She had no idea how much time had passed. She awoke in pitch black darkness, her hands firmly tied behind her back.
Greece knew well how much time had passed as the clock came to a full line of zeros. Time was up, demands weren’t met, and the next victim was up.
‘My dear pensioners, do not give up hope. The fight has just started. And every fight, every war, has its fatalities. We have been punished enough. Now, we earn our revenge and receive what is rightfully ours. Two will die next. Jocasta, the public parasite, and Eugene, the producer of lies, will be executed next. Mister prime minister, we mean business. Their blood is on your filthy hands. Watch as they die and know... you have three hours to announce a series of relief acts with immediate effect. No more promises. No more lies. Greece wants to hear what you have to offer without needing foreign approval. Last time I checked, we were still a free country. The land that gave birth to democracy cannot be a colony, mister unworthy prime minister. Announce what can be done, here and now. Enjoy the show.’
A green light spread throughout the room and Greece viewed Jocasta as she struggled to wake, having inhaled too much sleeping gas. Her eyes opened and closed a few times before being able to focus. As her vision cleared, she let out an echoing scream.
Eugene stood before her, just feet away. He was naked, still knocked-out and was tied to a wooden pole. A metal device had been placed around his head. Four long fishing lines were sewed into his lips and were connected to the strange helmet. Jocasta could not believe the mutilated, bloody lips were the same that were kissing her just hours ago. Just then, it occurred to her to look down at her own body. She was also naked, standing in an empty, tall glass pool.
Her scream must have woken Eugene up as he also seemed to be struggling to regain consciousness. Soon both locked eyes, yet remained silent. Jocasta shivered as she felt water at her feet. Since a child, she had feared the sea, the idea of drowning taunting most of her nightmares. A fear that she carried with her to adult life. Her pupils moved around, noticing that the glass cylinder’s height only came to just above her breasts. Water was on the rise, and her breathing became heavier and turned into panting.
‘You know, last night...’ Eugene began to say.
‘Don’t... no need...’
‘I just want you to know that you aren’t a bad person. We are human and have our weaknesses and...’ he said and turned towards the camera in the corner, ‘this sick fuck,’ he screamed, ‘is a vicious bastard satisfying his perverted fantasies and shame on everyone who has been voting. Jocasta is a beautiful person, inside and out, and you lot just sit there. Sit there and watch her die, you sick cunts!’
Eugene was not known to swear. Everyone who knew him, watching on through their TV screens, could tell that he was petrified. And his worse phobia was yet to make an appearance.
‘So, I skipped a few days off work, so what? Do I deserve to die? Please, please stop this madness,’ Jocasta pleaded for her life as the water ceased flowing, her glass prison filled to the top. ‘Your scapegoat for all the wrong doings of the public sector? They are over half a million public workers, come on! You believe you’re punishing them by killing me? Let me go, please. I am not a criminal. I promise as soon as I leave this island, I will quit. I swear, I will. Please, please...’
As tears escaped her sore, reddish, drugged eyes, panic spread through government agencies and the metropolitan police.
‘She said island!’ one yelled from behind his computer.
‘The place looks like a hotel, and that’s where they thought they were heading. Get local police to check every hotel on an island that is listed as abandoned, under reconstruction or is closed for the winter period,’ I said as I stood beside Captain Tito, in charge of the command center. I lowered my voice and looked him in the eyes. ‘Sorry, Tito. Did not mean to step on your turf. It’s just that Alexandro and Valentina...’
‘No need for excuses,’ his rough voice replied. ‘Good idea, by the way. Though there are hundreds of hotels closed for the winter.’
Eugene’s voice was heard and brought silence to the command room. We all turned our attention back to our screens.
‘Stop begging him, Jocasta. He does not care about the people or Greece. He just wanted an excuse to torture and execute innocent people. I never raped anyone...’
‘Lies!’ the voice yelled, and a chilling, cold laughter followed. ‘Greece has spoken. May you burn in eternal pain.’
Giant, slimy leeches started to come through the water pipe and into the pool holding Jocasta.
‘Suck off the government? Tax payer’s hard-earn cash? Let’s see how you deal with your own kind, you leech!’
Jocasta screamed as the first leeches attached themselves to her feet. Crimson clouds of blood swam in the clear waters, causing the leeches to go into a frenzy. Dozens kept on coming out of the pipe.
Jocasta shrieked and shook all over. Eugene closed his eyes and lowered his head. He felt his empty stomach retaliating at the sight. Soon, he spat out yellowy, viscid saliva. There was nothing to throw up.
Multiple red circles appeared all over Jocasta’s body as the deadly leeches used their sharp, tiny teeth to attach themselves to their host. Their heads disappeared under her skin while their snakish tails wiggled in the red waters. Soon, her body was fully covered with the minacious, vicious beasts. More daring leeches began to leap out of the water and attack her throat. One even made it as high as her cheek. Jocasta bit down on her lip hard and lines of blood formed in front of her teeth. She felt weak and dizzy. She closed her eyes. They never reopened again. She tried to think of happy thoughts and sought to reason with her inner inhibition as to whether she led the life she wanted. Her mind, though, went numb, unable to function under the torment. She drifted away and left her last breath, her mind thinking one last thought of regret. She never did become a mother.
‘Next!’
Eugene braced himself and swallowed the lump gathering in his throat. ‘Mama, I love you. You raised a good lad. Everything I am, is because of you,’ he said, and a single tear ran down his icy cheek, dying upon his trembling lips.
His mother, who had been crying hysterically before the TV, refusing to leave the room as relatives tried to persuade her, silenced. ‘My dear boy,’ she whispered and touched the screen. The boy she held so many nights in her arms, the boy that would only sleep when she caressed his hair, her only child was about to be killed, and she was unable to do anything about it. She stroked the TV, imagining her old fingers running through his hair and then, she let out a wild scream, chilling all in the room. She stood up, straightened her flowery dress and ran for the apartment window. Relatives gasped as her sister jumped and knocked her to the ground, just feet away from the open window of the sixth floor.
A mechanical sound screeched, and Eugene cried out in pain. The hooks in his lips pulled his mouth wide open.
‘We ate your words for years, mister. Your lies. Enjoy your last meal.’
A shower of bugs fell upon him. Hundreds of cockroaches, poisonous scorpions, red ants and various spiders covered his naked body. Eugene’s arachnophobia kicked in as he felt multiple, pencil-thin legs tapping his naked body. He violently rocked back and forth, but his ties did not allow for much movement. Not enough to shake off his invaders. His eyes –in pure shock- shot from side to side as he felt insects moving upon his face. Instinctively, his brain gave the order to his mouth to close. His lips only moved a quarter of a centimeter and the wire began to rip through his skin. He yelled out in pain. A strange sound. A scream born in the throat. Produced without lips to make it sound human. A cockroach approached with caution and wandered on his bloody lips. A tiny fire ant also came close and was the first to enter his mouth.
Most viewers turned away in disgust. Over the years, Hollywood has brought our deepest, darkest nightmares to the big screen. Aliens, sharks, serial killers, ghosts, spiders. All there in our faces, yet fake. In the back of our mind, safety lingered, making us lau
gh off the jumps offered by the movie. Now, it was live. Raw and real in front of us. Not many could take it. Not many watched the entire twenty minutes of Eugene’s ordeal. No single creature had enough poison to kill him. Yet, the combination of venom from four Indian scorpions, two black widows and hundreds of fire ants caused a chain reaction in his organs.
The longest of Hotel Murder’s executions, the notorious heart rate line came to our screens as a relief. It flat-lined and signalled Eugene’s tragic and gruesome passing.
Chapter 24
There is a certain charm about old Athenian neighborhoods. One could even go as far as saying they had a magical aura surrounding them. Tucked away in corners in the manic metropolis lay quiet streets with aging, yet well-maintained houses; their rich front lawns revealing that hard-working, senior Greek ladies resided there. Grandmas, most dressed in black, taking care of their gardens, painting their fences, picking fruit from trees and cooking delicious Greek food, using secrets carried through the centuries. Living history. Their manners, their way of thinking, their stories.
Mrs. Minoa was one such proud sixty-plus-year-old, living in one of Athens very first ‘built-up’ neighborhoods, living in the house her grandpa built after the war of 1922.
A widow, she dedicated most of her time to pampering her single son who still lived at home. Mrs. Minoa had her silver hair tied up in a clumsy bun and was busy washing the dishes by hand as she sang along to Haris Alexiou. Little did she notice the men in black exiting the vans opposite her house. More officers had entered her back garden and crept among the hand-painted gnomes. Soon, her home was surrounded.
Mrs. Voula Minoa placed the wet plate on the kitchen counter and wiped her hands on her new apron as she heard the stiff, loud knocking coming from her front door.
‘Helen’s early today,’ she mumbled, her eyebrows signalling her annoyance. ‘First chores, then coffee,’ she continued as she thought of her gossip-loving friend, who she presumed was at her door.
‘Coming,’ she said much louder, knowing full well that stubborn Helen refused to wear her hearing aid. ‘Ruins her look, she said,’ Mrs. Minoa whispered and chuckled.
She grabbed the handle and pulled back the front door. ‘Finished already, Helen?’ she began to ask, before letting out a rough scream. The swat team was ready to break down her wooden door, and gun-wielding men rushed into her home, pushing her back upon the wall.
‘Stay still, ma’am,’ she was ordered by the tallest lady she had ever seen. ‘Who else is in the house?’ the woman continued as the police scattered around her home.
Mrs. Minoa could not utter a word. Her eyes opened wide and she trembled all over.
‘Where is your son, Mrs. Minoa?’ the officer asked louder.
Mrs. Minoa exhaled deeply and placed her hand upon her beating heart. ‘My Lord, thank God I haven’t mopped yet,’ she finally spoke, her eyes watching the task force search around, shouting ‘clear’ to each other. ‘My son is away on holiday for the week. What is all this commotion about?’
The task force officers stopped and lifted their dark helmet shades. None spoke to her. The tallest of them walked to the corner of the cozy-looking living room and spoke into his helmet’s microphone. ‘Sir? This is Swat11. The house and surroundings are clear. Aristoteli Minoa is not here, sir. Just his mother.’
‘Goddamit,’ Captain Savva’s voice replied. ‘I thought our sources confirmed him to be home.’
Captain Savva sat in the safety of a well-covered mini van, parked further down the street. He grabbed his ear set and pulled it over his blond hair, dropping the piece on the ground. ‘Shit,’ he whispered from behind closed teeth and stepped out of the black van, into the shade provided by the majestic oak trees that ran along the road. ‘Pull the men out,’ he ordered his silent partner by the van’s monitor and began to stomp up to the house.
Captain Savva nodded back to swat officers exiting the premises as he covered the distance from the yellow-painted gate to the freshly-polished, wooden front door.
He knocked. Out of politeness, out of habit. He did not even know. Yet, he knocked and without waiting for a reply, he entered the house. Mrs. Minoa sat quietly in the center of her beige sofa. She raised her head towards the handsome man before her and followed him with her eyes to the worn-in armchair opposite her.
‘Mrs. Minoa,’ he said, ‘I am police Captain Savva. Paul Savva. As you have been informed, we are here looking for your son, Aristoteli. The theatre where he works told us that he is at home, sick. Took a three day leave, they said.’
‘Did he now?’ she replied, her hands stroking her knees, rubbing her dirty apron.
‘You did not know?’
She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. ‘Boys don’t always tell the whole truth to their mothers, do they now?’ she asked and a strange smile appeared on her aging face. ‘He said he took a few days off to go on a cruise. A well-deserved weekend getaway, that’s how he put it.’
‘Which cruise? To where? Alone?’ Captain Savva shot three questions at her.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I presumed with friends and hoped for a lady friend, to be honest. Destination? I do not know. One of the cruises from Piraeus,’ she said and stood up. ‘Where are my manners? Coffee, Captain?’
‘Sit down, ma’am,’ Captain Savva said with a heavy, loud voice.
Mrs. Voula Minoa obeyed and with shocked eyes, landed straight back down on the comfortable couch. ‘No need to yell, young man. I have done nothing wrong. Sorry, I cannot help you more. This is all I know. I deserve, no I demand, better treatment.’
‘All you know, huh?’ he replied. ‘I see where your son gets his acting skills from. Not once have you inquired as to why we are searching for your son. I believe you know that your son is up to no good. Consider yourself under house arrest until I speak with a judge. Maybe a walk out of your front door in hand-cuffs for all your friends to see will refresh your memory.’
Mrs. Minoa did not reply. She sat in silence as the Captain stood up and went to the front door to call in a pair of officers to keep an eye on her. Mrs. Voula Minoa quickly pulled out her cell phone from the apron’s lone pocket. With trembling hands, she managed to text faster than she had ever done before.
‘THE POLICE ARE HERE. THEY KNOW ABOUT ARISTOTELI.’
Maintaining her cool, she slid the device back into her pocket and leaned back into the leather sofa. She closed her eyes and pictured the boss receiving her text. He would surely get angry, yet the boss always had a plan. That man’s brain fascinated her. Yes, yes. He surely has a plan. My boy will be safe and Greece will be reborn, she thought, and a sinister smile rested on her pale face.
Miles away, her text took just a second to cross the sea and force the boss’s phone to beep.
The tall man took his phone into his hand and looked down at the message feeling glad the signal was not blocked in the control room. He ground his teeth and clenched his left hand into a fist. A man of few words and many plans, he ordered, ‘Set in motion the prison break!’
*****
I also was on my way to meet a Greek mother.
A break of sorts did come to my case. Ioli was right as she was most of the time. I remembered the night we drove onto that run down street. She felt a familiarity around the deteriorating houses. I must admit, her words ran through my mind on a rainy, sleepless night and my gut persuaded me that the road meant something to me too.
Turns out, it meant something to us all.
Soon, SERENITY nursing home filled my horizon. A three-storey, mid-century, dull beige building with a large, bright green front lawn took up the entire street opposite me. I illegally parked in a ‘taxis-only’ square and quickly hopped out my Audi, hoping no menacing taxi-driver eyes saw me. If anyone can curse, it’s Greeks. You can imagine the tongue on our professional drivers.
The busy street showed no signs of an empty parking spot and I was on official business. That was my excuse, and I was sticking to it.
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I sprinted across, avoiding traffic, or better yet, traffic was avoiding me. The sound of an angry horn escorted me to the sidewalk. The new born, shamrock-green grass was luring me to take off my shoes and walk upon it. To head to the nearest tree, lay down and escape reality. One of the things I missed about being a father was the days at the park. To carelessly relax, drift away from the polluted city and sit in nature, enjoying my baby girl playing around.
I knelt and gently caressed the tips of the waving grass. ‘Not today, my friend. Not today.’
The building managed to seem in a decent state; to fool visitors of its well-being. However, a closer eye would reveal many cracks in the wall; chipped, sloppy patches of paint ran along the wall and the wooden window frames begged for some loving maintenance.
My knees whined about the fifteen steps up to the main entrance. The building was not built as a last home for seniors dropped off by their families –if they were lucky enough as to have a family that is. These massive buildings were government buildings built during prosperity ages, decades ago. Now, they had become retirement homes, dumping grounds for filing purposes and if lucky, libraries or museums of sorts. If unlucky, they were abandoned to the elements to devour. Something like the Olympic Village from the 2004 games that sank in an ocean of stubborn weeds and bushes.
Fifteen. I counted the steps in an effort to please my aching knees that the top was not so far away.
I stood before the locked, tall door and caught my breath. My index finger obeyed the written instructions and pushed the buzzer. A prolonged ding-dong echoed in the hollow, vast welcoming area inside.
No voice came from the speaker inquiring who I was or what I wanted.
Visitor hours had already begun. The door opened on its own, having been buzzed opened by the young brunette in the white nurse uniform standing behind the reception booth.
Hotel Murder: The most gripping, page-turning mystery of the year (Greek Island Mysteries Book 5) Page 12
