by Lincoln Cole
Haatim didn’t reply immediately. The information caught him off-guard, and he needed to process it.
He lied, “No, yeah.” He shook his head. “I remember. He came for a couple of days. Must have slipped my mind.”
“Grief will do that,” Dominick said with a nod. “I was so sorry to hear about your sister. It must have been rough.”
Haatim didn’t reply. Truthfully, he barely listened. Then, after a few more seconds, he said, “I’ll need some time when we get back to visit my mom,” he said.
“No problem.” Dominick nodded. “The rest of the Council members will fly in over the next couple of days, so I’ll be super busy, anyways. We can spar in the morning, but you’ll have most of the day to yourself.”
“Sounds good,” Haatim said.
Right now, though, things appeared anything but good.
What the hell had his father done in Arizona after his sister died?
Chapter 13
Haatim walked down the hall on the third floor of the hotel, headed to the room where they held Frieda. He hadn’t gotten to see her much since her arrest but felt that the time had come to try and get some answers about what was going on. He should have a sparring session with Dominick right now, but this couldn’t wait.
One armed guard stood posted outside her room, as well as one at each stairwell and by the elevators.
Distracted, Haatim only noticed the footsteps coming up behind him a split second before the attack came. Dominick stood right behind him, carrying a long cane and grinning wildly. He swung it down, aiming at Haatim’s head.
Haatim ducked and threw himself back, landing on the carpet. He rolled to the side, as Dominick kicked out at him, and then he caught Dominick’s leg and threw him back.
Dominick laughed. “Need to be ready at all times.” He moved forward and swung the cane in a downward arc. “Why didn’t you show up for sparring?”
“I need to talk to Frieda.”
“About what?”
Haatim lied, “Abigail.”
Dominick frowned. “Fine, don’t tell me. But you won’t get out of your lesson that easily.”
Then he waded in and swung the cane at Haatim’s shoulder. Haatim sidestepped, and then attacked, punching Dominick in the chest and grabbing his arm. He tried to yank Dominick off balance and knock the weapon out of his hand.
Although he might as well have punched a brick wall for all the good it did him. Dominick jerked free and hit Haatim hard in the shoulder, knocking him off balance instead. He dropped the cane—thankfully—and then hit Haatim with a series of heavy blows aimed at Haatim’s face and chest.
Haatim ducked under an attack and countered, falling into a boxer’s stance and landing a few hits. He even gave a solid blow on Dominick’s left cheek, bloodying his lip.
But that proved the extent of his good luck. Dominick had had enough and came back in hard. He kicked out at Haatim’s knee, and then punched him in the stomach.
Haatim scrambled backward, hands up and trying to defend himself. Dominick kept throwing punches. About half of the hits landed, staggering Haatim and backing him up against the wall. Dominick finished with a right hook that put Haatim on the ground.
“Not bad,” Dominick said, backing up and giving Haatim space.
“What fight were you watching?” Haatim asked, climbing shakily to his feet. “I just got my ass kicked.”
“You’re way better at defending yourself than a month ago,” Dominick said. “In time, you might even make a respectable fighter.”
Haatim wiped his mouth and saw blood. “I think I’d rather be a scholar.”
“No longer an option,” Dominick said. “Why do you need to see Frieda?”
“I just do,” Haatim said. “I need to talk to her about some stuff.”
“And you don’t want me there?”
“Nothing personal,” Haatim said. “It involved my dad.”
“No, look, it’s cool,” Dominick said, but Haatim could tell he’d hurt his feelings. “I guess you still don’t trust me. I get it.”
Haatim joked, “You did throw me out of a helicopter.”
Dominick didn’t even crack a smile. “See you later.”
Then he turned on his heel and headed back for the stairwell. Haatim watched him go. Had he just seriously damaged their friendship?
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Dominick about his suspicions, but that he didn’t know what to say. Alarm bells went off in his mind, and he knew something was wrong, he just wasn’t quite sure what.
When Haatim turned back toward Frieda’s room, he saw the guard looking at him. He hadn’t moved from his position, but he wore an amused expression. Haatim dabbed the blood from his mouth, stuck his chin up, and walked over to Frieda’s room.
“I am here to see the prisoner,” Haatim said.
One of the guards picked up a clipboard. “Name?”
“Haatim Arison.”
He checked. “Not on the list.”
“What do you mean?” Haatim asked. “I’m allowed to see her.”
“You’re not on the list of approved visitors,” the man said. “We can’t let you in.”
“I need to talk to her,” he said. “It’s important.”
“I’m sure it is, but if your name isn’t on this list, then you can’t go in.”
Haatim grimaced. “Fine,” he said.
He turned and headed for the stairs. The man chuckled behind him as he went, but he didn’t care. He felt mad that they’d blocked him from seeing Frieda and knew precisely who’d done it.
He went to his father’s office. Three guards sat posted in front of this room, but this time, Haatim didn’t even bother talking to them before storming in.
“Wait!” one of them said, moving to stop him. Haatim pushed open the door. His father sat at the long table with documents spread out in front of him.
The guard caught Haatim’s arm, but he jerked free. The other two had stood by this point and raised their rifles, aiming them at the back of Haatim’s head. He heard them but refused to acknowledge the threat. His father looked up, surprise on his face.
“We need to talk,” Haatim said.
Aram stared at his son for a second, and then nodded. He waved the guards away. They backed up and closed the door, leaving Haatim alone in the room with his father.
“What is it?”
“Did you go to Arizona?”
A look of shock flashed across his father’s face, but it vanished just as quickly. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Haatim said. “Before I went there, did you go to Arizona?”
Aram composed himself, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Business.”
“What business?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“It sure as hell does,” Haatim said. “Why would you go there right after my sister died? You should have been with her and us.”
“This job that I do doesn’t just wait around until I’m ready,” his father said. “There are matters that must be attended to.”
“Someone else could have handled it,” Haatim said.
“No one I trust as much as myself. It was a delicate matter.”
“What was?”
“It is irrelevant to you,” Aram said.
Haatim knew his father had lied. He hesitated, and then said, “When they captured me and tried to take over my body, someone said something that didn’t make any sense at the time. I had no idea what he was talking about, but now I think I do. He said that when I died, they would send my head back to you.”
Aram sat in silence.
“I wondered what he meant. Why would he say that?” Haatim asked. “Only now, it makes sense. You went there and made a deal with them, didn’t you?”
“Haatim …”
“What was the deal? Did you have anything to do with me getting captured?”
“No,” Ar
am said firmly, shaking his head. “No. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Then, what was it? What deal did you make? Did you betray them?”
“It … it’s not what you think.”
“Is that why you blocked me from seeing Frieda? Afraid I would find out and tell her?”
“No. Only Council members have approval to visit her,” Aram said. “I have no power over that.”
“She’s locked up, awaiting trial, and you’re the one who betrayed the Council.”
“I made a mistake, Haatim. A terrible, foolish mistake. But I did it all for the greater good.”
“How can you say that? You’re a hypocrite.”
“I’m not,” Aram said. “Haatim, you don’t understand.”
“Then, help me understand! Tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Okay,” Aram said, collapsing back into his chair. “You’re right. I made a deal.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t important. I made a terrible mistake. I thought I could control them and get what I wanted, but I failed. I’m taking care of it, and I promise you, it has nothing to do with Frieda.”
“I need to speak with her.”
“She’s dangerous,” Aram said. “She is manipulative and dishonest.”
“Why don’t you want me to see her?” Haatim asked. “What are you keeping from me?”
“It isn’t about you,” Aram said. “It is protocol. Until the trial is over, no one is allowed to see Frieda except Council members. No exceptions.”
Haatim let out a sigh. “Fine.”
“Haatim, I love you, and I wish you would trust me.”
“You have lied to me for my entire life.” Bitterness settled behind his eyes and dropped into his voice. “And you lied to my mother and sister as well. How on Earth do you expect me to trust you?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Aram said. “I had to protect you. Everything I’ve done, every decision I’ve made, was for you.”
“You say that, but you’re trying to execute a woman who saved my life and that I care about deeply, and you’re ruining the life of another person who has been nothing but good to me.”
“Haatim you don’t understand—”
“Stop saying that!” Haatim yelled. “As far as I can tell, you are the only one keeping secrets from me. Why do you hate Abigail so much?”
“She is a monster.” Aram stood. “As was her mentor. Arthur was no hero, but a predator and tool and nothing more. Abigail is no different.”
“She rescued me from a situation you got me into.”
“She did it for her own purposes. The things she did, consorting with demons and acting against the Council, are things for which we must punish her.”
“I accompanied her during all of those things,” Haatim said. “I am just as guilty as she. Will you execute me too?”
“You were forced and coerced,” Aram said. “You had no choice. This is not your world, and you are not guilty simply by association.”
“She isn’t guilty either. The rules are what’s wrong.”
“These are the rules we live by. You don’t understand because this isn’t your world.”
“I don’t know it because you’ve kept it from me my entire life!” Haatim shouted.
The door opened behind him, and a guard peeked his head in. Aram signaled to him that things remained all right, and the door slipped closed once more.
“Haatim, you don’t know what Abigail is. She can’t be trusted.”
“I disagree,” Haatim said. “Right now, I think she’s one of the few people that I can trust. You nearly got me killed in Arizona.”
Aram seemed to realize that the conversation wasn’t going well. His face fell, and he looked much older than Haatim ever remembered seeing him.
“Please, Haatim. If you tell anyone about that, anyone at all, they will kill me.”
“Maybe that’s what you deserve.”
He turned before his father could respond and left the conference room. He stormed past the guards and headed back to his fifth-floor room.
He felt furious with his father, but also worried about Abigail and Frieda. Especially Abigail. It killed him not knowing where she was and whether or not she’d reached safety.
He also didn’t know what was happening to her. The change she had undergone when she escaped sent chills down his spine every time he thought of it. Not a side of her he wanted to learn more about.
Still, he prayed that she was okay.
Chapter 14
“Did you find anything useful?” Abigail asked.
“Not yet,” Mitchell said. He reclined on his beanbag chair with his water bong and stared at the ceiling.
Abigail had been here for two days, and as yet, hadn’t seen a single customer come into his shop. He alternated time smoking his product and looking through the binder and making notes.
Luckily, the store had a fully stocked fridge and a microwave, probably in case Mitchell got the munchies. She waited as patiently as she could, under the circumstances, but any more time spent lazing around grated on her nerves.
“What have you found?”
“Just bits and pieces,” Mitchell said. “But, most of the words don’t make sense. I ordered a dictionary, and it should get here in a couple of days.”
“More days?”
“Things like this take time,” Mitchell said.
Abigail groaned in frustration, rubbing her face with her hands. “You need to stop smoking so much.”
“It helps me think.”
“No, it doesn’t. It helps you get high.”
“And that’s when I do my best thinking.”
“I’m getting impatient, and that’s not a good thing for you.”
Mitchell sighed, and then held out the bong toward her. “You want a hit?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t smoke.”
“It’ll help you settle. You need to step back and relax for a minute.”
“How can I relax? I have people hunting for me and just found out I’m turning into some demonic creature bent on killing people.
“In fact,” she added after a short pause. “I’m not sure how you can relax. You said yourself that I’ll get worse over time. What happens when I decide I need to kill again?”
He froze in his chair, staring at her with his mouth hanging open.
“Is that like … are you feeling … I mean, is it something …?”
“No,” she said. “Jesus, relax. I’m not going to kill you.”
The tenseness rolled out of his muscles, and he chuckled. It sounded forced. “Yeah, of course not … why would you? I’m the one that knows Latin.”
“Exactly,” she said. “I still need you. For now.”
He coughed and set the bong aside. “You know, now that you mention it, I did find something interesting when I looked through all the stuff.”
“Oh?”
“I translated some things and realized, after a while, that it had nothing to do with what’s going on with you. Turns out that the binder has way more stuff in it than just the ritual that Frieda did.”
“What do you mean? What did you find?”
“Some sort of an elixir you can make. It doesn’t bring people back from the dead, exactly, but it can help them stay.”
“Stay how?”
“No idea. But, maybe like if a demon wanted to take over a body and preserve it, it might use this.”
“How does that help me?”
Mitchell shrugged. “No idea. I said I found it interesting. Not useful.”
Suddenly, a beeping and buzzing sounded. Abigail jumped up, hand shooting to the gun on her hip.
“Hey, relax, it’s just my phone,” Mitchell said.
“What the hell was that sound?”
“My ringtone? R2D2.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I know, right? I didn’t think it was in the store, either, but when I found it, I knew I had to download it. Do you want m
e to show you where it is?”
Abigail just stared at him.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
He read over the message, and then put his phone away.
“What is it?” Abigail asked.
“Nothing.” Mitchell looked at the floor, and his voice rose a notch. “Just a funny post from one of my friends. You know, a cute cat meme.”
“Give me your phone.”
“Hey, you know, I think it’s time that I get back to work. Do you mind hanging out up front in case I get a customer?”
Abigail narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t make me ask again.”
With a sigh, Mitchell retrieved the phone and handed it to her. She glanced it over, frowning. “What is this?”
“A notice from a friend,” Mitchell said. “He sent one for your trial as well, letting me know why I hadn’t had any business.”
“This says they’re holding Frieda?”
He nodded. “They arrested her.”
“On what charges?”
“Conspiring against the Council. Freeing you. A couple of others, I think, but those are the big ones.”
“It says she’s charged with treason,” Abigail said, reading further down the page. “And that carries a death sentence.”
Mitchell took longer in responding this time. “Yeah, it does.”
“You mean they will kill her for helping me escape?”
“It is a possibility,” Mitchell said.
Abigail stood and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Back,” she said. “I have to turn myself in.”
“She risked her life getting you out of there. Why would you go back?”
“Arthur already lost his life because of me. I won’t let the same thing happen to Frieda.”
“Most likely, they won’t stick the treason charge. Frieda is super important. She’ll get off with a slap on the wrist.”
“Like I did?” Abigail said. “No way. I can’t take that chance. The thing is, I am exactly what the Council thinks I am. A monster.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can’t stick around here and let Frieda die on my behalf. No one else will lose their life for me.”
“What about the binder?” Mitchell pointed to the papers.