A flock of noisy seagulls shattered the fantasy world into which she had ventured. As her senses returned to planet earth, she inhaled a whiff of crispy fried bacon.
She was second to the buffet, beaten by a loud German and his even louder family. By the time Ioli had filled her tray with all sorts of morning goodness -and of course another coffee-the dining room and its balcony were filled with European tourists.
Ioli enjoyed her meal, feeling rather lonely. She people-watched for a while; letting her food settle down and with one last sip of her coffee, she was off to the hospital.
Ioli was the youngest person on the first bus of the morning. The usual group of senior citizens was heading to the hospital to stock up on their medicine. The bus driver smiled warmly at her hopping on and stared through his overhead mirror at the out-of-towner who took a seat in the back. The old bus roared to life and with a screech and a bang, it set off for the hospital. Outside, the small town awoke slowly. Ioli squinted at the sun sneaking up from behind houses with windows and doors still shut.
The bus driver, who was missing a neck and half a brain, drove the entire bendy road with one hand. The other was preoccupied with cursing other drivers, talking on the phone, drinking an iced coffee and smoking. The elderly women, accustomed to his driving, exchanged yesterday’s news while older men either continued their sleep or argued about politics. All of them oblivious to the chaos unfolding before Ioli’s eyes. The driver ran a red light, climbed up and down a pavement, nearly left a row of cars without their wing mirrors, honked cars with priority out of its way and sped down narrow village dirt roads. As the menacing bus slowed to a standstill, she thanked God for sparing her life. She did not thank him as much when she found out from yesterday’s beautiful nurse that the Antoniou family were no longer at the hospital. The nurse’s jaw dropped upon hearing the profanities Ioli’s mouth was capable of.
‘What do you mean they left?’
‘Mrs Antoniou checked herself and her boy out, against doctor’s orders. We cannot force people to stay.’
‘Can you call me a taxi then?’ Ioli asked disappointed.
‘Sure thing,’ the girl smiled in an attempt to cheer her up.
Ioli walked over to a huge vending machine offering a large selection of hot and cold beverages. Most options were covered by a white sticker declaring ‘NOT AVAILABLE AT THE MOMENT’. Thankfully, double espresso had no such sticker. She slipped the money into the slot and placed the thick paper cup under the machine’s outlet beak.
‘It will be here in five.’
‘Thank you,’ Ioli responded and coffee in hand, she walked outside. A crying for a repaint bench welcomed her. She kept herself busy by scratching the sun-blistered paint and enjoying her coffee. By the last sip, her carriage had arrived.
‘Where to?’
She was ready to name her hotel, when she thought what the heck? Why not? It’s worth a shot.
‘Do you know Sophia Antoniou’s residence? I have something for her. I thought she would be here and…’
‘Oh, the priest’s widow. Yeah, I’ll have you there in ten minutes,’ he said and did not bother to ask any further questions. He turned up the radio playing the morning news and drove in silence. Ioli’s mind wandered and soon she was having an inner discussion about the ups and downs of small societies.
‘Just around the corner, ma’am. It is… What the…?’
Around the corner, in contrast to the quiet streets that they had travelled, dozens of people were gathered around news outlet mini vans. Yellow police tape, stretched across the front yard of the house next to the Antoniou residence, was dancing in the light morning wind. In the driveway, a muted ambulance with its red lights glowing and two police cars were parked. Cameras were rolling and focused on Sophia. Ioli quickly paid the driver and shot out of the car. She ran over and was relieved to see little Antony, standing all shy behind his mother.
‘Mrs Antoniou, you are saying you saw Saint Gerasimos last night?’ a reporter asked with disbelief.
‘As real as I see you and you are seeing me, mister. He came to me and told me that everything will be alright and that the pain will be shared amongst the righteous.’
‘Did you see him go next door?’
‘No. I was in shock to see my husband following Saint Gerasimo, bless his name!’
The questions kept on coming and Sophia stood her ground.
‘Hey kid, show us your hands.’ one tall, blonde reporter yelled.
‘Hey! This is no sideshow,’ Ioli could not restrain her anger. She pushed herself through the pack of wolves and with her arm around the boy she led him inside the house. Sophia was taken aback and took a few seconds to realize that it was the lady from the hospital, just the previous day. She took in a small breath and continued with last night’s events.
‘Thank you,’ Antony said with a strained voice.
‘What happened next door?’ Ioli stooped to his eye level.
‘Elisabeth, the girl next door, woke up with stigmata too.’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘You don’t say. Like yours?’
‘Just her hands. But her wounds weren’t all the way through. They did not let me see her. She is a year younger than me and I know I shouldn’t be playing with girls, but Elisabeth is pretty cool. And mother likes her too. She is in my Sunday school.’
‘Antony… At the beach, do you remember what you said to me?’
The boy nodded. ‘I said you would save me and so far you have. I don’t like reporters. All they do is talk and talk and ask and ask, but they don’t care. Not a single word they say to you is polite or nice. Rude. That’s the word Miss Despo would use.’
‘Who?’
‘Miss Despo, my teacher.’
She looked straight into his peculiar violet eyes. ‘Save you from what?’
The door being flung open, startled them.
‘How dare you?’ Sophia asked, closing the door behind her.
‘I…’
‘No, no. You don’t get to speak to me. Who told you, you could take my boy away?’
‘Sophia, I apologize, but it was no place for him out there.’
‘That is for his mother to decide. His marks are for the world to see. They are not his to own. Neither are mine. Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, gave them to us for a reason. And now, Elisabeth next door? All this means something.’
‘I respect your beliefs, Sophia. I acted on impulse. Antony looked so uncomfortable out there. I’m sorry. I only wanted to help.’
‘This is all too much for me…’ Sophia leaned back against the wall and slid down to the tiled floor. Tears formed around her eyes’ black circles.
‘Sophia, be strong. For Antony,’ Ioli said, rushing over to her.
‘You don’t believe any of this, do you?’
‘I must admit, it has me puzzled.’
‘God’s glory is before you. You skeptics are always declaring that seeing is believing. Now, you are seeing and still…’ Sophia paused for a second. ‘You really want to help?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Take my car. It’s in the garage. Here are my keys. Drive round the block and park behind my house. I have to go to Saint Gerasimos church. Antony too, but if they see us leaving, they will follow.’
‘Sure, right away,’ Ioli said and took the keys. As she drove out of the garage, she saw the paramedics wheel out the poor girl from next door. The police fought to keep back the gang of reporters.
‘Perfect timing, Ioli.’ She smiled and turned down the street. She parked behind the house and soon Sophia and Antony appeared from behind the fence.
‘Let’s go and pray. I want to ask the Saint to spare Antony and give me the next wounds.’
‘The next wounds?’
‘If more stigmata follows, it will be the spear to the side.’
Ioli fastened her seatbelt, stepped on the gas and focused on the road, hoping her fingers would stop their sudden trembling. Antony buckled hi
s safety belt and remained quiet during the short journey. Sophia, on the other hand, could not stop explaining to Ioli how Saint Gerasimos performed many miracles during his lifetime and even more after. She paused only to give Ioli the necessary directions. Soon, the car was turning left up a dirt road that led to a small, Byzantine, stone church. The old wooden door was shut and the place looked deserted.
‘Is it open?’ Ioli asked.
‘Father Chrysostomo never locks.’
‘Mother, I…’
‘What’s wrong sweetie?’
‘I sense something. I think it is better we went home. We can pray to Saint Gerasimo there.’
‘Don’t be silly, my boy. It is a church. We are protected here. This is our home. Come on. Out,’ Sophia ordered him with a peculiar smile. There was something off with the way Sophia spoke to him. A cold manner. She obviously cared for the lad; her words though, lacked real emotion.
The door creaked at every inch it was forced to take. The air inside missing the freshness of the breeze outside. A scent of burning candles and oil lingered in the air. Sophia’s three fingers met and the sign of the cross was formed three times. She made the sign again at every icon she approached and kissed, asking for God’s blessing. Antony followed behind her, mimicking her every move. Ioli made her cross once and approached the central icon in the middle of the room. A large, heavy icon with two red, silk curtains, sat on a cherry wood easel.
‘Ο ΑΓΙΟC ΓΕΡΑCΙΜΟC ΚΕΦΑΛΛΟΝΙΑC,’ Ioli read the icon description. She gazed into the Saint’s eyes, which seemed to follow you around the church. Sophia stood behind her, placing her arms gently on her shoulders.
‘Ask him to spare Antony the pain.’
‘I don’t think I am the most suitable person…’
Sophia grabbed her hand and brought her down with her. The two women knelt before the Saint.
‘In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, we ask you, Saint Gerasime, blessed be your name, to spare your slave Antony from any further stigmata. Send them to me. Glorious may your name be. Glorious may be the mercy of God…’
Sophia continued with her praise as Ioli’s head grew heavier and heavier by the minute. Her eyelids descended fast and she lost all control of her body. In a matter of seconds she collapsed into Sophia’s lap.
Ioli awoke in a hazy environment or at least that is what her eyes were transmitting back to her brain. She squinted and tried to focus. Her head still felt heavy. An iron anchor inside her head, pulling her down. She jumped up in an effort to come back to full consciousness. Her feet did not follow her will. She felt two arms grab her and help her up. Her blurry vision got clearer by the minute. Sophia stood opposite her.
‘Thank heavens you’re well,’ she said.
‘What happened?’ Ioli asked and felt the blood drip from her forehead.
‘I guess Saint Gerasimo chose you instead,’ Sophia replied calmly. Antony stood behind the golden framed icon, shaking in horror.
Ioli was lost for words. She wiped her face and looked down at her bloody hand. She took out her cell and turn her camera on. Soon her screen was reflecting an image of an ashen Ioli with the same marks as Sophia’s.
‘He gave you the thorny crown and spared Antony. Thank you. Antony? Antony, speak up.’
‘Thank you, Ioli. I told you, you were going to save me,’ Antony said quietly with an awkward smile.
‘Let’s get you to the hospital…’
‘No. No hospital. I am fine,’ Ioli finally spoke. ‘Just take me back to my hotel.’
Sophia looked upon her. She disapproved of her choice, yet did not argue. She nodded and complied with Ioli’s wish.
Chapter 45
There is a certain magical aura floating in the air during summer nights in Greece. Especially on the islands. A feeling of living in a make-believe world. The heat of the day retreated with the sun, the sky dressed in sparkles, the moon came closer –or so it seemed-and shined brighter, the clean ocean breeze lingered carelessly in the air and nature’s sounds surrounded you.
Sophia sat in her porch’s handmade rocking chair. Her late husband made it for her in celebration of their first summer in their –then-newly bought house. She had tucked Antony in, cleaned the kitchen and now relaxed in the company of the good book. No evil television ever entered through her front door and never would.
She could read the Lord’s word for hours. But tonight she found it difficult to focus.
‘Vanity is a sin,’ she told herself off as her mind travelled to tomorrow’s long day. She was going to be interviewed by three different TV programs. All from major networks. All ready to transmit her story across the country. Her chance to spread the word of Christ. She had already spoken to news reporters in the morning, but they only presented the story for a few seconds at the end of the news or planted the story on page eighteen of the daily paper. TV programs were the way to go.
‘If only that silly cop would join me. Then, the story would be complete. We prayed to the Saint and he spared Antony, the poor, little, religious boy that felt God! And people always tend to disbelieve religious folk like me. But a woman like her, a police officer, they would have to believe…’ she spoke out loud like it was the most normal thing to be talking to yourself. She spoke in the same tone she would speak to a friend she invited over for evening coffee. Stress colored her last words. They had to believe.
Sophia placed her Bible carefully on a side table and stood up. She walked straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge door and took out a tiny bottle of Propofol. She opened the top drawer and searched clumsily for her box of needles. She injected the pointy end of the syringe into the see-through bottle, held them up and pulled down, filling it with the anesthetic drug. Needle in hand, she strolled to her bedroom, opened her bedside table’s bottom drawer and pulled out her scarf with the carefully placed thorns inside.
She paused outside of Antony’s room. She thought she would not have to put him through any more pain. Though, she had to be sure. Sure, that they all would believe. She turned the door knob and entered his dimly lit room. The curtains flew up and down calmly, moved by the breeze sailing in through the open window. Saved air conditioning for another month or so.
Antony slept peacefully. She tiptoed near him and leaned over him. She injected him quickly, in the same way she had done before. He grunted and rolled to his side. She waited a few minutes for the drug to numb her boy and stood up, thorny scarf in hand.
‘Step away from him, you bitch.’
Ioli’s voice scared her from across the room. ‘Your own son?’ Ioli had leaped into the room through the open window, gun first and looked upon Sophia in disgust.
Sophia stood in shock. Frozen.
‘Step back, now,’ Ioli ordered.
A faint word escaped Sophia’s pale lips. ‘How…’
‘I have a good sense of time lady. Besides, we entered that church with the sun low on the horizon and left with it nearly straight above us. You knocked me out for a good hour or so…’
‘I did what I had to,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me, I just wanted to spread the Lord’s good word,’ she apologized, taking a small step closer with every word.
‘Stop right there.’ Sophia paused, unsure of her next move.
‘Your Lord told you to hurt your own flesh and blood? Your God is disgusted by you!’
Sophia let out a small scream and jumped at Ioli. Both women fell back onto the wall. Both with a good grip on the gun.
‘You satanic whore. You will not stop the word from spreading,’ Sophia screamed, pushing the gun towards Ioli’s face. Ioli kicked Sophia hard in her stomach. Sophia bowed in pain, then bit hard into Ioli’s flesh. Both fell to the ground, struggling for control of the gun.
Outside, Mrs Callas ambled down her driveway, blue trash bag in hand. A loud bang made her jump. Her hand let go of the week’s trash, while the other searched for her cell phone. As a can of coke rolled away and a smell of rotten chicken
filled the air, the emergency operator answered.
‘Kefalonia Police, what is your emergency?’
‘I think I just heard a gunshot from my neighbor’s house…’
Chapter 46
Yesterday’s five hours of driving and four hours of interviewing relatives of the seven suicides, followed by two hours with the chief, were taking their toll. My back retaliated at every move, while my feet felt like ripping off my black, derby shoes and spending the day soaking in the tub.
Piraeus port was in full swing. Cruise ships were flung out across the bay like God had just hit a gigantic piñata full of them. Buses arriving to pick up holiday makers from around the globe made traffic a living hell. Stuck there in limbo, I realized, I was going to be late for my final appointment with Ariadne. I could picture her judgmental eyes traveling to her wall clock, before coughing like a school teacher quietening down whispering pupils.
The evening sun reflected off the glass building, standing like a beacon calling out to me to make it on time. So near, yet so far. As I was contemplating abandoning my vehicle in the moving-an-inch-a-minute traffic, the line of cars came to life and started to roar. If I could only make it to the green light on time.
Orange. That will do just fine.
I swirled to the right and entered the building’s underground parking lot. Sun light gave way to neon lights as I headed down into the building’s belly. In a hurry, I slid the car between a badly parked wagon and a cold, graffiti-filled, concrete wall.
‘Hold the door,’ I said, rushing up to the closing elevator doors. Three words I soon regretted. I spent the next few minutes listening to a whining eight year old who did not want to visit the dentist. The perfect soundtrack to my menacing migraine. I gladly exited on the 14th floor and felt sorry for the boy’s mother. She had five more floors to go. I took a deep breath, pushed open the main door, smiled at the receptionist and rushed into Ariadne’s office.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 41
