paws on young girls and for ‘wicked bitches’ like the nuns to use His name and abuse weaklings that had nowhere to go, no-one to turn to.
Intelligent as she was, she enjoyed listening to the psychiatrist who came from the hospital twice a week and had sessions with most of the girls. His job fascinated her. The way he tried to dig up memories, to get her to open up. To force her to see things his way.
What gave her more joy, though, was manipulating her fellow inmates. She loved how easy it was to get them to do something, to start a fight, to wind them up and watch them go.
Years went by and her eighteenth birthday came. She woke up a free woman. With her head up high, she marched out the gates. A woman with a plan. A deadly plan.
Twenty one years and dozens of bodies later, her flesh became one with the ground.
‘May her soul rest in peace,’ a worker at the crematorium whispered as he lit the fire.
A kind police captain waited outside to receive her ashes.
Chapter 48
Seconds after Ariadne’s leap
I rushed out of the room, running past Ariadne’s assistant who stood, frozen in shock, by the door. The thunderous clinking sound of glass breaking called her into the room. I maniacally pushed the elevator call button; my knees shaking in anticipation. As the doors opened and I jumped in, her assistant gathered enough strength to take a few steady steps towards the broken window. She looked down below and fell back. Her blood froze and her hand covered her mouth, silencing short, uncontrollable screams.
The patrol car awaiting my exit with a handcuffed Ariadne, had already called the incident in and both officers stood feet away from the twisted body, prepared to hold nosy people back.
Back and feet aching, sweating from all corners and with my heart beat racing fast enough to win the Kentucky Derby, I ran out onto the street. I paused at the sight of Ariadne’s body. In all my years of being called to examine body after body, I had never seen a jumper before. After being in free fall from the 14th floor, her body slammed into the solid concrete ground below. It did not look human anymore; it had lost its shape. Bones gave in and skin tissue spread across the grey pavement. Her arms and legs, bent in an unnatural way, emerged out of a large pool of dark red blood and gore.
The howling sound of the speeding ambulance’s siren startled me. The paramedics jumped out of the vehicle, only to realize the difficult task ahead. To gather all pieces of the body. I stepped back and fell down onto a metal bench, warm from hours under the Mediterranean sun. I ducked my head, not able to watch. Unlike the crowd that had gathered behind the yellow tape with their gadgets held high, hoping to get a glimpse of something gruesome to show their friends. Soon, the vultures of the media would arrive.
Society is in free fall too, circling around, heading down the toilet drain. Too much shit…
‘Costa?’ the familiar, sweet, concerned voice came from the figure towering over me.
‘I had just walked into the station, when the boys called it in,’ Ioli said. She sat down beside me, her right arm stroking my back.
‘Are you OK? You seem…’
‘I’m fine. Just taking a moment to scold myself for everything I could have done differently. I shouldn’t have confronted her. I should…’
‘You aren’t responsible for her actions. This was her choice.’
‘A choice she felt was the only one I had left her with.’
‘Then she got her wish. This was what she wanted. She chose this, rather than prison.’
We sat in silence for a while, in total contrast to the mayhem around us. Police and paramedics were coming and going, the forensics team opened kits and collected evidence, reporters shouted questions at every direction and of course, cell phones danced around in the air.
‘By the way, where the heck have you been?’ I asked.
She chuckled. ‘I wish I knew where to begin. It all started with a boy with stigmata and ended with me shooting his mother. She’s critical but stable.’
I stared at her for a split second. I exhaled deeply and bit my lower lip. I let it play around, grinding against my teeth.
‘Just another day on the clock, right?’ I finally spoke.
‘Just another day.’
EPILOGUE
The promontory of Sounio overlooks the wild waters of the Aegean and is home to the ruins of Poseidon’s temple, perched on the headland. The remains of the once grand place of worship are a sought-after site, offering majestic sunsets. A clear view of the great Greek sun dipping into the ocean, coloring the waves shades of orange.
The ships below danced up and down upon the waves. Tour buses were unloading groups of tourists while the parking was full from Athenians on day excursions.
Ioli and I, ignored the dirt road leading up to the temple and preferred to hike down the peninsula. We reached mighty rocks, standing strong against the sea and fierce wind currents. I climbed on top of the tallest one and pulled Ioli up. She was holding the brass urn, given to me at the crematorium. Ariadne had no known next of kin. In her will, she donated everything to Athen’s University and requested to be cremated.
The sun was moments away from vanishing into the sea.
‘Am I suppose to say something?’
Ioli raised her shoulders. ‘Beats me.’
‘God, if you can hear me, please provide Ariadne with the peace she lacked in life.’
‘And please, can you do a better job at being God? Things are going to hell down here,’ Ioli added and then, crossed herself out of fear of blasphemy.
I took off the urn’s lid and held it up, high in the air. As I tilted it, ashes flew out into the open air and quickly scattered. The charcoal cloud vanished from in front of us.
‘A whole person, gone in a second…’ I whispered.
We sat down upon the rock, enjoying the scenery and the sound of the waves crashing into the rocks.
‘Don’t lose your faith, Cara,’ I said.
‘It’s not so much about losing my faith. It’s a feeling of disappointment. Disappointment in God, society, church… the whole system. Life should be so much more than this.’
‘Maybe this is all just a test or at least that is what my grandma called life.’
‘Well, it feels like a fucking tricky algebra test. It could at least be a multiple choice test.’
‘You’re a weird one, Cara.’
‘That’s rich coming from you.’
We both laughed out loud and it felt revitalizing.
Soon, seagulls squawked around us, as the birds came to land for the night.
‘We better be heading back up before total darkness,’ Ioli said.
It got darker by the minute and if it were not for the temple’s bright spotlights, I believe we would still be wandering around.
The next day, life continued as it always does. A morning kiss, the day’s first rich aromatic coffee, the uphill journey to work, the smile of co-workers, my office chair.
Ioli sat buried in paperwork concerning her stigmata case. I, too, had tons of forms to fill in.
The loud, discordant sound of the incoming call lifted our heads out of the papers.
A new day, a new case.
The end.
Greek Island Mystery # 3
(Stand-alone thriller)
Death
Of A Bride
By Luke Christodoulou
Copyrighted Material
Dedicated to the doctors and personnel of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of Macario Hospital for bringing my baby boy to life. You are life’s true heroes.
Also, a massive thank you to my editing and proofreading team!
Chapter 1
Of all the plans a bride makes for her wedding day, dying is definitely not one of them.
Cassandra Zampetaki crept out of her family’s mansion and dashed through the pouring rain, past the thrashing swimming pool and into the safety of the stone brick pool house. She quickly closed the glass door behind her, gasping to catch her breath. Blustery winds roamed the hilltop and fat drops of water crashed down mightily from the night sky. Nothing outside could compare with the storm inside Cassandra. Tomorrow she would walk down the aisle and become Mrs Cassandra Cara-Zampetaki. Her mother had insisted she keep her last name.
‘It’s a name with history behind it. What is a ‘Cara’? A barbarian name…’
‘Mother!’ Cassandra would interrupt her and shoot a disapproving stare towards her.
Cassandra pulled the thick, vermilion curtains closed and turned on the lights. The expensive handcrafted chandelier came to life and pushed shadows back into corners. Cassandra ran her hands through her long, copper hair. She squeezed out as much water as she could and let it fall to the cold floor. She tied her hair up in a bun and stripped down to her underwear. Her fingers played with her gold engagement ring. It had been in Homer’s family for five generations and she felt proud to have it gracing her hand.
With her heartbeat thrumming, she opened the doors of the heavy, wooden wardrobe and with a slight smile, she gazed at her wedding dress. She did not know why she felt compelled, but she had to try it on, just one more time before the big day. She struggled to wear it on her own and soon the silk, white Valentino dress settled on her curvy figure. She tiptoed to the wall mirror and twirled in delight.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 43