Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  “Climb all the way to the top,” he orders. Then after a moment’s pause, “You don’t need me to accompany you, do you?”

  “No sir,” says Aurora, glad that he won’t be joining her. “I’m sure I’ll find my way just fine.”

  Aurora rushes up the circular steps. Every few steps lead to a landing guarded by a Rottweiler or two, men crowd glass walled rooms enclosing naked girls gyrating seductively, performing sexual acts in full display. At each stage, security seems to know she’s coming and open up the roped stairs for her, letting her through, ahead of the crowds, further up.

  The viewing areas become more profane and revolting as she ascends. Wincing, she hurries along. The drapes on some of the rooms are drawn, outside which are labeled displays of sex toys for sale prior to entry: beads, plugs, whips, paddles, massagers, strap-ons, vibrators, clamps, rings, harnesses, gag balls, masks, the whole range. Cute young girls wearing Roman centurion helmets, stiletto-heeled leather lace-ups and nothing else, help sleazy-looking men with their purchases.

  The acrid body odors mixed with cigarette smoke hit her, as blaring rock music reverberates in her head. Anger and revulsion well up inside. Involuntary images of pious Zia Marie in her immaculately clean home, and Dame Esmeralda Montfort in her sophisticated ecosystem, crop up in her head. Like mirages from an entirely different world, her two mother figures. Zia Marie with a sweet smile on her placid face, dusting and soaping floors and walls until the whole place wafts floral or puttering around her kitchen concocting deliciously fragrant food. And Dame Montfort, soft-spoken and erudite, decked in designer wear, mingling with dignitaries, working for the greater good of society.

  Firmly resolving to head out of this hell as fast as she can and forget all about her insane mission, Aurora turns around abruptly. She almost runs over a woman wielding a mop, drawing circles on the mucky floor, clockwise and counter-clockwise then clockwise again, a half-full bucket of dirty water on wheels by her side.

  Aurora instinctively raises her feet off the sticky ground, first one side then the other, inspecting the red soles of her expensive shoes.

  “Ewww,” she exclaims as she imagines what the muck on the floor might be.

  “Aurora!” The woman grins revealing missing teeth, and raising her face stares deep into Aurora’s eyes.

  Aurora knows exactly who it is. But the woman’s gaze is vacant, there is something missing beneath those eyes.

  “Celeste?” she says scanning the face for more similarities, begrudgingly finding many subtle ones hidden under the ravages of time.

  The woman’s eyes move up from Aurora’s Louboutin pumps and YSL skinny jeans, to her Balenciaga city bag crossed over her chest, inspecting her, a weird glint in her pupils, confusing Aurora. “Look at you, all fancy!”

  After an awkward moment’s pause, “I told him you’d come,” continues Celeste sounding excited but without displaying any emotion in her eyes towards Aurora. “He was so upset after your meeting, thought you didn’t seem interested in him. He has big plans for you, you know. Let’s go wait in his office.”

  ‘Seriously?’ fumes Aurora, immobile in her spot, stunned by the lack of warmth in the encounter. ‘Seems like it’s all about him and his plans, and the only reason she’s even remotely pleased I’m here is because of something he wants. How about an embrace? How about: Hello my darling, long lost daughter. Or even simply hello daughter would do. I’ve missed you so much over the years. You have been in my every thought and there hasn’t been a single breathing moment in my miserable life that I haven’t regretted abandoning you as a child. I’ve wanted so much to reunite with you over the years but wasn’t able to, despite my efforts, because insert any excuse here. Anything. Anything but him.’ But she doesn’t utter a word, following as the woman leads the way to his office, the hellish music blaring, drowning her thoughts.

  “I’m sure he won’t mind us waiting in the office since you’re here,” the woman mumbles, fumbling with a door. “Your father owns this place you know,” she says proudly, leading them into the small, musty room dragging her bucket and mop with her, closing out the thunderous sounds.

  “Really?” says Aurora feigning wonderment.

  What she’s really wondering is why Celeste is mopping muck off the floors. And why on earth she looks so terrible. Her attire, appearance and demeanor clearly reflect a hard life.

  Once inside the room, Aurora studies the space, mostly overtaken by monitors displaying the ongoings in the entertainment rooms.

  “Look, that’s us way back,” says Celeste pointing at the back wall quilted with old, fading Polaroids pushed to the edges of a collage made up of newer glossy photos.

  The picture Celeste is pointing at is at the lower left corner, lost in the myriad of images portraying the black-eyed man in varied poses with young dancers, singers and movie stars, invariably smiling his wide toothy smile. Aurora can’t believe how much she dislikes a man she barely knows.

  “I used to be beautiful too you know,” continues Celeste wistfully. “We were together back then, and now that you’re here, things will change.”

  “In this picture you look exactly how I remember you before you left us,” interjects Aurora, scrutinizing the image of younger Celeste and hoping to divert the conversation to a personal level. “When I was a little girl, I’d close my eyes and imagine you. I’d even spray your perfume around and pretend you never left, until the perfume bottle ran out.”

  Aurora pauses and looks at the woman, studying Celeste’s demeanor and the effect of her statement.

  Seemingly emotionally unscathed by her daughter’s heartfelt comments, the woman plops back into a seat. Scratching her head and neck, making grating sounds with her nails, she gazes emotionless at Aurora. Grinning her toothless grin, Celeste fidgets and twitches in her seat.

  Staring at her vacant eyes, Aurora concludes that the woman is either demented, or on drugs, or possibly both.

  “I can take you away from here,” she says exasperated. “You can fly back home with me and I can get you the help you need.”

  Celeste immediately zones in, her grin transforming into set lips, a look of fierce determination on her face. “Oh no! Not ever,” she says vehemently. “This is my home and now that you’re here, he’ll be happy with me again!”

  “What do you think will happen now that I’m here?” asks Aurora deciding to at least glean some information before leaving.

  “Things will get right back on track for me,” says Celeste, conviction in her voice. “Marie refused to send you back to me years ago and that’s when things went bad. I should have never let that old zealot foster you when Tony died. I can’t believe that that spineless loser managed to ruin everything for me even after his death.”

  “Marie was very good to me,” says Aurora, shocked by the woman’s vitriolic tone. “She loves me more than anyone.”

  “Well that wasn’t the plan,” hisses Celeste, her face frenzied. “I left you there because he knew you’d come in possession of that box. See, he’s powerful. He knows things. And you were supposed to bring the box to him years ago. And that old witch ruined everything! But now you’re here and things will change for me!”

  Stunned by Celeste’s callousness and her obvious lack of affection towards her, “What makes you think I’m even remotely interested in making things better for you after you abandoned me? I had to claw my way out of that miserable existence you dumped me in! And here you are, expecting me to hand over something you claim I have in my possession, after all these years! What makes you think I would give you or that man anything?” yells Aurora. “I don’t even know his name!”

  “His name is not important,” says Celeste, a weird calm permeating her facial features and determination in her voice. “You have no choice. You came here of your own free will. You’re here to stay.”

  “You’re insane,” says Aurora calmly, heading towards the door. “You need help that’s what you need. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll
be on my way.”

  “You can run all you want,” says Celeste chuckling, “but you can’t escape who you are. Your fate is sealed and the big day is fast approaching. It has been written in stone about you: ‘a woman upon a scarlet colored beast, decked with gold and precious stones, drunk with blood, reigning over the earth.’ When everything comes to pass, you’ll be there, aligned with your father and brothers. And the box in your possession will help stop the great warrior who will try to oppose you.”

  “You sound crazy,” says Aurora. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh don’t I?” says the woman, her tone derisive. “You are right on track my dear. You prance in here acting superior, looking down on me, judging me, like I’m not good enough, when in reality we know you. You are covetous and wicked. You belong here. Tell me Aurora, what happened to Tony during that terrible night long ago?” The woman grins, a glint in her eye. “What happened to Judge Montfort’s old assistant? I can see that scarlet dress bursting in flames. And what happened to that old professor just a few days ago? Wonder why you don’t feel a thing? Where’s the guilt Aurora?”

  Celeste’s words hit Aurora like a bucket of ice-cold water, knocking the wind out of her, but she manages to maintain a fairly calm facade.

  “You’re insane,” she says firmly, her hand on the doorknob, looking away from Celeste. “I should have never come here. I don’t know what good I expected out of meeting you. I’m glad Zia Marie didn’t send me to you years ago. I’d probably be mopping muck and filth off the floors just like you’re doing right now, or worse. I’ve worked hard all my life and I’ve created something good for myself. Instead of being happy for me, you send that creep after me and are trying to pull me down into this filth with you. I’ll be leaving now. Goodbye and good luck to you mother. You’ll never see me again.”

  But as she’s about to step out of the room with the door barely ajar, Celeste, emitting an ear-piercing war cry over the music and the noise, springs at her, jumping on her back, choking Aurora by the strap of her purse.

  Taken completely by surprise, Aurora falls back hitting her head on the floor, but Celeste doesn’t give up. While on the ground, Celeste straddles her chest and continues choking Aurora with the thick leather Balenciaga strap.

  Aurora tries to push her off, but the woman is too strong. Inches away from Aurora, Celeste’s face is inhuman, her mouth distorted into a growl, drool dripping from the corners, her eyes deranged, her nose flattened into a snout.

  Aurora, struggling to loosen the suffocating leather strap around her throat, her legs flailing, unsuccessfully attempts to scoot away from the crazed woman. Celeste grabs her by the hair and bangs her head repeatedly against the floor.

  Stunned by the violence of the attack and the hatred on the woman’s face, Aurora feels the energy draining out of her. But just as her body is about to go limp under the blows, the door to the office is pushed open and a group of security guards barge into the room.

  She notices that two of them are dragging a man by the arms, his hands and feet bound with rope, a sack over his head. One of the Rottweilers pulls Celeste off her.

  “What are you doing Celeste?” he says gruffly. “The boss said to have the girl wait in the office.”

  “She’ll be of no use to him,” says the woman viciously, obviously disappointed by the interruption, a lust for blood still evident on her face. “Leave her to me, she’s not willing to cooperate. I’ll finish her off.”

  Aurora winces, cowering on the ground.

  “I don’t take orders from you,” says the man glaring at her. “The boss said he wants to see her.”

  “Let’s throw the girl in the locker together with this one until he comes back,” says one of the other Rottweilers kicking the bound man in the shins.

  The bound man wriggles around, and the other security guard holding him up, punches him until he goes limp.

  “Do as you please,” says Celeste shrugging.

  “Get out of here Celeste,” snaps one of the men. “Go back to work.”

  Without looking back at Aurora still cringing on the floor in a fetal position, Celeste grabs her mop and wheels her bucket of filthy water out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Aurora, still in shock from the onslaught, watches helplessly as the men pry open a barely-noticeable, steel chute door in the wall, and stuff the bound man into the opening headfirst. The bumps and thuds the body makes as it drops down the shaft sound distant and muffled through the soundproof walls.

  Aurora hears herself scream as one of the men grabs her and savagely thrusts her into the metal opening. The precipitous drop feels like a rollercoaster ride. Gravity pulls her down, the momentum broken as she slams against the cold sides of the chute. Harrowed with sharp pain, she finally drops onto a hard tiled floor. She opens her eyes and through tears sees the hooded man writhing on the floor besides her.

  “Would you stop screaming and help untie the rope?” he’s saying.

  She ignores him and looking around the brightly lit, cold room notices that in fact they are in a meat locker. Her eyes adjusting to the bright light, she looks at the large carcasses over her head, hanging by hooks from steel rods across the ceiling.

  Zoning in, her vision clearer, she notices that the forms of the skinned carcasses are not those of normal livestock. There is no way that the dangling shapes were once sheep, pigs or cows.

  Aurora chokes and vomits as she comes to the horrific realization that the chunks of meat swinging from the steel hooks off the ceiling are parts of human bodies. She tries to stand up but falters, both heels having detached off her shoes during the fall, the stilettos dangling off the shoe making her wobble.

  Behind her, the man has managed to free his wrists from the rope restraints, and pulling the sack off his head, hops up towards her, his ankles still bound. He clamps his hand over her mouth silencing the sound of her screams and sobs filling the room.

  “Would you stop screaming,” he whispers urgently.

  Standing over her, his hand across her face, she discerns the distinct, sweet smell of licorice. Finding herself in such a horrific and threatening situation, she instinctively surges with newfound energy towards the tall, muscular man and slaps him across the face with all her strength.

  He stumbles over, surprised by the blow, holding the side of his face. A sarcastic smile appears on his lips. Aurora looks at his ruggedly handsome face, his shaggy bleach-blond hair and matching beard. He’s dressed like a stereotype biker in ripped jeans, a white shirt and leather vest. What strikes her as he stares at her, is the particular color of his eyes, glacial blue-green, very similar to Andras’. Rage welling in her chest, she rushes at him again and smacks him on the other side of his face.

  The man, rope still binding his ankles, leaps off the ground like a circus act and grabs her wrists. “Stop this nonsense right now,” he says firmly. “What’s your name?”

  “Aurora,” she whispers.

  “Aurora, you need to be very quiet,” he says gravely. “Unless you want to be devoured alive that is. Help me untie my ankles. Where was all this energy when that hellion was on your back?”

  “That was my biological mother,” simpers Aurora still shaking.

  “No,” he says, “it wasn’t. Maybe it used to be your mother, but not anymore. That was a creature from hell. We’re in the same predicament. We can help each other, but you need to stop screaming and trust me if you want to get out of here alive. My name is Ariel by the way.”

  “Like the mermaid?” she asks inanely.

  “Not quite,” he says smiling, his hand back on his cheek. “That burns.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly, then narrowing her eyes, “but you remind me of someone. And it’s more than just a physical resemblance.”

  “Who do I remind you of?” he asks, interest piqued.

  “Oh nobody,” she says shrugging. “This guy back home who somehow seems to be involved with every mess I fi
nd myself in. You have the same eyes.” Ariel is looking at Aurora inquisitively as she helps untie the ropes around his boots. “The same um, body type and the same,” she pauses looking at the man, “the same smell. And the voice too, it’s weird. I don’t know what overcame me. I apologize.”

  “No problem,” says the man kindly, finally loose from the rope, standing up and proffering a hand to Aurora. “What’s this someone’s name?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t know him,” she says shrugging. “His name is Andras.”

  A smile lights up Ariel’s face. Looking at him, Aurora is struck by the realization of how gorgeous he is, but glancing up at the flesh swinging off the ceiling, drops back to the grim reality of the situation.

  “I was wondering what the hellions wanted with you,” he says. “Do you know what this place is?”

  “It looked like a sex house to me. Until now,” says Aurora glancing at the swaying bodies. “This creepy-looking man visited me a few days ago, claiming to me my father. The whole situation was so weird that I came here looking for my mother Celeste, hoping for understanding.”

  Looking at the man, and reconsidering the situation they’re in, Aurora feels like she can confide in him.

  “A lot of strange things have happened to me throughout my life,” she explains, her voice sad. “Otherworldly stuff, things that don’t make any sense to me. I’ve been compelled to do inexplicably wicked things. Actions that only became clear to me after they happened and as a person I only felt remotely connected to what I did. I’ve witnessed things I don’t even believe in. Most times I feel as if I don’t have any control over what I’m going through. I was hoping Celeste would have some answers.”

  “Well did she?” he asks looking genuinely interested.

  “Not really,” says Aurora managing a giggle. “She seems to think I’m the whore of the apocalypse, predestined to some prophesized biblical fate. I was about to leave and never look back, but she went harpy on me. Now that I consider the things I’ve done, I feel terrible. My actions are clearer than ever. But at the same time, deep down, I know with certainty it wasn’t the real me who did those things. Isn’t that strange?”