by Tyler, P. K.
He whispered to her his apology and regret. She was the second woman in his useless life that he was unable to save. He had watched his mother throw herself into the sea and he couldn't stop her; and now Rebekah was suffering the worst humiliation possible and he couldn't even sit up.
He vowed to her and to himself that she would be safe with him. That no matter what was done to her now, he would always protect and honor her. He swore to marry her when this was over, so she would never be alone or afraid. In his eyes she bore no shame for the injustice being done to her body. He cried when she screamed, and reached for her when she began to fade from consciousness due to the assault on her body.
Again and again Rebekah was violated by the men who had invaded her home; they used her until her body was bloody and broken. Recai never looked away, forcing himself to bear witness to her pain, promising to repay their cruelty tenfold.
When the two RTK agents were done with her they asked Rebekah again: "Do you repent? Do you admit your sinful ways?"
But she lay silent.
"You demons," Recai spat, his final in a series of curses.
His outburst was rewarded with another blow to his head. The sandstorm outside had passed over them, leaving only the distant thunder and charged air. Soon the rain would fall; Recai prayed it would wash away the pain of the night.
"Jew-Bitch! You pay for your sin." Mahmoud growled menacingly.
"I have committed no sin, but I have had sin committed upon me," Rebekah whispered hoarsely.
And like a flash of lightning, the knife that had been held to Recai's neck reached out and sliced through the purple fabric around her neck. Warmth spread over Recai's legs as her life spilled from her wound.
His voice eclipsed all thought as he sobbed, reaching for her, attempting to pull her to him. But his body refused to comply, and instead of holding her in her last moments he watched as the light left her eyes. Her gaze was glassy and distant as she passed on from this world. Her blood seeped out, darkening her burqa to black.
"What have you done?" Mahmoud demanded as he pulled the tattooed man away from Rebekah's body. The two RTK officers whispered furtively while Recai keened in mourning. When his screams rose in intensity, they struck him one last time upon the head, forcing him to finally submit to the darkness.
Prominent Business Man Missing
Recai Osman, the only son of the late Pinar Osman and missing Baris Osman, was last seen leaving the illustrious Bozoogullari Hotel two weeks ago. Reported missing by the Board of Directors, the young heir to the multi-billion-Euro corporation Osman Enterprises, is presumed dead. Anyone with any information on his whereabouts is encouraged to report directly to the RTK.
At this time, Osman Enterprises has made no official statement to the press, but is assuring stockholders that the company will continue to operate consistent with the high Osman standards the entire community has come to rely upon.
Leaving behind no living relatives, the legacy of the Osman family ends in ashes.
Part II
"On your belly you shall crawl, and dust you shall eat, all the days of your life"
Genesis 3:14
Three Years Later
Darya stepped away from the mirror behind the row of sinks after applying her lipstick one final time. Her hijab lay discarded and forgotten on the tiled floor. The flatness of her hair was finally fixed and her locks flowed freely down her back, their dark, nearly black hue shining against her white clothes. Spinning, she took one last look to admire herself in the floor-length mirror. She wore red high heels with high-waisted, snug white pants that emphasized her long legs. The matching white halter contrasted sharply with her honey-brown skin. She was ready.
It had been so long since she'd been able to attend a public event. Darya expected to make her entrance memorable. Tonight was the first time she'd been out since she'd assumed control of the finances of her uncle's business venture, and although that wasn't publicly known, the resulting pride swelled within her. At twenty-three years old, this was the first time she'd be seen as a woman and not a child.
She left the ladies' room smelling like spicy flowers and the night-cooled desert. Darya was beautiful. Her vanity screamed for her to be seen but she had been born into the wrong world at the wrong time. Tonight though. Tonight she was going to shine.
The main entrance to the Bozoogullari Hotel's ballroom was unimpressive. Two large double doors with no windows or decoration stood at the end of a dark hall off the grand but plain foyer. The doors remained closed, opening only as attendees for the events were admitted entrance. The lobby had been designed using sparse decorations and white marble, which shone from within even in the evening light. Darya's steps echoed against the cavernous hallways. Nothing about the hotel welcomed loitering or conversation.
Tonight, the elite of Elih were celebrating her uncle's fifteenth year as mayor, and behind those heavy doors the restrictions he imposed on the city were temporarily lifted. There would be drinking and dancing. There would be fashionable women showing off their beauty. Darya couldn't wait to be one of them.
An RTK guard stationed in front of the entrance took the names of all who entered. No one rose above his scrutiny; if you were not on the list, admittance would be denied. She approached the guard with the arrogance of one who had her every demand catered to. He gazed warily over his dark glasses. RTK officers were all the same, so easily manipulated by the hint of seduction.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Sister," he greeted, his eyes focused on the low dip of her neckline.
"Walaikum as salaam, Brother. I am here for the celebration."
The guard raised an eyebrow and lifted his attention to her face. He stood up from his stool and pulled the attendee list out of the side pocket of his military-issue cargo pants.
"You were invited?"
Darya laughed. "Of course." Her back straightened as she spoke.
"You are here without an escort."
The guard folded the list and slipped it back into his pocket. Darya stared at him. Silence echoed in the great hall as she waited, daring him with sharp eyes to speak his mind.
"Sister, without an escort, it would be improper for you to attend such an event."
"The only impropriety here is your refusal to allow me inside."
"Do you question me?"
His eyes were hard as he took off his glasses and stared at her. The authority of men was rarely questioned, let alone that of an RTK officer. Darya was a tall woman, but the guard stood well over 180 centimeters and too close for her not to notice the stench of whiskey on his breath. This defender of her uncle's strict interpretation of Shariah law seemed to feel no need to abide by the sacred rules himself as he clearly had indulged in the forbidden drink.
"No, I will inform my uncle of your…"
Darya reached for the door but the guard's hand, hard on her wrist, stopped her cold.
"Your hand, sir."
She spoke softly, as was expected, but lifted her eyes to meet his without flinching.
"Your eyes, Sister…" He brought himself closer to her, the heat of his breath warm against her skin. "Your eyes are striking. So dark there is almost no pupil. Perhaps I should consider escorting you myself?"
The guard's other hand came to rest on her hip. Darya tensed, but she refused to look away. His touch was an offense to her and her family, but to object now would only worsen the situation. The man's threat lay coiled beneath the surface of his words, needing only the slightest provocation to burst forth in violent attack.
"I need no escort," she stated calmly, as the man's hand roamed down her hip.
"You are here uncovered, showing the world what you have to offer. Without an escort, that could be very dangerous."
"Did you not hear me? I need no escort."
She stepped away from him forcefully, breaking his hold on her.
The guard took one step forward. His fist clenched as he wrestled with his desire and his duty. He appraised her lustfully
then grunted. Stepping back to his post, the guard's mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
"Then I'm afraid I will not be able to admit you inside."
"Wh…what?"
Darya stumbled over the word, having expected the liberal atmosphere of the party to extend to its admittance. His simple refusal stunned her. When she was hidden behind fabric or heavy doors, her gender didn't stand in her way. But standing before him, exposed, her weakness was the only thing he saw. Behind the veil of anonymity she escaped confinement. Faced with its reality, the sharp corners of her prison scratched at her psyche.
The guard sat back down on his stool and focused his attention on the foyer behind her, her presence no longer of concern. The music from behind the heavy doors drifted into the hall, adding an insulting punctuation to her humiliation.
Anger swarmed in her mind, threatening to break loose. Frustrated and embarrassed, she wanted to lash out, punch him, rip at his face with her freshly painted nails until he bled across the white marble floor. She wanted to demand he see who she was—that she was important. Were she a man she would teach him what it meant to be in control. Instead, she straightened her top and smoothed her hair.
"I will be right back, Brother."
Her voice was thick with anger and malice. As she glared at him, the guard stood up without taking notice of her to greet someone approaching.
"Assalamu Alaikum, may I have your name?" he said formally.
Darya turned to see a striking man standing a few paces behind her, dressed in a tailored suit that appeared custom made. His closely trimmed, auburn-red beard allowed his dark skin to shine beneath the unique hue. A scar ran along his right cheek, lighter than the rest of his flesh, as though an eraser had been taken to his brown skin. But his eyes arrested her attention. They were green and vibrant, and when they drifted to hers they did not stray to molest her body with their gaze. Instead, he smiled and bowed his head in respectful greeting, ignoring the officer until it suited him to respond.
"Recai," the man stated keeping his eyes on Darya. He lifted his back straighter before squaring his shoulders and facing the guard. "Recai Osman."
"Osman?" the guard inquired, checking the names on the list. "I'm sorry sir; there is no Osman on the list."
"No?" Recai asked calmly, holding the guard's gaze steadily until the man looked away. Recai had the expectation and breeding of someone not often denied.
"I…" the guard stammered, uncomfortable under the piercing eyes of the strange man before him. "I'm sorry sir. There is no Osman."
"You will need to check again, or perhaps contact your superior."
Recai smiled, his tone neither kind nor inviting, giving his face a subtle cruelty Darya found exciting.
Osman… Darya's mind whirled in an attempt to place the name. Only one family with that name wielded the kind of power needed to enter this party uninvited, and that entire family was lost. The mother shamed, died years ago, the father had disappeared soon after. And the son disappeared, leaving no trace.
Her gaze snapped back to Recai.
"No, there's nothing on the list, I cannot—" the guard said, before Darya interrupted him.
"Recai?"
Darya sidled up to the handsome man with the impossibly familiar name.
"Would you care to be my escort this evening? Apparently, I am required to have one."
Darya glared at the guard before intimately wrapping her hand around Recai's upper arm.
"I would be honored." Recai lowered his head again, accepting her invitation.
His voice was low and his accent strange. Kurdish, Turkish, American, English, perhaps even a hint of French. Or perhaps from one of the African colonies? So many inflections intermingling made his tone impossible for Darya to place.
"Sister," the guard began, looking at Darya's cleavage again, his intentions clear: if she was to be compromised tonight he expected to be the one doing the compromising. But this time, she had her required escort and was not about to deal with the guard's insults.
"What is your name?" she demanded.
"I…."
"Name!"
Darya released Recai's arm and stepped in front of him. There was nothing—nothing—he could say now to refuse her entry. She would have him hung by his thumbs for touching her, or perhaps have his hand cut off, or find out if he had a sister. Or daughter.
The guard pulled his lip back in an insolent sneer at her tone.
"Fahri Kaya."
"Well Brother Kaya, I will be sure to let Captain Sener know how you performed your duties tonight. It is important we all keep vigil against the crowding evils of the outside world. Every incident of indecency must be reported, don't you think?" Darya said, her voice soft and calm as she stretched out her threat, pulling it taut around his neck.
"You are clearly not a woman to be trifled with," Recai chuckled below his breath as she placed her arm back in his before they entered the large ballroom arm in arm.
Darya's ego cheered at the recognition and compliment in his words. She yearned for a life in which all men looked at her as a force of nature not to be trifled with, to be able to stand outside in the wind, her hair uncovered, and scream to the sky that she had arrived. Tonight she would step out of her confinement and into the world of prestige and power she longed to join. No longer a girl, but a king-whisperer and a power unto herself.
Once inside, Darya took a deep breath. The hall was beautiful, nothing like the dreary foyer behind them. The man on her arm was handsome and mysterious, adding to the image of power she hoped to portray. Arched columns supporting a balcony surrounded the large room. Banners in every imaginable color hung in celebration of each year of her uncle's achievements, filling the space with a sense of festivity. She had been here years ago for one of her cousin's weddings, to his second wife, but her memory did not do it justice.
White marble shone from floor to ceiling. Teardrop chandeliers hung low over the guests, casting a soft glow over the room. The ornate beauty of the decor highlighted the vivid colors of the guests' attire. No drab black or navy burqas tonight! Before her stood everyone who had profited under the rule of Mayor Yilmaz. She soon lost herself in the beauty of possibilities.
Darya took in the warm light shining down from five large chandeliers above. Familiar music swelled above the hum of voices filling the room. Before her was a scene out of a fairy tale, where princes were real and princesses had the freedom to run in the garden. With a sigh, she looked up at the pleasant surprise the night had brought her.
Tonight, the elite of the city were celebrating the absolute power Mayor Yilmaz wielded over his city. Mayor Yilmaz, whose only contributions to the place he now ruled were fear and ignorance. Those in attendance of this party were the beneficiaries of his rule, the highest class, living off the oppression of the people beneath them on the food chain. Men drank martinis while women spoke animatedly. The dark night that covered the city was forgotten.
Beside Darya, Recai's face tightened as his narrowed eyes roamed the crowd.
Osman Enterprises had been the backbone of Elih. Recai's family had overseen the creation of foundations and interest-free banks for those who had never qualified in the past. Baris Osman never doubted his ability to change the system and help the people he loved achieve more. Recai had been young when his father disappeared, but he never doubted that Baris was a hero. The shadow of the father lost still haunted Recai, heading off any ambition of his own.
At one time, money had flowed in from the Turkish government. And what the government didn't provide, Osman Enterprises did. Recai's mother was a vision of humility and inner strength, the perfect combination of Muslim modesty and Kurdish wisdom. Their marriage was controversial. A Turk and a Kurd—it was unthinkable, especially in the circles in which they ran. But love somehow finds a way. Recai's birth symbolized unity to the people and his existence came to mean more than any of his accomplishments.
Ethnic divisions were ignored and the feuds of generat
ions past forgotten. Prosperity has a way of bringing even the more ardent enemies together. Schools were built in the border towns, and water was clean and plentiful. Anything was possible with only the willingness to work hard and a dream under your belt.
Osman Enterprises' wealth and generosity gave entrepreneurs the opportunity to explore their dreams while it provided help to those in need. Turkey had allowed Elih to run itself, diverting government funds to other cities that did not have such generous benefactors, forgetting about the insular eastern city. The Osmans gave generously, saying Allah had given them the mission of caring for his people, and their reward in Heaven and on Earth would outshine any loss their company incurred. The company pulled profits every year, despite the outpouring of funds.
The night tragedy and shame fell upon the Osman family, Recai had been frightened. His parents never fought and his mother certainly never raised her voice. He had laid in bed, listening as their angry words filtered though the cabin, muted so that he could not make out their meaning. Once they stopped and he heard his father slam the door to his quarters, Recai crawled out of bed to investigate. On deck he found his mother, dressed in blue, standing on the helm of the boat. He watched as she held out her arms, embracing the ancient Kurdish god. Her people knew loss, they knew oblivion and abandonment, but Recai had never seen his mother look so empty.
There was no discernible shift in her body or change in the direction of the wind. There was nothing to indicate that suddenly everything would change. Recai screamed as his mother stepped off the edge into the open sea, its ebony abyss swallowing her before he even reached the railing.
Baris disappeared under suspicion of foul play. Recai watched the media declare his father a murderer and a coward. He knew his mother had jumped, but he was too young to speak out and defend his father's reputation. And, in truth, some part of him wondered if perhaps his father wasn't to blame. Alone with his questions and fears his heart turned away from the warmth of his community.
