Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

“Could?”

  “Yes, could.”

  “And what else could account for it?” She stared at him, but Al looked away. “What else?”

  “The early stages of hypothermia or death,” Luke said, and Charlie felt her chest tighten. “I’ve magnified it, though, and there are small movements, more like undulations really, so I think she’s breathing.”

  “Okay. So what do you need me to do?”

  “Honestly?” She nodded, unable to look away from the screen. “I need you to contact Yasar again.”

  She was about to ask why when they had all these plans, but she knew it was a silly question. If they could rescue Hazaar without having to execute either of these plans, then it would make life much simpler for everyone involved. It also meant that none of them were risking their lives. She grimaced as the other option crossed her mind. Prison. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, death or prison.

  She glanced at the monitor again. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or not, but she thought the blue looked a little cooler, the yellow more faded, and the green seemed to have shrunk. Her hands felt so cold, she wondered for a moment if it was possible that she was feeling what Hazaar was, absorbing the chill from her body. She laughed at her own silly thoughts and wished she could reach through the monitor and touch her, wrap a blanket around, and just tell her that it would be okay. Just a few more hours and it would all be over. One way or another.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The North of England, then

  “All right, I’m coming,” Charlie shouted as the bell rang again. “I said, I’m coming.” She pulled open the front door, ready to shout at whatever door-to-door salesman or canvasser had dared to disturb her. She closed her mouth quickly when she saw Hazaar’s father wringing his hands and frowning.

  “Mr. Alim, what are you doing here?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Please forgive my rudeness. I wasn’t expecting to see you. Please come in.” She ushered him into the sitting room where Charlie’s mother stood and shook his hand.

  “Mr. Alim, I’m Mrs. Porter. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “And you, Mrs. Porter.”

  “Can I get you something to drink? Some tea, perhaps?”

  “A glass of water would be welcome.”

  Charlie’s mother excused herself to the kitchen and Charlie pointed to the chair. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Alim?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He sat on the edge of the seat. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands shook as he clenched them in his lap. He was nothing like the man she had met over the years. She hadn’t had a great deal of contact with him, but it was more than enough to see how distressed he was. She could have sworn he was ready to cry as she watched him fidget, tugging at his cuffs, his collar, adjusting his topi, seemingly unable to keep still at all.

  “Mr. Alim, how can I help you?”

  “Is she here? Hazaar. Is she here?”

  Charlie’s mother looked at her as she walked across the room and handed him a glass, clearly wondering what he was talking about.

  “No.”

  “You don’t need to hide her from me. I’m not here to make her return.”

  “I’m not hiding her.”

  “Please.” He put his glass on the coffee table in the centre of the room. “Please, I beg you. Just tell me she’s safe and pass on a message for me.”

  “Mr. Alim, I haven’t seen her since graduation. The last time I spoke to her was weeks before that, when she said she was getting married.”

  “Please, Charlotte.” He clasped his hands as though offering her a prayer. “Please, just tell me she’s okay. As long as I know that she is safe, I will leave both of you alone. No one will ever learn from me where you are. You have my word.”

  “What do you mean you need to know she’s safe? Why wouldn’t she be safe?”

  “She wanted to run away. She was going to come back here.” He swallowed hard. “To you.” He looked into her eyes, imploring her. “She truly isn’t here?”

  Charlie looked at her mother and saw her own shock mirrored on her face. She wasn’t sure if she was more shocked that he knew about Hazaar’s relationship with her or that he was sitting here, talking to her, despite the fact that he knew.

  “No. I haven’t had any contact with her, Mr. Alim.”

  He looked like he was about to crumble before her eyes. His skin paled, and the sheen of a sickly-smelling sweat made his face look waxy. The shadows beneath his eyes grew darker, deeper, and the profound sadness in his gaze was something she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life. She’d seen it before. The fathomless stare of someone whose sorrow knew no end.

  “Then I’ve condemned her.”

  “Condemned her? To what? Mr. Alim, I don’t understand, but you’re frightening me.” She sat next to him on the sofa and wrapped her hand around his. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did Hazaar tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Why she agreed to the marriage?”

  “She told me that she wasn’t as strong as she had hoped she would be, and that she couldn’t bring shame on you. She wanted you to be proud of her, to love her. So she was going to do what you wanted her to do.”

  He cried. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Charlie couldn’t ignore the piteous sound and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, as her mother passed her a box of tissues.

  “She was always my pride and joy. Always.” He took the tissue she held out for him. “She married him because her stupid brother got us in trouble. If she hadn’t, it would have cost us our lives—mine and Hatim’s. She did it for me. Not to save my pride. But to save my life.”

  “What? How? What trouble could have put you in such danger?”

  “Hatim was involved with drugs. They were going to have us killed. They were prepared to help us with the authorities, to go into business with us, to pay off the debts and the problems Hatim had caused. But they needed assurances from us that we wouldn’t betray them.”

  “And Hazaar was the price they demanded?”

  “Yes.”

  “She never told me.” The sorrow that had been inside her touched the edges of the red sky and consumed it, devoured the energy of the rage and despair and fear, and made it her own. She let it fuel her and erupted.

  “You sold her.”

  “Charlie!” Her mother stood and grabbed hold of Charlie’s arm. “Don’t.”

  Charlie was beyond hearing. “You sold her to fucking drug dealers to save your worthless boy’s arse.” She edged forward, towering over him as he sat in his seat. “You took her dreams, her life, and you sacrificed her for that worthless fucking scumbag.”

  “Charlie, stop.” Her mother wrapped her around about her. “This isn’t helping.”

  “It’s helping me.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She grasped Charlie’s face. “Look at him. Look at him and tell me you don’t think he’s suffering enough.”

  “He sacrificed his own daughter.”

  “Yes. He did, and he knows it. Look at him.”

  Charlie stared at her mother and slowly looked back at him. The man she’d met in Hazaar’s apartment didn’t exist anymore. He was dead, and in his place was this shell of an old man who had given up. Her rage left her as quickly as it had come.

  “I made a mistake. I thought I could control where she would be and the man she was marrying. I thought, ‘He is a young man. He will take my counsel and be good to my daughter.’ That is what I thought. I thought I would still be able to look after her.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “I thought I could control her world for her. So I asked her to give up the most valuable thing to her because I was selfish. I put myself before my daughter and I asked her to give up her heart.” He looked Charlie in the eye. “I asked her to give up her relationship with you.”

  “She would never have made any other decision. Not when she knew your life was at risk. She just couldn’t. But why didn’t she tel
l me?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Perhaps to protect you. To discourage you from trying to change her mind and making it more difficult for her.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that. I’m not a monster, Mr. Alim. I wouldn’t put my own happiness before your life.”

  “Then I don’t know. Perhaps she was scared she wouldn’t be able to leave you.”

  Could that be the case? Could that be the reason? That she was scared? It didn’t matter now. It was done. She was married.

  “What did you mean? When you said you’ve condemned her?”

  “We made an arrangement. Today, this afternoon, she was going to run away from her husband.”

  “What?”

  He nodded and leaned back. “Yes. I arranged a small flat not too far from here, a car at the train station, and money. All arranged.”

  “You were helping her?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t watch the light in her die any longer. As soon as she was ready, I agreed to help her.”

  “Are you no longer in danger, Mr. Alim?”

  “The danger hasn’t changed. But I no longer care, Charlotte.”

  “If it was all arranged, why are you here?”

  “Because the car is still waiting at the train station. The money hasn’t been touched, and the flat is empty.” He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I fear I wasn’t fast enough in my preparations for her. Her home was empty when I went to check on her. Her bag sat on the bed half-packed. I hoped with everything in me that she had been interrupted and come here instead. That she had found a way back to you, Charlotte, to her happiness.”

  “She isn’t here.”

  “I know, child. I know.”

  “Where else could she be?” Charlie’s mother asked the question Charlie couldn’t bring herself to voice. “Any other friends or relatives?”

  He shook his head. “No, Mrs. Porter. Yasar hasn’t been seen all day. It’s this news that made me suspicious.”

  Sarah frowned. “Yasar?”

  “Yasar Siddiqi, Hazaar’s husband. He works with me.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Yes.” He inched his way to the edge of the seat and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Please forgive me. I must go now.”

  “Where are you going?” Charlie gripped his arm. “I’ll help you look for her.”

  He patted her hand and shook his head sadly. “No, child, that is not for us to do now. I’m going to the police station.”

  “Police. But why? I don’t understand.” Charlie watched as her mother and Mr. Alim exchanged glances, certain she was missing something, but her brain just didn’t seem to want to focus, to grasp the threads that were unravelling before her. She didn’t want to look at the picture he was leading her to.

  “I must report Hazaar missing, Charlotte. If I am fast enough and he has not yet left the country, they may be able to stop him if he is trying to take her to Pakistan.”

  “You think he’s kidnapping her?”

  “I would rather think that he is taking her to live in Pakistan, than anything else.”

  “Would you like us to come with you, Mr. Alim?” her mother asked quietly as she tugged Charlie to her and wrapped an arm around her.

  “No, thank you for your kind offer. But this is something I must do alone.”

  Her mother held Charlie tighter to her as he closed the door behind himself.

  “Mum, what did he mean that he’d rather she was living in Pakistan than anything else? What did he mean?”

  Her mother pulled her down onto the sofa. “You know what he meant, Charlie.”

  “No. No, no, no, no, no.” She tried to push her mother away. “No. She is not dead.” She pushed harder. “No. She isn’t.”

  “Charlie, we don’t know.”

  Charlie pushed her away and backed toward the door. “I know.” She placed her hand over her heart. “I know. I can feel her.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.”

  “No, don’t. She isn’t dead. The bastard’s taken her. He’s taken her somewhere, but she’s okay.” Her mother reached out to her, but she slapped her hand away. “I know she is.”

  “Okay. I believe you.” The look on her mother’s face told her that she was humouring Charlie. That she didn’t truly believe her, but it didn’t matter. Charlie believed it.

  She played every decision over and over in her mind as she paced the room. Could she have done anything differently? Could she, should she, have fought to keep Hazaar from marrying him? Would it have been better? Would Hazaar have been able to live with that decision, knowing it would have cost her father his life? What had been the final catalyst for Hazaar? That moment when she decided enough was enough, and that her life away from her husband was more important than saving her father? Would she ever know?

  She was realistic enough to understand that maybe she would never get the answers to all her questions, and that some were better off not answered anyway. But maybe there were one or two answers she could find. If she could find Hazaar. If she could find a way to start looking for her. Mr. Alim said that he’d probably take her to Pakistan, which meant that was where Charlie needed to go.

  She closed her eyes and tried to feel her, to feel Hazaar’s heart beat inside her own. Are you still out there, Hazaar?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Pakistan, today

  Something moved in the cellar and Hazaar opened her eyes in time to see the long tail of a rat as it scurried away under a storage rack. She wondered just how close the disgusting little creature had been to her and trembled as she imagined that tail brushing against her skin, or those little claws scratching at the fabric of her clothes while cruel teeth gnawed at her flesh. She couldn’t feel her left foot anymore, and the burnt sole could have been the rodent’s meal, for all she knew. She hated rats. She had never seen them before coming to Pakistan, and now they seemed to be everywhere. She saw them in the street when she’d looked out from her window, in the house, and it had made her afraid to leave Afia alone for even a minute. She was terrified that she would walk into Afia’s room to find one of the vile creatures nibbling on her beautiful face.

  Oh, my darling Afia, I’m so sorry. She could feel the tears running from the corners of her eyes and into her hair, but she couldn’t wipe them away. Even if she’d had the energy, her fingers were so broken and twisted that she couldn’t have controlled them to wipe the small streams of moisture. Since the day she’d held Afia in her arms, she’d dreamed of teaching her to play the piano, of teaching her to read and write and take passion in learning. She’d dreamed of finding some way to take her away from this family and give her a different life. She swallowed the sour taste of failure and accepted that it had been her pursuit of these dreams that had brought her to this. Her desire for more, for better, was going to destroy her. No, it had destroyed her. There was no hope left. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard it, maybe she’d read it somewhere, but a line haunted her, teased and taunted the edges of her brain. Hope. That is the last refuge of madmen and dreamers. The only hope she had left was for her child, her sweet, innocent little girl. It was the only dream she would allow herself, and it was driving her mad.

  She knew Amira would love Afia, care for her, and teach her how to be a good Muslim woman, but Amira would never teach Afia how to be herself. She would never allow her the freedom to choose her own life, to make her own choices, or even teach her that there was a different way out there. It was repugnant to her and it broke her heart. Afia was the only good thing that had come out of this whole mess.

  The drip from across the room disturbed her. It was her measure of time, her reference point in a world that was black and riddled with pain. She no longer counted seconds or minutes or days. Time existed only from one drop to the next, and inside those moments, she lived and relived a lifetime. Hers and Afia’s and more. There was one image that plagued her more than any other. It filled her mind and pretended it was real. It told her that it could be, had been
, and would always be. Afia’s little hands explored a face Hazaar knew better than her own. Her cherubic little mouth pouted, then smiled when Charlie’s lips curled into a smile that could reignite a dying star. It was her dream, to see Charlie with Afia in her arms. She longed to see them smiling, laughing, loving each other. It was the image that she knew would haunt her as she breathed her last breath, the beautiful picture of her past and her future together. They were the two threads in the tapestry of her life that created the image of her happiness. Slowly, between one drip and the next, they shifted, changed, aged. Afia grew older, lived her life as they watched her grow. She blew out the candles on a birthday cake and put on her school uniform for the first time, a little book bag over her small shoulders, her fingers wrapped around Charlie’s hand while she smiled up at her and giggled. Charlie’s face was a little different from how she remembered it. There were a few lines at the sides of her eyes, a crease on her brow that had only deepened with age, and there was a smattering of grey that was barely visible in those blond curls. And she had never looked lovelier.

  But it was only an illusion, a trick of the light, a misfiring of neurons in her brain. And as the tears fell again from one drop to the next, she knew it was the picture that could never be. They turned their backs on her, those beautiful laughing faces, hands still clasped, their feet striking the concrete to the beat of the falling water.

  “Please don’t go.”

  Just one more smile was all she wanted. One more to remember, when she was all alone again. She choked back her sobs as they faded away.

  “Please don’t leave me alone.”

  But her dream family never even looked back.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Pakistan, today

  Charlie stared at the screen and watched each shape, each person, going about their day. Only the child and Amira had any contact with anyone else, and the spot in the middle of the screen grew darker, smaller, and colder. She watched one shape leave the building and hoped it was Yasar, but in truth it didn’t matter if it was Tazim. As long as Yasar was away from his father, she would use the opportunity to speak to him. She picked up her earpiece and slipped it into place as she waited for it to connect.