Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  Pulling out the flashlight from her back pocket with her free hand, Aurora holds it between her teeth and cranes forward studying her route into the shop by its dim circle of light. Spotting an antique inn table by the bay window, she plans her escape route out of the shop.

  Extending her legs and making her frame as sleek as possible, right leg crossed over her left, toes pointed, she inserts herself into the small aperture and releasing the sides of the casement slides down the two meter wall and falls onto the floor of the shop with a soft thud.

  Crouched on the ground, Aurora takes a moment to study her surroundings in the dark and maps her course to the picture frame at the back of the room through the stacks of furniture.

  Satisfied with a narrow clear route, she crawls forward, but as she advances towards her target, she hears a soft sound filtering through the silence.

  Immobile in her spot, straining her ears, she makes out soft breathing sounds. Her heart tightens in her chest. Frozen still, she looks back towards the window contemplating her next move.

  The slow and deep rhythmic inhalations and exhalations now fill the space with a serene, lulling noise. Whoever is in the room is fast asleep.

  Being more than halfway across the room, the painting concealing the book cabinet is so close to where she’s crouching, that she can almost feel the book in her hands. Since any move she makes has an equal chance of waking whoever is in the room, she decides to go ahead.

  Holding her breath she continues stealthily towards the back of the room, stopping every few paces to check on the soft snores.

  Aurora pulls the painting from the wall, and gently placing it on the floor, feels around for the cabinet. Smiling in the dark, she turns the key dangling from the lock. But as she creaks open the door and her hands feel for the old book, some of the contents of the cabinet drop to the floor and she hears movement behind her. The rustling of the body turning on the couch, sniffing and mouth smacking, soft noises of someone disturbed in their slumber.

  Frozen in her spot, muscles taut, clenching the book, she waits in the dark, sweat gathering on her forehead under the ski mask.

  Eyes open wide, heart pounding in her chest, she makes out Profs’ silhouette on one of the sofas in the room. He must have fallen asleep in his shop.

  Hardly breathing, she observes as he turns around facing where she’s standing. She hears the crumpling of the open newspaper he was reading before he nodded off. Terrified, she watches as he sweeps the paper off his chest, sits up and feels around for his glasses.

  Putting on his glasses, Profs turns on the lampshade by the sofa. Aurora gasps as light floods the room.

  “Who’s there?” yells the man looking directly at her as he springs up from the sofa.

  His eyes sweep over her body and stop on the old book she’s hugging in her arms. Aurora sees a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he glares at her.

  She stands speechless and immobile as he lunges towards her, but halfway across the room, he stops and clenches his chest. Doubling over, arm outstretched, mouth gaping, his face flushed beet red and shiny with sweat.

  “Hand me my nitrates,” he moans. “It’s my heart.”

  Aurora glances to where he’s pointing, and spotting his amber pill bottle, swiftly moves towards it.

  Looking from where the old man cowers in pain to her unobstructed route to the window, she grabs the bottle, pries open the cap and scatters the small white pills all over the floor. Flinging the bottle away, she bolts towards her exit.

  Groaning in pain, the old man stumbles towards the spilled pills and falls over with a dull thud.

  Sprinting on top of the inn table, Aurora jams the book through the small window and grasping the windowsill with both hands, hoists her frame and squeezes her body through the aperture.

  Behind her, Profs cowers on the floor of his antique shop, the force of ten elephants pressing down on his chest.

  3

  St. Ursula Street is taped off with yellow police tape, but pedestrians break off the thick morning crowd overstepping the boundary and huddle on both sides of it despite the efforts of the police crew. Curious passers by swerve off their course and join the cluster of onlookers.

  Aurora studies the faces in the gathering and approaches a very animated woman who is flailing her arms and talking with exaggerated facial expressions.

  “What’s going on? What happened down there?” she asks.

  “They killed the professor,” yells the woman, arms up in air. “They broke in and killed the professor. We aren’t safe sleeping in our beds anymore!”

  Gasping in horror, Aurora moves closer in a counterfeit state of grief. Steering clear of the police crew, she creeps into the crowd, blending in, asking questions and repeating conversations from one group to the other. After about an hour, fully satisfied with her interactions, she walks along the busy street to work.

  By the end of the hour, many in the crowd around St. Ursula Street had heard talk emanating from various sources of two suspicious gentlemen loitering around the streets of Valletta during the previous night. Some of them confirmed that they had seen them. An eyewitness stated that, “One was wearing baggy jeans and a light blue t-shirt, and the other khaki shorts and a colorful printed shirt.”

  By the end of the morning, the homicide chief detective on the case was questioning the two police officers who were patrolling the streets of the capital during the previous night. Both of them confirmed separately that they had noticed the two men described and were both requested to locate the two men and bring them to police headquarters for questioning.

  Making her way to work through the crowds, Aurora tries calling Graziella on her cell phone but gets no answer. She makes a mental note to visit the palazzo in Mdina later on in the day. She already has a plan figured out in her head. Graziella will be consoled and all her questions answered. The old book will be returned to the palazzo and all inquiries about her involvement with Profs’ demise smothered before arising.

  Bursting into the busy office off Republic Street, “I’m so late,” Aurora mouths to the secretary as she walks past her desk to the office.

  “Don’t worry Miss Aurora,” says the lady jovially, “I took all your calls, everything’s under control.”

  “Thank you dear,” says Aurora. “I know I can always count on you.”

  “Oh, by the way,” the secretary calls after her, “someone left this for you.” She hands Aurora an envelope.

  Opening the envelope, Aurora studies the handwritten card requesting a lunch appointment. The invitation only mentions a time and place, and does not specify who the appointment is with. She has every intention of ignoring the whole thing and is about to discard the card, when a neatly written line at the bottom of the paper catches her eye.

  “We need to talk about what you did last night,” it says.

  A sudden feeling of unease spreads over her, in her mind she imagines a police detective luring her into a web of questioning about the professor. After all, she had met with the man the day before. What if someone had seen her or recognized her car? She had made sure the surroundings were deserted just before breaking into the antique shop. But her escape from the shop and back to the car had been less cautious. What if the old man had managed to communicate with his sister before he died? She had seen that flicker of recognition sweep over his face as she stood there holding the book.

  “Who brought this?” asks Aurora, heart tightening in her chest. “The card doesn’t reveal the identity of the person seeking an appointment.”

  “It was just a boy from the street,” says the secretary. “He said that a man gave it to him to bring up. Is everything all right dear? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine,” says Aurora. “I just have so much to do as is, and now I have to take a lunch appointment.”

  Chapter 17

  Raven Eyes

  1

  “We don’t normally have women visitors,” says the old maître d’ through pursed
lips, carefully studying her calling card as he reluctantly leads her up the stairway. Although seemingly convinced of the authenticity of the calligraphy on the card, he is obviously not too pleased with the situation as he walks down the hallway. “No women ever,” he says.

  Pushing the grand riveted wooden doors open, he ushers her in and retreats.

  The walls of the smoking room at the Old Corinthian Men’s Club are lined with plush, black velvet tapestries between elaborate gilded columns that reach up and edge the rib vaults of the high ceiling.

  The room exudes masculinity, power and wealth. And as her feet sink into the intricate black and gold woolen rug covering the floor, her eyes scan over the tufted button sofas and gilded velvet chairs for whoever had requested the appointment; the anxiety in her chest dissipates. There is no way this meeting has anything to do with a police investigation into the professor’s death.

  The room is deserted except for one man sitting at the far corner table next to the large stone fireplace. He rises as she approaches.

  He is very tall and looks striking in a perfectly tailored suit, Tom Ford she guesses, and beautiful, shiny shoes. He has an air of sophistication, a countenance almost regal.

  “Aurora,” he greets her. “How good of you to come.”

  Aurora studies his chiseled face as she approaches. He is undoubtedly handsome, his strong angular jawline and prominent chin, his straight nose and full lips remind her of a Greek god, but as she moves closer, she realizes that there is something disconcerting about his looks. His face is so absorbing that Aurora feels instantly terrified. And standing there in his presence, she is overcome by inexplicable panic.

  Looking closer, beyond his full lashes, she realizes that his eyes are jet black, his pupil and iris solid raven, taking up most of his almond shaped eyes. His eyes seem to see everything, know everything. As they look into her, piercing black, she feels naked and helpless. She stiffens, but he moves closer, taking her by the arm, guiding her into a seat.

  “Would you like some lunch my dear?” he asks sitting across, smiling at her.

  The smile dimples his cheeks, accentuating his good looks, but her eyes fixate on his teeth. Dazzling white and perfectly straight, but their exposure when he smiles sends a chill down her spine.

  The smile seems superficial, and instead of a man she senses that she’s facing a growling beast. Although compelled to run out of the room and distance herself from the place, she feels anchored to the chair and can’t move. A sudden foreboding of impending danger looms over her.

  “I’m not hungry,” she mutters.

  “Of course not,” he says, smiling again. “You like to stay slim. Makes it easier to slip in and out of tight spaces.”

  Aurora feels the blood drain from her face. “Excuse me?” she whispers.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, ignoring her question. “You take after your mother. But I see a lot of me in you too.”

  Studying his unlined face, “I’m sure there’s been some kind of misunderstanding sir,” she says trying to sound polite and feeling more bonded to her father than ever. “My father, Tony, died when I was young.”

  The man laughs, his fully exposed teeth look sharp, his face downright terrifying.

  “Ask your mother about me,” he says staring into her eyes, and right then she knows in her heart that what he’s saying is true.

  But there is something so unsettling about the guy, she doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. Moreover, it’s too late in the day for a parent to show up. Father or no father, she doesn’t need him.

  “I haven’t spoken to my biological mother in over a decade,” says Aurora dryly, her tone laden with sarcasm. “She abandoned me to chase after some man when I was a little girl. The last I heard of her, she was in critical condition after the guy beat her almost to death with a shoe.”

  The man distinctly glances down at his shoes. Aurora, fully convinced that she doesn’t like him one bit, can’t wait to leave the room.

  “You were also lucky in life. A good woman brought you up; a woman who loves you as much as any mother,” says the man.

  “No thanks to my biological mother,” Aurora snaps at him, and no thanks to you either, whoever you are, she thinks to herself.

  “Didn’t your pious guardian teach you the basic things that came right from the finger of God?” he demands.

  Aurora raises an eyebrow, exasperation welling in her chest. The encounter is tiring; every word the man says drains her.

  “The fifth commandment says to honor thy father and thy mother,” says the man, a glint in his eye. “It doesn’t say to honor them only if they’re good to you.”

  Aurora glances at her watch and feigns surprise. “I’m sorry sir,” she says hastily, attempting to rise out of her chair, “my lunch break is over and I need to get back to work.”

  “No it’s not,” he says calmly, putting his hand over hers before she has time to pull back. “Although our encounter is not going as well as I’d hoped, you have another twenty minutes which you’ll spend here, listening to what I have to say.”

  Aurora stares at the man, suddenly wishing it had been a police detective who had requested to meet her.

  “You have two objects in your possession,” he states. “I am here because I need you to realize the worth of those objects.”

  Wondering how he could possibly be aware of certain things, thinking back on specific events in her life, Aurora tries to make sense of the situation. There has to be a logical explanation.

  “Stop trying to make sense of things you can’t possibly understand,” the man says. “I realize you need time to come to terms with certain things. But you will come around. You are who you are and there is no running away from that. In the meanwhile, I don’t want you to make any mistakes.”

  He pauses and as he stares at her, Aurora makes certain no thoughts enter her mind, the multiple meditative yoga classes Esmie had dragged her to, finally coming to good use.

  “I need you to think of the largest amount of money you can imagine,” he says. “Humor me! Think of a big number,” he coaxes.

  Willing to do almost anything for the man to stop baring his teeth and penetrating her being with those eyes, as well as being eager for the meeting to be over with, Aurora conjures up a ridiculously huge number and then adds a few zeros at the end of it for good measure.

  “Well,” he says impatiently, “you have underestimated their worth. Things will come to pass, as has been determined in your regard, and the objects in your possession will serve you well.”

  On any other occasion, Aurora would have been ecstatic over this information. Having in her possession things worth in excess of the largest amount of money imaginable, goes beyond her wildest dreams.

  Under the circumstances, she feels no inclination towards excitement or joy. So deeply unsettling is the appearance of the man before her, indicating some deep-seated malignancy, and the notion of their possibly close familial connection, compounded by the fact that he seems so intent on her keeping the book and box, she feels overwhelmed by fear.

  She has always been instinctively aware that the box is special. The feeling its possession imparts is one beyond the material: a feeling of invincibility and eternal good fortune. She would have been satisfied absconding with the two valuable artifacts into blissful oblivion, had it not been for the mysterious involvement of the chilling man facing her, imparting the news of their value.

  Studying Aurora’s face with a determined look, “Heed my warning child,” he emphasizes, seemingly unsatisfied with her facial expression. “Never let go of what you’ve acquired. You will sorely regret it if you do.”

  The more he insists about their value and the importance of keeping the objects in her possession, the more she feels compelled to investigate the veracity of her relation to him. Deep down she hopes he is lying.

  “Thanks for the advice,” says Aurora, hurriedly pulling back her hands and slipping out of the chair, �
�but now I really must go.”

  As she backs away from him, Aurora perceives an offended expression on his face. She hurries out of the room as fast as her stiletto heels permit.

  Back out on the street, she realizes that the man hadn’t even divulged his name and decides that she doesn’t really care. His name would probably make those haunting eyes and disturbing teeth even more vivid in her mind and all she wants to do is forget him altogether.

  “So creepy,” she whispers to herself. “Looks more like a beast than a human. A demon of some sort.” Then, “I don’t believe in God,” she regurgitates, “and I don’t believe in the devil.”

  But as she rushes along, almost breaking into a run, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord be with you,” she whispers her voice tremulous, “blessed are you among women.”

  Suddenly remembering the old professor doubling over in pain, she stops praying. “I didn’t mean for anyone to die. I panicked,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I panicked.”

  “I don’t believe in God,” she repeats to herself, “and I don’t believe in the devil.”

  But she doesn’t feel convinced.

  2

  “Zia Marie, It’s Aurora.”

  Although inundated with work, Aurora can’t take her mind off her lunch date with the raven-eyed man. His face remains burned in her brain however hard she tries to focus on the legal documents in front of her. Going over the details of his features, she distinctly remembers that his sclera weren’t completely black, but the white areas of his eye were minimal. And then those teeth!

  Closing out her documents, she keys in ‘leaching eye pupils’, ‘completely black eyes’, ‘extra-sharp teeth’, ‘disorders of eye and tooth’. Her Internet searches don’t reveal much and her subconscious clings onto the various images of wolves and carnivorous reptiles that show up on her computer screen. She decides to call Zia Marie.

  “My dear, how nice to hear from you,” says the old woman obviously pleased but sounding ill and muffled.