Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  “This sounds as nonsensical as the story Celeste was trying to feed me,” laughs Aurora. Then seeing the dead-serious look on Ariel’s face, “You don’t expect me to believe this rubbish do you? I’m sorry Ariel but I’ve never been superstitious. I believe in scientifically proven facts.”

  “The facts you’ve learned have been proven right at a certain point in time,” he says, “but later proven wrong, and consequently replaced by other facts popularly believed to be right and more satisfying than the previous ones. This iteration goes on and on. The insight of man has truly stretched outside that straight horizon, out to the far reaches of a boundless universe containing infinite space and time. The imagination has also roamed beyond that, towards the consideration of other such endless universes, parallel maybe even superimposed. What I’m suggesting is that we are fragments of this big picture, tiny imitations of this humongous, wondrous whole. But you seem to believe that humankind is uppermost in this immense chain of creation. Nothing goes beyond human understanding. Nothing is beyond what the human mind can fathom.”

  Ariel has a humored look on his face.

  “You have a point,” concedes Aurora. “But what are you trying to tell me? What I’ve learned so far is that I’m the daughter of a paranoid schizophrenic and an evil man who won’t reveal his name, and that all the horrid things I did in my life are somehow part of my immoral makeup.”

  “That’s what he would want you to believe,” interrupts Ariel. “You are your own person. Irrespective of what you’ve been dealt, the decision is left to your discretion. The path you take is up to you and you alone. Since you are still here, in this reality, you have time to redirect and become whoever you decide to become. You have to realize that that evil entity inside that labyrinth was not created evil. He is one of the fallen. He chose his own path. You have been an instrument of death, but backed by my millennial experience, I detect within you a force of regeneration. You are strong beyond anyone I’ve encountered. The hellions would like you to believe you’re one of them, and if that’s the path you decide to take, that’s what you’ll be. But when you kissed me in the locker, I knew we were kin.”

  “I didn’t kiss you in the locker!” protests Aurora feeling a scarlet rush filter across her face. “I was just trying to help you!”

  The smirk on Ariel’s face indicates that he’s sticking with his version of the events.

  “Every being has the same potential to lean towards good or towards evil,” he says. “It’s all within. Our greatest quest during our existence is to find our path. We don’t become enlightened only by light but also by darkness. You have great power within you Aurora. Use it.”

  “You said we were kin,” says Aurora, “so what do you think I am?”

  “As I said,” he says patiently, “you can become anything you want, but in you I see such great potential. And when you mentioned Andras, it clicked. Your path crossed with his for a reason. Grigori need guardians too. You are a Grigorian.”

  He ignores the look on Aurora’s face, her mouth withholding laughter, and continues, “A being like you is sent for the sustenance of those like Andras who have a vast oversight, but have nevertheless strayed from the divinely determined path. You know what you need to do.”

  Before Aurora can verbally react to his words, the Frenchman pulls up in his taxicab and greeting them, emerges to open the door for her, his suit a wrinkled mess.

  “Where would you like to go mademoiselle?” asks the driver.

  “Rue St. Honoré,” she says. Then turns to Ariel, “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “No,” he says, “I still have things to do.”

  “But you’re half naked,” says Aurora giggling. “Are you sure you don’t want us to drop you off somewhere?”

  “I’ll be fine,” says Ariel. “I’m not going far.”

  Ariel watches as she climbs into the car. “You taste like peaches and cream by the way,” he says to her before he turns to walk away.

  “Hey,” she calls after him. “Will I ever see you again?”

  “I sure hope so,” he says. He pauses and then says in a sad voice, “I hope you do the right thing Aurora.”

  Aurora reads conflict in his dreamy blue-green eyes. Deep down he wants to follow her and she is certain that eventually he will, as they all do. A satisfied smile crosses Aurora’s face as the cab drives away.

  2

  Esmeralda Montfort immediately rises out of her seat in the hotel lobby, where she was sitting sipping coffee, as Aurora approaches. The spoils from yesterday’s shopping spree are professionally packed in elegant, pearly white boxes by her side. A uniformed door attendant is helping the driver deconstruct the cardboard pyramid and load the boxes in the limousine. One seat over, Judge Joe overlooks the proceedings with an air of helplessness.

  With an earnest facial expression and her arms wide open, she moves towards Aurora for an embrace. “I’m so sorry my dear girl,” she whispers in her ear, her voice tremulous. “You must be devastated.”

  Looking back on the past few days, Aurora finds no shortage of things to be devastated about, but she is certain Esmie is referring to something quite different.

  “You look terrible my dear,” babbles the dame. “That food must have really gotten to you. Yet Joe and I are completely fine and I have to admit the whole evening was entirely superb until…”

  She pauses for pathos, but noticing that Aurora’s facial expression is not as anguished as she had expected, “Did you get the bad news?” she asks promptly. “Rosina called me shortly after you left. Your guardian Marie was suddenly taken ill. She had to be flown by helicopter to Mater Dei hospital for urgent treatment. But she refuses to undergo the medical interventions she needs until she sees you and the other girl.” Esmie grimaces when she mentions Graziella. “We are just in time to catch the flight to Malta.”

  The hotel lobby spins around Aurora, a swirl of faces, reception desks, elegant chaises and walls with hanging pictures. The floor seems to shift beneath her feet, and suddenly she feels the pressure generated by the events of the past few days descend upon her.

  The distorted face of the dying professor as he grasps his chest, the interminable stairways leading far down into the damp, coralline cave and the hot Arid, Graziella hanging cocooned like a moth in the coffin, the hell hounds, the Minotaur, the wasps buzzing and stinging, the eyes of the boss at Club Débauche his teeth exposed, demented Celeste mechanically mopping away in circles, bloodied, naked girls running for their lives, human flesh dangling from hooks in a meat locker, engulfing her in a terrible, nauseating tidal wave.

  Feeling faint, she slips into a chair. And suddenly she feels a compelling urge to get rid of that cursed box. Without the box, none of this would have happened. She abruptly shuts down the warning from crazy eyes in her head. Aurora knows exactly what she must do.

  “I will get rid of that accursed box,” she voices firmly in her head, “and that book too.”

  Esmie is chatting away, consoling her, reassuring her that everything will turn out right.

  Somehow managing to maintain the semblance of a normal conversation, Aurora follows the Montforts like a sleepwalker, through the limo ride to the airport and onto the plane, to her seat next to Esmie in first class. She can think of nothing else but restoring Andras’ possessions and convincing him to let Graziella go.

  Head throbbing, Aurora sinks deep into her seat and closes her eyes to shut out her surroundings. As the fatigue accumulated over the past few days catches up with her, images of Zia Marie’s loving eyes and warm smile flood her mind.

  Almost at once, Zia Marie’s face ossifies, crumbles into dust and morphs into the manic grinning face of the boss at Club Débauche, raven eyes wide and evil.

  A pronounced, startled gasp escapes her as she jolts in her seat grasping Esmie by her pashmina.

  “What is it my dear?” says the dame softly. Checking on the neighboring passengers making sure they are out of hearing range, she le
ans sideways and says, “Do you want one of my anxiety pills?”

  Aurora shakes her head and settles back into her seat, closing her eyes. But just as she’s about to doze off, the raven-eyed boss is back in her head, grinning wide, his sharp teeth bright white and exposed. He now has two thick, curved horns protruding from the sides of his head. Moving his head from side to side all the while grinning at her.

  Aurora feels the ridges of his bony projections scraping the inside of her skull, the feeling insanely real. Instinctively, she raises her hands to her temples and gasps heavily.

  Perceiving her reaction, the boss laughs, eyes wicked and gleaming, cheeks dimpled. She hears the spine-chilling sound loud and clear in her head, as if he is sitting right next to her on the airplane.

  She observes horrified as he extends his arms and with long, pointed nails deliberately claws the space around him. Aurora instantly feels a painful, cutting sensation in her insides.

  Bolting out of her seat, screaming in pain, spilling Esmie’s water all over the place, she looks around her wild-eyed, half expecting to see him among the passengers. Her frantic movements attract curious stares from the other first-class passengers, and the airhostess who rushes to her side.

  “Are you all right mademoiselle?” says the airhostess curtly as a bewildered-looking Dame Esmie mops her lap with her expensive pashmina.

  Sitting one seat over, Judge Joe looks over his newspaper with an annoyed expression on his face.

  “I’m sorry, I’m fine,” stammers Aurora.

  “Is there anything you need?” asks the airhostess eyeing her suspiciously.

  “No thanks, I’ll be all right,” says Aurora, settling back in her seat.

  “I’m so sorry about your clothes,” she says to Esmie.

  “Don’t worry about it, it’s only water,” says the dame kindly.

  “Are you sure you don’t want something to take the edge off?” she whispers as soon as the hostess takes off. “I have some Xanax, works wonders.”

  This time Aurora takes the small white pill from Esmie, and gulping it down with some water, settles back in her seat.

  Hardly has she shut her eyes and floated to a peaceful place, when the boss is back in her head, grinning and staring. Suddenly he opens his mouth wide, and out rolls a big black tongue, long and pointed, its end split in two.

  Aurora physically recoils as the tongue extends. Clenching her jaw and pursing her lips, she stops herself from screaming as she feels its wet, slimy passage up her throat, all the way to the back of her mouth.

  Jumping out of her seat, her hand clamped over her mouth, she heaves and runs to the lavatory.

  “She has food poisoning,” Esmie mouths apologetically to the neighboring passengers.

  Staring at her own face in the mirror of the tiny lavatory, Aurora rinses the sour taste out of her mouth and splashes water on her cheeks and temples.

  Gazing deep into her own eyes in the mirror, “I am not scared of you,” she says firmly. “I’m taking the box and book back where they belong and there is nothing you can do to change my mind.”

  Making her way back to Esmie’s side, she smiles thinly at the dame who looks seriously concerned.

  “I feel a bit better now,” she says feebly.

  Putting on the headphones, Aurora turns the radio to the Heavy Metal station, turns the volume up, clenches the arms of the chair, and eyes wide open makes an effort to stay awake for the rest of the trip.

  Once back in Malta, Aurora has the driver take her straight to the apartment in Sliema. With the carefully wrapped gold box on the seat beside her, she drives straight to Mdina.

  Chapter 23

  Isabella’s Gold Box

  The door of the palazzo swings open before Aurora has the opportunity to knock. The bent, old woman standing in the doorway eyeing her suspiciously head-to-toe, reminds her of a goblin from a fairytale.

  ‘This must be Rosina’, thinks Aurora, instinctively protecting the wrapped gold box under her arm.

  “Yes?” says the old woman, skepticism prominent in her tone.

  “Hi,” she says. “I’m Aurora.”

  “Aurora,” repeats the woman, recognition showing through her eyes. “You’re Marie’s other ward. Now I recognize you from the photos around her house. Have you been to the hospital to see her yet?”

  “No, not yet,” admits Aurora. “I just flew in from Paris. I’ll be visiting her right after I’m done here. Would you please let Andras know that I need to see him? It’s important.”

  “I don’t know why you’re here wasting time,” grumbles the old woman, glaring at Aurora disapprovingly. “Marie is in such bad shape and all she cares about is her two girls. I was sitting with her in the intensive care unit all afternoon yesterday. The only reason I left is because Graziella’s mother and sister came to visit. She insists she has to see you and Graziella before they put her under.”

  “I know,” says Aurora softly. “I heard. And that is why I’m here. I’ve come for Graziella. Now would you please let Andras know I’m here?”

  Hobbling out of the doorway, Rosina lets Aurora into the foyer of the palazzo.

  “To tell you the truth, I have no idea where he is,” she says. “I haven’t seen him since I got here late in the evening yesterday. I let myself in. This is still my home you know. He wasn’t downstairs, so I made a light dinner and turned in early. But I heard music throughout the night, and I heard him and the girl talking and laughing all night long. I’m not young anymore. I don’t have the energy or strength in my legs to chase people around. This house is too big and there are way too many stairs. I figure he knows where and how to find me if he needs anything.”

  “Do you mind if I come in and look for him myself?” asks Aurora, her voice urgent.

  “Suit yourself,” says the woman gruffly. “I was about to fetch my things and go to church anyway. Then I’ll catch a bus and go back to the hospital. Which is where both of you girls should be if you have any compassion towards the person who cares so much about you.”

  “I can drive you to the hospital myself if you wait,” offers Aurora.

  “No need my dear,” mumbles Rosina. “I have to go to church before I go to the hospital.”

  With that, the woman hobbles down the corridor, mumbling about her knees and the church service she won’t miss at all costs, and vanishes into the depths of the palazzo.

  Left alone in the eerily silent corridor, Aurora contemplates her next move. Around her, etched into the walls of the palazzo, turbaned Turks crawl up bastion walls entwined with their surreal creature souls.

  By some strange alchemy of shadows and atmosphere, the rippling parade seems to be truly moving across the walls. Uncanny black-eyed stares of sickle-carrying ghouls fixate on Aurora.

  Feeling the weight of their stares, she clutches onto the box and cowers away from the design. The hellish beings seem to gravitate towards her, the heaviness of their stares visible, filling her with dread, making her look the other way.

  She finds herself staring straight into the glowering, raven eyes of the boss at Club Débauche. His mouth is upturned into a creepy smile exposing his sharp teeth. Although the face is terrifying, Aurora feels anger rather than fear well up in her chest.

  “I’m not scared of you,” she screams at the wall. “I’m returning this stupid box where it belongs, and that’s that! I’m taking Graziella with me out of here and I never want to see your ugly face again!”

  But an inadvertent tap on her shoulder sends her spinning around shrieking. A bewildered looking Rosina is standing right behind her.

  “Are you all right my dear?” the old woman asks gently. “I was on my way out and I heard you screaming. You look rather pale.”

  “I’m fine,” says Aurora dryly, and staring back at the wall realizing that the image is just that, a still image, she continues, “I just tripped on the stairs.”

  “Sure,” says the old lady, eyeing her suspiciously. “I’ll be on my way the
n.”

  “See you at the hospital in a while,” Aurora calls after her. “Tell Zia Marie, Graziella and I will be coming soon.”

  The old woman’s mumbled response is indiscernible. As soon as the palazzo doors close behind her, Aurora instinctively walks down the hallway. Following the path Andras had taken, she makes her way to the basement.

  Arriving at the top of the steep spiral staircase, she momentarily rests her hand against the basement wall for support. The instant she comes into contact with it, Aurora is overcome by an overwhelming melancholy.

  The stone is freezing cold to the touch producing a numbing sensation in her palm. But when the feeling travels along her nerve fibers, it translates into a distressing weeping sound. And with her mind’s eye, she sees a troubling image of cowering young girls chained naked to the insides of the dungeon walls, crying desperately.

  Rushing down the steep stone steps, she grinds her teeth and tries to banish the sounds in her head and the disturbing images. Coming closer to the end of the spiral hollow, she shivers in the unbearable cold. The sound of dripping water echoes around her in the winding tunnel.

  “Andras,” she calls when she comes to the mouth of the cave. “Are you in there?”

  Her question remains unanswered, resonating around the coralloid walls. Bending down to avoid the stalactites, she inches towards the sarcophagus.

  Swinging open the door to the standing coffin, still gripping the gold box, Aurora grabs one of the lit torches hanging from the mossy cave walls and scans the inside of the space which seems to be empty.

  Climbing into the coffin, her breathing deepens as her body adjusts to the warmer stagnant atmosphere in the staircase. Gearing herself for the horrid place she had previously experienced, she hurries down the long, coiling stairway steering clear of the scalding walls that now seem closer than ever.