I Am Thunder

by Muhammad Khan

  Jameel came to the door, greeting me with the ghost of a smile. ‘Your husband is taking a shower. But feel free to wait up in his room.’

  I took two steps towards the stairs, before he spoke again, making my skin crawl.

  ‘Just before you go,’ he said in a sibilant voice, ‘may I ask you a few questions? We so seldom chat.’

  And with that he steered me into the front room. I prayed he’d make a fatal slip and give the cops exactly what they needed to bang him up.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Whatever makes you happy.’

  ‘The only thing that makes me happy is earning the Pleasure of Allah, and safeguarding the welfare of true Muslims.’

  He knows, I thought, before clamping down on my paranoia.

  ‘And you, sister-in-law?’ he said, sliding comfortably into the beige chair facing the window. ‘What makes you happy?’

  Jameel had changed my husband into a hardened jihadi. Taken his mind to a place where I could no longer reach him. Happiness was dead.

  ‘Same,’ I heard myself say. ‘I want to be a good Muslima and do what’s right.’

  ‘Indeed?’ he said, the hem of his thobe sliding up a stick-thin shin as he crossed his legs. ‘And would you kill the enemy for the sake of Allah?’

  I couldn’t meet his penetrating gaze. Right then I hated him more than anyone in the entire history of the world. But killing him would never cross my mind. Life and Death weren’t things for us to decide.

  ‘You answer my question with your silence,’ he said. ‘It is disappointing. Have you forgotten the tale of Ibrahim and his beloved son Ismail? When Allah commanded Ibrahim to sacrifice his own flesh and blood, he obeyed. Truly in him was an example for us all.’

  Classic Jameel. Take a story from the Qur’an and twist it to meet your own ends. Could he also quote me the passage where Allah told him to pose as hot teenage boys on social media and groom lonely school girls for jihad? Or where He commanded the death of hundreds and thousands of innocent visitors to the Shard?

  ‘Do you know what the prescribed punishment is for a traitor?’ he asked, eyebrows raised like guillotine blades.

  Now I was panicking. He knew I had his memory stick and he wasn’t happy. ‘I don’t . . . I’m not sure . . .’ I mumbled.

  ‘Death,’ he said, squeezing the edges of the foam-padded armrests as if crushing sinners’ skulls. ‘It disrupts the harmony of the ummah and must be stamped out.’

  I tried not to look guilty. No mean feat when the scumbag was being so damn spooky. Why wasn’t DI Clarins breaking down the door and making an arrest? Hadn’t he made enough threats? What if the mic had stopped working . . .

  ‘Muz?’ Arif called from the top of the stairs.

  ‘Ah! Better not keep your husband waiting,’ Jameel said, rising to his feet. ‘I’m making chocolate cake. I’ll bring you up a slice in about twenty minutes.’

  I blinked. Jameel went from passively threatening to host-with-the-most, switching up so quick, I was left wondering if he wasn’t an escaped mental patient. Could that be all terrorism was: an extreme mental illness?

  ‘You bake?’ I asked aloud.

  ‘A Muslim must arm himself with a multitude of talents in order to survive.’

  Excusing himself, he headed towards the kitchen.

  I fled up the stairs. Arif drew me into a warm embrace, kissing me tenderly. He wore jersey shorts and a denim blue T-shirt. His skin was cool to the touch and smelt of sea minerals and bergamot.

  Me and Arif sat side by side, leaning back against his bed. I removed my hijab, then stroked the soft blue pile of his noodle rug. Outside, storm clouds were gathering, blotting out the rising sun.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said, his throat making a dry clicking sound.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, patting his muscular thigh. ‘My parents couldn’t hate me any more than they already do.’

  He craned his neck. Only now did I notice the purple shadows nesting beneath his large, mournful eyes. ‘You deserve someone better than me.’

  The sarcastic comment I dreamed up died in my throat. ‘What have you done?’ I whispered, suddenly afraid.

  ‘Jameel said this is my final test. You and me get to be together forever as a reward. It’s what we want, right?’ His face was taut, jaw muscles like corrugated steel.

  ‘You’re scaring me,’ I said, taking his hand.

  He glanced down at our entwined fingers like the sight of it confused him. Then his eyes found mine.

  ‘Run,’ he said, nostrils flaring. ‘Get out of here and pretend you never met me.’

  ‘I-I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘Ten minutes from now, Jameel’s gonna come through that door offering you a drink. It’ll be spiked. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in Syria. We both will. They’ll train us in combat; teach us how to protect our new homeland. It’ll be our new life together—’ His voice broke, his hands shaking.

  A million thoughts crashed through my mind like the mother of all storms.

  A tear rolled down his cheek. ‘Go!’ he repeated, pushing me away from him.

  ‘Come with me!’ I said, holding my hand out to him.

  He shook his head, turning his face away. ‘I don’t get a choice, me. But you should. You were right. All along you kept telling me about Jameel, and I wouldn’t believe you. But the stuff you said back at the Shard got me thinking. I hacked into Jameel’s cloud drive . . .’ He sucked in his lips, like he was trying not to cry.

  ‘Arif? What did you see?’ I pressed.

  ‘Messed-up shit.’

  It was all I could get out of him.

  ‘If you don’t agree with what Jameel’s doing, then you’re not one of them. You deserve a second chance.’

  ‘You don’t know me!’

  ‘Better than I know myself,’ I promised.

  He looked at me, pained. ‘Not the real me, you don’t. I’m weak, yeah? And a liar. I’ve done terrible things. I’m messed up in here,’ he said, jabbing his temple.

  I pulled his hand away from his beautiful face. ‘I love you. Whatever that man made you do is on him.’

  ‘You reckon? Time I did the right thing for once and told you the truth. I’ve had girlfriends before. Told you that, yeah? What I never said was . . . they became my wives.’

  The rug was pulled from under my feet.

  His cheeks pinked as he dropped his eyes. ‘See, Jameel said Allah made me good looking so I could bring girls into His service. Said I was channelling their base desires into something pure.’

  ‘Wait – what?’ I yammered, my ears popping like the room had been depressurized.

  ‘Jameel’d lay down the groundwork for the girl, with his videos and lectures and that. Then we’d get married. Only I’d disappear. Jameel’d tell my wife I’d gone off to fight jihad in Syria. So she’d wanna go too, innit? But on arrival, she’d be told I’d been martyred. That’d leave her open to marry some other brother fighting for Islamic State. Keep the population growing . . .’ His head sank between his knees. ‘Meanwhile, Jameel’d shift me to another school. Rinse and repeat.’

  I struggled to breathe. ‘Is that why . . . ? Was I just . . . ?’

  ‘No, never! Swear down, I married you for reals, Muz,’ he said, clutching my rigid hands tightly. ‘You’re special.’

  ‘Not what you thought at first though, is it?’ A tear tugged at my lashes.

  His silence was deafening.

  Finally, he shook his head, confirming my worst fears.

  ‘Jameel always told me to go for the quiet ones. Girls who got bullied or ignored. Said they had the most potential to become the best fighters. But something that wasn’t supposed to happen happened. I fell in love with you. You’re amazing, Muz! And it’s like you don’t even know it. You got passion like no one I’ve ever seen.’ He wiped his hands over his face, gasping.

  ‘All this time, yeah?’ he said. ‘I been fighting Jameel over sending you to Syria. He got proper mad. “What m
akes her different from the others?” he said. I told him I love you. So now he’s decided my work here is done and that both of us can go together.’

  ‘Are you hearing yourself?’ I asked. ‘Stop being a victim! Jameel isn’t Allah, no matter how much he wants us to believe that. Help me bring him in to the police so this madness can stop. You know he’s a criminal.’

  He nodded. ‘But if he’s bad, yeah, then what am I? I gave Aqil the flash drive at the Shard.’ He looked at me with the saddest eyes. ‘Not gonna lie – I knew it were something bad. You knew too, didn’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s why I tried to reach out to you. But I couldn’t.’ The tears that had been building up finally rolled down my cheeks.

  ‘They’re planning something b-big,’ he stammered, turning haunted eyes on me. ‘Took me an hour to decrypt one of Jameel’s messages. There’s going to be a massacre.’

  I swallowed. ‘But you know he’s wrong?’ I prodded, desperate for his response to be the right one. God, I hoped DI Clarins was still listening. ‘Arif?’

  ‘I don’t know nothing!’ he growled, shrugging me off. ‘I’m messed up, OK? I friggin’ hate myself!’ He made a fist and punched himself in the face. Blood exploded from his nose, streaking his lips and beard. His eyes fluttered wide, as if he hadn’t been expecting the pain. Then he grimaced, balling his fists for a second round.

  ‘No!’ I shouted, pouncing on his fists and hugging them to my chest.

  ‘I’m dirty. I used my own body to trick girls.’ He broke down into racking sobs that echoed in my gut. ‘I deserve to die.’

  I wanted to stroke his neck, tell him I forgave him, and that everything would be all right. But I couldn’t. Arif had used me.

  It was my fault. I should’ve known we could never be a thing. Not in the real world. He was the sun, lighting up the whole universe with his golden glow. But what was I? Nothing but space junk, knocking around uselessly. God, I’d been so basic, imagining we’d connected on some spiritual level. And literally everyone had been warning me that boys like Arif didn’t fall in love with girls like me.

  ‘Muz?’ he said, cutting through my dark thoughts.

  I gave him nothing.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Do you still love me?’

  My jaw was clamped so tightly shut, my teeth might’ve shattered. I was humiliated. Sarabi, Malachy and Mr Dunthorpe, even Salma, had all tried to show me the writing on the wall, but I’d shut them out.

  ‘I have spread my dreams under your feet,’ Arif recited, his voice quivering. ‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.’

  He spoke the only words in the entire universe that could get through to me. I cut my eyes to him in shock. He did know me, better than anyone.

  ‘Yeats.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘I laid my sins beneath your feet, Muz. Wallahi, you are the only girl I have ever loved.’

  I glanced at the clock, then back at him. ‘I don’t know if I can forgive you. But if you don’t come to the police with me right now, we’ll never find out.’

  His nostrils flared like wind tunnels. Then, slowly, he nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  Finally, finally I had got through to him. I praised Allah.

  ‘So, you’ve told her,’ said Jameel, standing in the doorway like the Angel of Death. In one hand, he held a plate with a slice of cake on it; in the other, a glass of coke.

  Arif cowered away, covering his face with his hands. What the hell was wrong with him? He was twice the size of his evil brother.

  ‘I know everything,’ I confirmed. ‘And so does Allah. Now get out of our way before He strikes you down.’

  ‘Arif, it is as I feared. Break her neck, please,’ Jameel spoke with a casualness that sent chills running down my spine.

  ‘No,’ Arif said. ‘I love her!’

  ‘No you don’t,’ Jameel stated. ‘This she-devil is your final test. Believe me, Arif, fail in your task now, and Allah will visit upon you a punishment worse than any suffered by those before you. I would be powerless to help you.’ The false sincerity in his face was sickening. ‘Kill her, my brother, and spare yourself.’

  There was a distant rumble in the heavens, then rain started to fall on the windows. They could’ve been tears.

  Arif’s face scrunched up. He clutched handfuls of his hair as he backed away, sobbing pitifully. I was gobsmacked by the power Jameel held over him. Gone was the brotherly banter, replaced by a real hypnotic fear. It awakened a powerful anger in my heart.

  ‘Shut your dirty mouth!’ I roared. ‘Arif doesn’t need you telling him what to do. He’s twice the man you’ll ever be.’

  Jameel’s eyes widened in surprise, as if nobody had dared challenge him before. ‘So the mouse becomes a shrew. No matter. Allah’s angels will rip out your sinful tongue with red hot pliers.’

  Lightning flashed across the sky, bleaching the room white.

  ‘You don’t scare me, Jameel,’ I said. ‘You might think you have God on speed-dial, but newsflash: you don’t.’

  He was about to speak, but I beat him to it.

  ‘You radicalize children in the name of Allah, and He will never accept it. You plan to kill hundreds and thousands of people. But it was God who gave them life.’ I shook my head in disgust. ‘And what sort of a sick, twisted man makes his own brother into a sex object to trap girls?’

  ‘Who are you to speak to me in this way?’ he demanded, spittle flying from contorted lips.

  ‘I am Muzna Saleem,’ I said, lifting my chin. ‘I am the cloud that brings the rain.’

  As if on cue, there was a clap of thunder, and naked terror flickered across Jameel’s face. Then fixing his eyes on Arif he spat: ‘You stand with this disbeliever, even though she will deliver you into the hands of the kuffar police?’

  Arif swallowed. Then taking my hand, he nodded. ‘Till death do us part.’

  Jets of air blasted out of Jameel’s nose. It was the first time I had ever seen him laugh. ‘Do you realize what will happen to a pretty boy like you in prison? What our uncle did to you will pale in comparison.’

  Arif’s mouth fell open. The air became ionized as the room seemed to shrink. ‘You knew?’

  Jameel licked his lips, realizing his terrible slip. I looked from one to the other. Arif had told me his uncle was ‘violent’. Now the awful penny dropped, and I realized the violence had been sexual.

  ‘You knew what Uncle was doing to me,’ Arif repeated, advancing on him, ‘and you still left me with him? I was only eight fricking years old!’

  ‘It was your destiny,’ Jameel countered, without a smidge of remorse. ‘On no soul does Allah place a burden greater than it can bear.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Arif said, looking like his mind was about to snap. ‘You’re demented!’

  ‘It’s over,’ I told Jameel, pulling my phone out with numb fingers. ‘Now you finally get what’s yours.’

  It happened too fast. Jameel flung both glass and plate at my head with enough force to break bones. I braced myself, too shocked to even raise my hands in protection.

  Arif punched both out of the air. Fragments of china and glass scattered like pearls as his knuckles began to bleed. Only then did we see the ruse for what it was. A snick came from the door as a key was turned in the lock. Jameel had us trapped.

  ‘Let us out!’ I roared, twisting the handle and beating the door. ‘You can’t keep us in here forever!’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Arif said grimly. ‘He’s gonna torch the place.’

  ‘He wouldn’t!’ I said, whipping round. ‘Not his own brother.’

  ‘I’m dead to him.’ He bowed his head in shame. ‘Only family he needs are people who think like him.’

  There was a loud commotion from downstairs as if things were being thrown about. Arif flew into action, forcing the window. But no matter how hard he pushed, it wouldn’t open more than a crack. I grabbed my phone and tried calling DI Clarins as Arif hunted under his bed. But there was no reception.

  That�
��s when the smoke first hit me. Although I’d known Jameel was a terrorist for a while now, faced with being burned alive for not bowing down to his crazy cult was next-level scary.

  A moment later, I heard a roaring from outside the bedroom door. It grew in intensity, joined by the crackle and pop of wood being devoured by fire.

  Arif emerged from beneath the bed brandishing a cricket bat. As he tested its weight, I saw the green-and-white decal of the Pakistan flag emblazoned on its side.

  ‘Cover your eyes!’ Resting the bat on his shoulder, he pelted towards the window. At the last moment, he swung the bat in a wide arc, unleashing fury on the pane. A spider web of cracks raced across the glass. The second blow turned the window into a hailstorm of shards.

  Outside on the street, the hidden police cars glowed to life like Christmas lights as their sirens wailed. There was shouting followed by gunshots. Then a scorching wave of heat struck me from behind, nearly flattening me. I spun round to see little black pits sink into the carpet, which erupted into flame.

  ‘We’ve got to jump!’ Arif cried, getting a leg up on the windowsill.

  ‘We’ll never make it!’ I protested, as the wind whipped my hair into my face.

  ‘Yeah, we will.’ He pointed at his mattress. ‘Wrap it around us like padding.’

  A man’s voice boomed from outside the bedroom door. ‘Step back!’ it commanded. ‘I’m going to break down the door.’

  A thud came from the other side, rattling the door in its frame. The urgent sound of more sirens blared through the broken window. God, I hoped DI Clarins had called the fire brigade.

  Just then, with the sound of a gigantic cork being pulled from a bottle, the door popped out of its frame and a sooty man came stumbling in. The contrast of his bright blue eyes against his blackened skin scared me. It was Officer Redman.

  ‘Grab some blankets, cover your heads, and follow me!’ he barked, taking in the flaming carpet.

  Outside on the landing, everything glowed orange beneath a shimmering, oily haze.

  ‘Nah, man,’ Arif said, gripping my hand. ‘Taking our chances through the window, thanks.’