by S A Tameez
But killing was no ordinary act. It was like lying — one lie, ultimately leads to another...
9
Daylight brought with it a sharp cold breeze, slicing through the camp like a giant sword. The sky, although fairly clear, had suspicious looking clouds floating, threatening to take over. Early birds had silenced in protest at this change in the weather, and snuggled tightly in their nests. The biting chill often served as an alarm clock for the residents of the camp. Even the lucky ones that had heating in their make-shift houses were unlucky on mornings like these.
The morning silence in the camp, however, was broken by the screams coming from the boys’ orphanage.
“There is a monster in the cupboard… help!” one of the boys yelled as he ran out of the orphanage. A man from a close by house came rushing to investigate the commotion.
As he opened the cupboard that one of the boys was pointing at, he gasped in horror and immediately stepped back, putting his hands over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up.
“Good God!”
The body must have rolled out when one of the boys opened the door. It stunk, mainly of urine. The dead man’s eyes were like dark, sunken circles. Dried blood all around his nose and mouth.
His face turned red and he immediately took out his mobile phone. “Khaleel, you need to get to the orphanage — now!”
“What’s wrong?” Khaleel replied in a croaky voice.
“I think it’s better you see for yourself.” The man said with vomit surfacing to the top of his throat.
Khaleel’s hair had seen better days, and his eyes were puffy from sleep when he got to the orphanage. He nearly brought up the cup of last night’s unfinished coffee that he’d gulped before dashing there.
“What in God’s name…” Khaleel mumbled, “Who is he?”
The other man shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. The boys just found him like this.”
Khaleel removed a tissue from his pocket at put it over his nose and mouth. He crouched down and noticed the tattoo on the man. “He doesn’t look like he is from the camp,” he murmured from behind the tissue.
“Maybe a volunteer?”
Khaleel stood up and took a step back. And then shook his head. “I would have seen him around if he were a volunteer.”
“What do we do?”
“We have to let the guards know...”
“What monster would have done this?” the man asked looking at the bruising around the dead man’s neck.
“I don’t know, but whoever it was needs to be stopped before he does it again.” Khaleel pinched the top of his nose where his eyebrows met. A little trick he learnt, a few years back, that gave him a bit of temporary relief from that dull, morning migraine.
“I will let the guards know what we’ve found,” Khaleel said as he began to walk away, “don’t let anyone near the body! And don’t, under any circumstances, touch it! And send the kids to the football ground. Tell them that they’ll all get a treat later.”
****
They had been driving for nearly two hours and the morning breeze was making Ahmed cough. His throat and whole mouth was dry from having had no fluid. It was impossible to swallow. To pass the time, he’d sat fantasising that the truck would lead him directly to Malik, and that somehow, he would rescue him, and they would disappear to safety. Once Malik was back in his arms, he would never let him go again.
The loud ringing of a mobile phone startled him. He looked at the driver who reached into his pocket, removing an old Nokia phone.
The driver answered with a perfunctory ‘yeah’, and then seemed to be listening intently. Ahmed and the driver met eyes a few times in the rear-view mirror. The man put the phone away without having said anything more.
Ahmed noticed him looking in the mirror again. Who had called him? Why does he keep looking back? The driver began making more turns on the journey than he had in the previous two hours. And it wasn’t long before they were off road and heading into the middle of nowhere. It could be that they were approaching their hidden destination, where they had taken Malik – and God knows how many other kids they had locked up. But Ahmed wasn’t convinced that was the case. The man’s eyes gave a different account of his intentions.
The truck began to slow before coming to a gradual halt. Ahmed looked around, noticing that they were literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by empty land and trees. It was the perfect place to commit a murder… and get away with it.
The driver reached into the car’s glove compartment and removed something, using his body to conceal what it was from Ahmed’s sight. The man opened the door and got out. Ahmed put his foot on the closest object to him, which happened to be a long screwdriver. He used his foot to pull it slowly towards himself. Ahmed could hear the breaking of twigs as the diver strolled calmly towards the back of the truck.
Ahmed could feel his stare and noticed that he was holding something behind his back.
“Get out of the truck,” the man ordered, speaking in Greek. Ahmed had studied Greek and Ancient Greek as well as English and French at university level. He sat frozen, not knowing what to do. He probably wants me out because he doesn’t want my brains splattered in his truck, and to avoid traces of the DNA evidence if there were to ever be an investigation. Who would care about the DNA of a refugee anyway?
“I said, get out of the truck!” the man repeated, more aggressively.
Ahmed stood up, dragging the screwdriver under his foot as he stepped forward. As he crouched to climb out of the truck, he discreetly picked the screwdriver up and slid it up his sleeve.
They stood facing each other, the man’s eyes were piercing.
“Take the scarf off your face.”
Ahmed knew that the second he took the scarf off the man would execute him. Ahmed was sure that the phone call had something to do with the body of his comrade. It must have been discovered by now, he thought.
“Take the scarf off,” the man ordered, “or I will shoot you in the face!” He held out a small black hand gun that he had been concealing behind his back.
It wasn’t the fear of the man brutally executing him and being left out here to rot, it was the thought of leaving Malik in the hands of these animals that made him determined to stay alive.
Ahmed began untying the scarf from behind his head, careful not to let the screwdriver slip out of his sleeve. He unravelled the scarf and the man growled when he saw Ahmed’s face.
Ahmed was certain that he would pull the trigger and pump the entire round of bullets into him. He had to think quickly. Either he closed his eyes and accepted fate, abandoning Malik to whatever horrors lay before him… or he did something — anything.
Telling himself it was now or never, Ahmed threw the scarf in the man’s face and lunged at him, stabbing the screwdriver viciously into his neck. The man fell to the ground. Ahmed grabbed the gun that had fallen out of the man’s hand. The kidnapper was screaming on the ground, the screwdriver wedged into his neck. Ahmed’s hands trembled as he held the gun, pointing it at his assailant.
“Where is my son?” Ahmed yelled.
The man grabbed the handle of the screwdriver and yanked it, screaming as he pulled it out. A large stream of blood poured of the hole left in his neck. He got his feet and stumbled towards Ahmed.
“I don’t want to hurt you!” Ahmed said, with both his hands on the gun. The man didn’t stop, he kept walking towards him. Ahmed started moving back.
“I mean it!” His voice was shaky. “I will shoot you!” The man still didn’t stop. Ahmed’s back was now against the truck. There was nowhere to go. This was the first time he ever held a gun and he didn’t like it. It felt like holding someone’s life I your hand, a responsibility he didn’t want. He had just killed someone and now he was going to have to do it again. Just stop you idiot! Just stop! But the guy wasn’t going to, he was obviously more willing to die than to stop. Ahmed hated the thought of killing again, but he had no choice.
/> “Forgive me...” he muttered and then pulled the trigger... nothing, not the loud gunfire sound or the pressure of the gun firing. The man slapped the gun out of his hand and clasped Ahmed’s neck, choking him as hard as he could.
“You have to take the safety off first...” the man growled. As well as suffocating, Ahmed felt as if his spine was about to snap as he was forced to arch backwards over the truck. He could see the trickle of blood seeping out of the man’s neck as he squeezed harder around his own.
Ahmed’s head became light and everything was getting darker. This was probably how the man that he strangled to death earlier felt. This was an eye for an eye moment. But before Ahmed completely passed out, he felt his fingers touch something in the back of the truck. It was the hammer. He used his finger tips to pull it closer and managed to clench the handle tightly. He used all his might to swing the hammer, striking the man directly on his temple. Ahmed heard a loud crack and felt a spray of warm blood spatter on his face. The man’s grip immediately released and he fell to the ground.
Ahmed gasped for air. His eyes were burning. He felt so dizzy he could hardly stand. He couldn’t believe what had just happened; everything was taking place so fast and out of his control. What have I done? His lips began to quiver. I am not a killer... my God... what have I done! Before he could fully get his breath back he felt his leg being grabbed and he fell to the ground. The man resembled a zombie, and was unbelievably still alive. He tried to climb on to Ahmed, who was still clenching the hammer. Without thinking and completely by instinct, he struck the man again, sending him back to the ground. Ahmed jumped on him, his eyes filled with a combination of fear and rage. He swung the hammer again, this time sending his eye socket deep into the back of his head. Blood gushed out of his wounds like a fountain. Ahmed struck again, flattening his nose, breaking all his front teeth, and then again, separating his jaw from the rest of his face.
Ahmed screamed and threw the hammer. The man lay motionless, his blood congealing into a pool.
Ahmed could hardly breathe. His face and clothes were covered in the man’s blood. He sat, unable to move, revolted by his own actions. His immediate reaction would normally be to pray, pray for forgiveness, but how could he after what he’d just done? He had hit the man, over, and over again. He had lost control. He was becoming something else entirely. He struggled to his feet and saw his reflection in the side mirror of the truck. He didn’t recognise the man staring back at him, nor could he stand the sight of him.
“You monster!” he screamed and punched the mirror as hard as he could, smashing it off the side of the truck, cutting his knuckles in the process. He fell to the ground, lying on his stomach. He closed his eyes, wanting to shut out the world, and drifted off to sleep. The faces of the two men that he had killed haunted him in his slumber.
Faint drizzle woke him. His eyes felt like rusty shutters and fought to open. His mouth was wedged shut. He rubbed his face with his fingers. The dried blood was like paint on hardened paper. His bones crackled as he tried to get to his feet. The unrecognisable body lying next to him and the raindrops hitting the red puddle on the ground, confirmed that this wasn’t the nightmare he’d hoped it would be.
He sat, feeling like a broken man. His mind drifted off to think about all he had suffered in the last year: the bombs falling in Aleppo, barely escaping being killed every day, dreading coming home, in case his family had been mercilessly killed. All this was enough to send a man over the edge. Not being able to save his wife from a minor cut, losing his son, and now killing those two men had almost finished him off.
Regardless of how much he hated himself, the fact that Malik was still out there somewhere, relying on his father to come and find him, meant that he had to lock away those feelings. At least until Malik was safe. He couldn’t stop, for stopping would mean that he would get the opportunity to reflect on what he had just done. And that would certainly kill him.
How would I find Malik now? I have killed the only two leads that I had… Think...Think!
He forced himself to put his hands in the man’s pockets, removing a mobile phone, a brown leather wallet, and a bunch of keys.
It was wrong to just leave the man there – to rot – but Ahmed tried not to think about it. He had to find Malik. He got into the truck, the key was on the bunch that Ahmed got from the man’s pocket. The tyres spun as he roared off. After a few seconds, the wheels skidded as he hit the brakes, he reversed aggressively, then stopped. He got out and grabbed the man’s gun, carefully examining it to find the location of the safety.
He didn’t know what direction to go, but just knew that he had to get away from the body. What he really wanted to get away from was his conscience. He wanted to rip the rear-view mirror off when he caught glimpse of his reflection, his face still covered in the man’s blood.
He had been driving for about half an hour before the car began to jerk.
“Oh no! No!” he cried, banging the steering wheel with clenched hands, as the car came to a halt. He looked at the fuel gauge noticing it was empty. “Damn it!”
Fate was on his side, though, and he could see lights in the distance. That must be a town up ahead. He looked around in the car, glad that there was a bit of daylight still left. He saw a full 1.5 litre water bottle on the floor of the passenger side seat. He had no desire to drink it even though his throat was so dry that he was unable to swallow. Instead, he got out of the truck and poured it over his hands and face. He scrubbed as hard as he could, desperately trying to get the blood off.
He got back into the truck and rummaged through the large glove compartment, removing an A5 sized black book. It looked like an address book. Further in the compartment was a bag containing three large wads of perfectly crisp bank notes. Well over 50,000 Euros all together.
Ahmed grabbed the book and the gun and put it in the bag with money. He noticed a dark-green coat on the passenger side seat. He grabbed it and put it on before heading towards the town on foot.
It was a strange feeling walking into a populated area filled with people who were not in a state of fear and panic. Buildings stood up straight and not a bullet hole in sight. And although dusk was creeping in, there were children out playing, couples walking hand in hand and families sitting in restaurants and coffee shops, blissfully. Ahmed got a few odd stares as he walked on the pavement, observing the peaceful state. He noticed his reflection in the glass of a shop and realised that he looked like hell. And if he wanted to succeed in finding Malik, he couldn’t risk being noticed. He needed to clean up and get a change of clothes. He could see signs for a hotel further down the road. He kept his head down and walked as fast as his blistered feet would permit him to.
Inside, the reception area was huge and well lit. It had an enormous chandelier dangling elegantly from the beautifully patterned ceiling. The room smelt of expensive, ladies perfume and he felt like he was going to sink into the thick luxury carpet that he was standing on. The reception had a large seating area that was occupied by several huge leather sofas, the kind that you could get lost in.
He was immediately greeted with a look of shock by the man behind the desk. A tall thin man in a perfectly pressed three-piece-suit.
“Can I help you?” the man said in clear English. His eyes scrolling up and down in disgust.
“I need a room... one with a shower, preferably.”
He paused for a moment as if he was taken aback with Ahmed’s clearly spoken English. “I think you’ll find all our rooms have wash rooms,” he said smugly, and then whispered under his breath, “thank God.”
Ahmed stepped closer, “Well... can I have one?”
“Sir... as much as I would completely agree that you need a room with a shower, our rooms are three-hundred Euros a night.”
Ahmed removed a thousand Euros from the bag and put it on the desk. The man’s eyes grew.
“I only need the room for a few hours...” Ahmed looked at the name tag on the receptionist’s shirt, “
and forget about the paper work, Henry.”
The man nodded his head. “Of course.” He picked up the money, checking it. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Actually… yes, there is...” Ahmed removed another thousand Euros, “I need a change of clothes.”
“As you wish sir, I will have a tailor sent up to you and if I may, can I recommend a... a hair dresser as well,” he suggested as he handed Ahmed the key to room 101. Ahmed nodded and took it.
“Do you need a hand with your bag?” The man’s eyes reminded him of the Gollum from Lord of the Rings, as he stared at the bag. Ahmed, although he’d never watched the movie, couldn’t get the elaborate posters and adverts of the film out of his head.
Ahmed smiled, “I think I can manage, thank you.”
The room was spacious and plush. The bed looked far larger than a king size. You could easily fit three people in it. The headboard was brown leather and the covers looked as though they were silk, not that Ahmed had any intentions of sleeping. There was marble on the floor and walls, and velvet curtains draped over the windows. The television screen was so large that Ahmed joked to himself that he would probably have to stand outside to watch it. It felt disgusting — coming from a place where people were fighting over scraps to this. The stupidly oversized television screen, mounted on the wall, was probably worth a month’s supply of food for people in Aleppo.
Ahmed took the bag with him into the luxurious bathroom. His eyes widened at the sight of gleaming white tiles and when the automatic lights turned on, he had to cover his face. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. There was a haunting smell of rose-like perfume.
