Her arms fell, numb and sore, to the filthy mattress. The ropes had cut into her pale skin, creating crimson rivers around her wrists. She tried rubbing them, but it only made the pain worse. Her pallid face remained calm, never showing her captors any sign of pain.
‘Get up and get dressed,’ Achilles ordered and threw her a pair of jeans and a pink tank top. His voice was distant and cold. Slowly, Agatha turned and brought her scarred legs to the side of the bed. She shivered as her feet touched the cement floor. Blood rushed down her veins. Her muscles twitching and aching as she struggled to pull up the jeans over her bare body; the tank top fell easily over her head. A sense of dignity was re-born as she finally covered herself. She had been naked for her entire stay in the basement.
‘At least, they will find my body dressed, tossed like a piece of trash in some ditch by the road,’ she thought.
‘Move it. Up the stairs,’ Panteli’s scruffy voice barked furiously, his right hand pushing her forward.
With small, steady steps, Agatha walked towards the wooden stairs and started to ascend towards the bright sunlight beaming in from above. Weak and exhausted, she stumbled upon the fourth step and fell forward.
‘Move it, bitch. We haven’t got all day,’ Panteli complained in the same manner you would complain about the weather. Torturing her came so naturally to him. ‘Get up,’ he said and pressed his lit cigar onto her shoulder. Agatha shrieked in pain, yet stood up and walked up the steps.
Reaching the top floor first, she immediately ran to the door. Locked. Her eyes looked outside the window, searching, hoping for another human being. No one was to be seen. Just dirt, dried-up bushes and stubborn olive trees.
‘Get back here,’ Panteli said, laughing and pulling her back by her dirty, unwashed hair. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered and threw her onto the old sofa, the one against the moldy wall, the one she complained about upon her arrival just before being beaten and hurled down into hell.
‘Let’s begin today’s presentation with some history, shall we?’ Panteli announced as if talking to an audience. He did not even stare at Agatha.
Achilles sat down beside her with a smirk painted across his smug face. He applauded his father and settled back into the sofa.
‘Our story, children, begins many years ago…’ Panteli began his story. He spoke for a good ten minutes. Agatha could not believe her ears. Her eyes widened and jaw lowered, leaving her mouth open for most part of Panteli’s retelling of the past. All she had been through for a stupid vendetta. Crete, her beloved island and its traditions, left a sour flavor in her throat and twisted her empty stomach.
‘Sweet revenge!’ Panteli finished his story and flashed a dark, evil smile that ran from ear to ear.
‘Get to the video, already,’ Achilles complained.
‘Patience, patience, please,’ he replied and turned towards the dusty TV set placed on the glass table behind him.
‘But what would revenge be without proof for the world to see?’ Panteli asked, raising his voice and taking on his public-speaker tone.
‘Drum roll,’ he continued, winking towards his son. Achilles played along. Silent tears fell from Agatha’s trembling eyes as Panteli pressed PLAY.
Clips of Agatha from happier times flashed across the screen. Clips from times when madly in love with Achilles, Agatha posed, smiled and flirted with the camera. Suddenly, images of her breasts appeared. The screen darkened and her name came into view. The next scenes chilled her to her core.
The beasts had montaged the footage from the recordings down below and had left only scenes where she did not fight back. The sound had been replaced by soft, erotic music and none of her pleas could be heard. She could not stand watching her naked body on TV being molested by five inhuman creeps. She coughed and threw up the liquid contents of her deprived-from-food stomach.
‘I don’t think she appreciates the production value of our video, dad,’ Achilles said and chuckled.
Agatha wiped her mouth and looked up. Sounds of her moaning had been edited over scenes where her face was not visible.
‘How do you feel now that you are a porn star?’ Achilles continued with his mocking.
‘Please, I beg you, turn it off,’ Agatha begged.
‘I guess there is no point in you watching it. You are the star. You were there. Loved your reactions, by the way. I wonder how your mother and father reacted. Oh, if only I was a fly on that wall.’
Agatha could not take her eyes off Panteli. Every muscle on her body shivered and twitched. She shook her head from side to side in denial.
‘No, no. You didn’t.’ Her voice weak, trembling, struggling to get out.
‘Oh, judging by our fine postal system, I would make an educated guess and say that they have probably already had the pleasure of witnessing their whorish, little bitch enjoying five cocks. I hope they watched it all. At the end, we concentrated all the money shots. You were superb, my dear,’ Panteli replied apathetically as if talking with a neighbor about the weather.
Sounds of weeping and sobbing accompanied the once silent tears. Agatha felt the urge to throw up again, yet nothing came out. Empty stomach, empty soul. She felt hollow.
‘Kill me,’ she managed to whisper.
‘Excuse me, dear? What was that?’
‘Kill me,’ she raised her voice. The words came out strong and determined.
Panteli, for once, remained silent.
‘You’re going to kill me anyway, aren’t you?’
Panteli burst out laughing. His high pitched laughter bounced around the small room. ‘Kill you? What kind of monster do you think I am? No, no baby tits. You are going home. Home, to remind your bastard father everyday how we had our way with his precious little princess. To remind him every day that we won the vendetta, that we have had our revenge! How my father –now, in heaven, bless his soul-saw his sons and grandkids take revenge for him.’
Contradicting emotions overwhelmed Agatha. She breathed heavily and tried to focus. She was going to live, yet did she want to go on? The thought of facing her parents terrified her. The way they would look at her, thinking of what they had seen.
She stared at the brown, grayish sparrow that had settled on the kitchen window sill. Her mind travelled to memories long past, memories from innocent times. She must have been eight or nine at the time, when she had found a sparrow, tweeting in pain in her back garden. Though willing to help the poor creature, it fought hard to escape the shoe box Agatha carried. She had always been stubborn. Twenty minutes later, the injured bird settled in the box.
‘Let it go,’ her mother advised her. ‘Birds cannot live with a broken wing.’
‘I will not let it be the next meal for that scruffy cat of yours!’ Agatha replied and with seeds, leaves and water in her hands, she ran up the stairs and took Sweety –as she named him-to her room. Each day, after school, Agatha read to her bird and retold all the gossip from her school.
‘And then Mrs Kountourou expelled him from the classroom! I struggled not to laugh out loud,’ she told Sweety as she held him and bottle-fed him clean, fresh water.
Much to her mother’s surprise, one fine spring day, Sweety flew from Agatha’s desk all the way to her bed. Days later, Agatha, mature for her age, yet with tears in her eyes, opened her bedroom window, kissed Sweety on the head and spread her arms out. Sweety did not take off immediately. He paused. Out of fear or to say goodbye? Agatha had never settled on an answer. He stared at her for a second and then leapt out of her hands. For a moment, Agatha’s heart skipped a beat. Sweety fell straight down, if only for a second or two. He, then, spread his wings and nature took its path. The wind gathered under his tiny, healed wings and raised him to the skies. Agatha watched from her window as her friend flew away, over the green meadow filled with newborn donkeys wandering and eating May’s fresh grass.
If Sweety could do it, she certainly could. She had always considered herself a fighter, yet life had never sent her any real challenges. Daddy’s little girl with a
rich mother, she had the world at her feet. Only her polite manners saved her from being labelled spoiled.
‘Here’s your purse,’ Achilles said, interrupting her thoughts. He threw the Gucci purse with force, hitting her in her chest. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he continued, raising his voice. ‘Get out. Walk to town and…’ He paused. He knelt beside her, his right hand grabbing her face. He squeezed her hard, hurting her. His eyes lit up with fury. ‘… and never speak a word to anyone about what happened here. If we ever hear from the police or anyone else for that matter, your video will be leaked and distributed all over Crete. Get it?’
Agatha nodded until Achilles let go of her. She stood up and without turning to look at either of them, she steadily walked out of the door. As she stepped outside, she quickened her pace, yet resisted running. She could feel their eyes following her down the dirt path. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Her mind was not able to register how she felt. Joy? Could she ever feel such an emotion again? Her mind remained blank for the next half an hour; until she reached the outskirts of the rural town of Chora.
Her legs ached, and pain vibrated her muscles. She leaned against an old olive tree next to the road. There, she collapsed in tears. Her whole body participated in her grief. She rocked back and forth, curled up under the tangled tree trunk. Flashbacks of the previous days ran through her mind. There, Agatha buried her pain, her disgust, her soul, her innocence. She let every dead part of her, ooze out of her. Determined, she finally stood up, and with her head high, she walked into town, headed straight to the port and booked a ticket for the next ship to Athens. She paid extra, booking a cabin. She was not ready to be among other people and her body was yearning for a shower; a wash better than the hose-down she received during her stay in the rapists’ dungeon. She boarded the shiny under the summer sun boat and zombie-walked to her cabin. Weak and drained of energy, she struggled with turning the door key.
‘Let me help you,’ the young boy that worked in the souvenir department said, rushing to her aid. Agatha jumped in fear. She shivered all over as she felt his hand brush against hers.
‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to startle you,’ the ginger-haired boy apologized with a great islander’s smile.
Agatha grabbed the key and pushed the door open. She rushed into the low ceilinged room and slammed the thin door behind her.
‘Bitch,’ the boy whispered from behind closed teeth and wandered off to find another girl to aid and flirt with.
Inside the clean cabin with the stale, lavender scented air, Agatha sat down on the bed, panting. Five minutes later, her breathing had relaxed and returned to its normal rates. Then, Agatha stood up, undressed slowly and avoiding the cabin’s mirror, she walked into the shower. Water fell from above and cleansed her marked, filthy body. The scent of the aromatic shower gel tickled her nose. She showered for most of the journey, unwilling to leave her watery heaven. Warm water ran down her aching arms and legs, taking away the dirt and her shame.
Her hands closed off the water. She stood there, letting the very last drop fall on her. Part one of her resurrection had been completed.
Her dirty clothes were gathered into a pile on the velvet carpet. She picked them up and threw them out the cabin’s only window. Soon, they floated upon strong Aegean waves, never to be seen again. Her eyes turned towards the plastic bag she had brought into the cabin with her. The clothes she had bought at the souvenir shop at the pier. A pair of jean shorts, a white T-shirt with I LOVE NAXOS written across it and a pair of black trainers, the cheap touristy kind. Unfortunately, the shop did not sell underwear, so Agatha settled for a plain, white bikini. She dressed quickly. Part two of her resurrection.
The final part took longer to complete. Back in her apartment in Athens, she packed a single suitcase. She took only memorabilia brought with her from Crete. She did not plan on taking anything else. She wished to take nothing that reminded her of Athens or Achilles. She made two phone calls. One to her landlord, coldly informing him that she was leaving, and was never to return.
‘But… but why? What is wrong? Anything you need…’ he rushed to say, anxious not to lose a steady income. Agatha slammed down the phone. Pointless conversations were not part of her plan.
The next call was to the airport. She was informed of the next flight to Crete, booked a ticket and without looking back, she walked out of her apartment and out onto the street. She crossed through the flow of people rushing up and down the hot, cement pavement, careful not to touch anyone. She stood on the edge, waved down the first taxi she saw and headed to the airport.
Upon the plane, she tightened her belt. For a moment, she closed her eyes and was ready to pray to God to give her the strength to face her parents. Then, she remembered. God was dead. At least he was to her.
With a rumble, the aircraft left solid ground behind and took to the skies, returning Agatha home.
Chapter 20
Night fell, along with the heavy rain. The mansion stood silent on the hill it occupied. Dark clouds surrounded it and cracked the night sky with lightning.
Inside, all of the rooms and long corridors were empty of people. All had gathered in the dining room, all were wondering why. None had been allowed to escape. A stern ‘no’ from either me or Ioli to any requests to go back to their rooms, to use the bathroom, to finish what they were doing at the moment; they were ordered to proceed immediately into the dining room.
Ioli and I entered the room last. Half of the guests sat around the long, dining table with the lit red candles, while the other half stood around it. The staff stood close to the wall beside them. Whispers amongst couples and friends were heard, yet no one retaliated against being dragged into the warmed by central heating room. The fire burning high in the marble fireplace was just eye candy. The room was too vast to be heated by the flames that lashed out high and crackled between the olive tree logs.
Ioli shut the door behind her and stayed there, gun in hand. I steadily walked past the crowd of people to the opposite end of the table. I stood before them, my red eyes reading each one. Several gasps were released as I placed my firearm on the wooden, cool surface of the long table with the thick legs that were engraved with imitations of Minoan designs.
‘Captain, what is the meaning of all this?’ Cosmas spoke first, sitting on the opposite head of the table, with Annetta’s hands upon his shoulders. She denied the offering of a chair by Gianni, saying that she felt fine and stood by her broken-spirit brother.
‘We are here to untangle a web of lies, Cosma.’
‘Lies?’ he asked, the rest of the group remaining still.
‘Lies are told every day. We all tell them. We all use them. Label them. White lies, all necessary lies, right? Yet, in the innocent lies, the dark ones find room to grow. You have all told me and my partner lies since the very first day we arrived on this island. Some of you, I believe, are even lying to yourselves.’
‘Is this leading somewhere, Captain?’ Uncle Thomas asked, politely.
‘It is leading to the true murderer of Cassandra, the murder of Irene Zampetaki and the abduction of my wife, Tracy!’
Now, I had them all in a stir. Some shouted how Cassandra was killed by Maria Marousaki, some about how Irene committed suicide, Anna tried to ask about Tracy and Christina asked Katerina to hold her as she felt like fainting again. As the commotion died down, I continued.
‘Silence, please. I was talking about lies. Cosma? You’ve lied quite a lot, haven’t you?’
All eyes turned towards him. He did not speak.
‘Clueless about the will, huh? Two dead daughters? Cameras all over the place, huh? Did not think to mention that, did you? You could have provided us the tapes…’
‘I went over all the footage!’ he shouted out, interrupting me. ‘I watched as my baby girl, left her room, exited the house and struggled in the rain to go to the pool house. No one else left the house and there is no camera in the pool house. Of course, if there was somethi
ng to show, I would have. Irene…’ He paused for a moment after saying her name ‘… said there was no point in revealing that we had cameras around the house. Now, I demand you tell me what did you mean by Irene’s murder? Was my wife murdered?’ he asked, raising his voice.
I stared at him for a moment. ‘Yes.’
He swallowed with difficulty. ‘Who?’
‘All in good time. We are still going over the lies. Insignificant lies had to be pushed aside. Like Homer’s ongoing affair with Alexandra and how he inherits Irene’s money.’
Many faces turned white. Homer’s parents were the most pale. The four bridesmaids breaking into a group of three and a group of only one.
‘Now, that was a revelation hard to push aside. Yet, it really has nothing to do with either murder.’
‘How about you finally do reveal something that has to do with the murder?’ Jason asked, his young blood boiling.
‘Leonida, you are adopted, right?’ I asked, catching the relaxed fellow off guard. He placed his whiskey-filled glass down and stared at me.
‘Yes,’ he replied with a shaky voice. ‘What has that got to do…’
‘Which means you and George are not blood related, right?’
Neither replied.
‘When was it you first fell in love? With each other, I mean.’
‘My God,’ Gianni said, and searched for a chair in which to sit down.
Melissa and Kallisto’s eyes met in horror.
‘Now, who is telling lies? What proof do you have to accuse us?’
‘Not solid proof, I admit. Just your matching clothes, the way you stare at each other, the way George tells you off about drinking, how you both found girlfriends in the last year to accompany you to a wedding where your relatives would gather, your kisses on the stairs to the attic…’
Normally calm George, stood up and spoke louder than ever before. ‘Now, listen here, you have no right…’
‘Oh, but I do. Because your lie leads to the solution.’
‘Bullshit. We have nothing to do with any of this,’ Leonida cried.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 59