Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1)

by Tyler, P. K.

  Ali turned back to his computer. An alert he had placed on the account for any new wire transfers had been sent to his email. He allowed the transfer to go through, but delayed it, having the bank contact the Nigerian asset manager receiving the funds. Sifting through the raw data supplied by the bank, each line adding color and dimension to the overall picture, Ali's eyes strained.

  The answer was here. He went through it again and again until hidden within lines of code he found the detail he had been looking for: an automatic router to a domestic account. Now he had the numbers he needed to find who had been stealing from the Osmans.

  The phone in his pocket vibrated and then rang with the tone of an old fashioned phone.

  "Hello?"

  "Bey Kalkan"? The voice on the other end of the phone inquired.

  "Yes, who is this?" Ali replied.

  "This is Maryam Al-Gamdi. I am a nurse at Dunya Hastanesi."

  "How can I help you Beyan Al-Gamdi?" Ali asked, nervousness gripping his spine.

  "I'm afraid your daughter Aysel, has been in an accident, and we need you to come down to the hospital." Ali heard this stranger say.

  He stood up. The rolling chair he had been sitting in slid back into the wall behind him.

  "Is she alright? May I speak with her?"

  "Yes, she is fine. She's having some tests done now and may have some broken ribs, but she will recover with no problems. What she really needs now is for someone to come be with her."

  "Of course, my wife will be there as soon as I call her," Ali agreed, feeling some relief.

  "Bey Kalkan, I'm afraid that in this case we need you to come down and sign her out," the voice belonging to the nurse calmly stated.

  "Why?"

  There were few things his wife couldn't do in his stead. Ali's brow beaded with sweat despite the powerful air conditioner that cooled his home. What could have happened that would require him to go down personally?

  "If it's possible, it would be best for you to come to the hospital, and I will explain everything when you get here. Your daughter will be fine, but she needs her family with her."

  "But my wife cannot be the one to bring her home?" Ali insisted, refusing to give in to what he knew.

  "No."

  "So a male family member needs to come down and sign her paperwork, is that what you are telling me?" Ali insisted.

  "In this case, yes, we need you to come down to the hospital."

  "What kind of accident did you say she was in?"

  "She wasn't badly injured…" the nurse's voice faltered in Ali's ear.

  "Beyan, I'm sorry for being rude, but I asked you a question. I expect you to answer."

  Ali paced, moving around his room without an intended destination. Instinct told him to rush out of the house and pull his daughter into his arms. But something held him back; something about the nurse's tone frightened him to his core.

  "Your daughter was attacked," was her curt reply.

  Ali stilled. The room froze around him as fear curled around his heart.

  "Was she… Beyan, can you tell me what kind of attack it was?"

  "The kind she'll recover from. But we need you to come down to the hospital."

  "Is her . . . ? Was she . . . ? What I mean to ask is… is her honor intact?" Ali forced himself to ask.

  "Your daughter has done nothing wrong."

  "Was she raped?" he demanded, tired of running around in circles with the woman on the phone.

  "Bey, you should just come down to the hospital."

  "Was she raped?!"

  "Yes."

  The phone line was silent, but Ali heard the tension on the other end. He loved his daughter, more than words could express. But he held the responsibility to protect himself, his family, and his other daughters from this shame. With a tear of regret in his eye Ali hung up the phone.

  The wave broke around his legs as he stared up at the stars. The constellations were familiar but in the wrong places in the sky, as if they had all been pulled along as the sun set. It was a night with no moon, but the stars shone brightly, reflecting off of the tide, whispering their secrets to those who would listen.

  Recai dove into the next wave, allowing the cool water to rush over his body.

  Coming up for air he found himself farther out than he expected, surrounded by nothing but water. The coastline had faded into the distance, and it was just Recai and the expansive nothingness. The water rippled around him, the starlight twinkling above.

  Instead of panic, Recai felt only a deep and complete sense of peace. He allowed his body to float up, bobbing atop the salty water. With his legs relaxed, dipping down into the black beneath him, he spread his arms and welcomed the freedom of isolation.

  "Recai"

  The voice vibrated in the water around him. He lifted his head and pulled his body beneath him so he could tread water and look around. There was no movement in the silent sea apart from the ripples created by his slowly kicking legs.

  "Hello?" the night absorbed the sound of his voice.

  Disoriented, Recai dove under, hoping for the clean refreshing water to reorganize his thoughts.

  "Recai…"

  The voice came again as soon as his head dipped under the water, but was gone as he burst to the surface, scanning the horizon and again finding nothing.

  He filled his lungs and dove down, forcefully pushing himself as deep as he could go.

  "Recai, have you forgotten me?"

  A sweet familiar voice filled his mind.

  "Where are you?" He screamed into the water, using what little air he had left. Bubbles exploded into the black water drifting upward.

  "I am with you, always. Have you forgotten your promise so soon?"

  "Rebekah?"

  Recai stopped his frantic search beneath the surface, out of air and finally out of time.

  It was late by the time Maryam left the hospital. Her old car got her home safely as always, and she parked in the lot two blocks from her building. The night had been difficult and exhausting. Hospital politics and her own good sense were so often in conflict she wondered how she managed to work there at all.

  Because if I didn't, who would have made sure the Kalkan girl had somewhere to sleep tonight? If I wasn't there, where would she have gone?

  Maryam had a friend who attended the only Greek Orthodox Church in town. It was small and not well attended, but the church was tolerated by the RTK, an essential political move on the part of the Mayor to keep anyone from looking too closely at the small city. When a woman was left unclaimed by her family after being dishonored her options were slim, but if she was lucky and Maryam was on duty, some would receive refuge at the church.

  Aysel Kalkan had left the hospital without ever being officially admitted, without any record of what she had endured, and without her father ever coming to retrieve her. She left and would be safe, that much the nurses at Dunya Hastanesi could provide. The rest was up to her.

  Stepping out of her car, Maryam tightened her hijab, glad she had brought clothes to change into so she didn't have to walk so late at night in her scrubs. In the hospital it didn't bother her to wear pants of such thin fabric; it was a part of her job, a uniform like any other. But on the streets, she much preferred the familiarity and comfort of her abaya.

  Maryam was lost in thought as she walked down the dark street that led her home. She didn't see Abdullah's figure until he stepped out into the glow of the street lamp, a thin, hand-rolled cigarette in his hand.

  "Abdullah!" she cried, unsettled by her grocer's sudden appearance. Something within her recoiled from him, even though he was a familiar and friendly face.

  "Maryam, you're home late." His intonation was flat.

  "The hours of a nurse," she shrugged and resumed walking toward home.

  "You shouldn't be out so late alone."

  "I'm fine, thank you for worrying about me." Maryam gave a strained smile, a nagging worry in the back of her mind. "Was the store open late ton
ight?"

  Abdullah fell into step next to her, his hair bobbing around his ears as he walked, his smile full and bright. The return of the friendly Abdullah she knew relaxed her and she smiled in return.

  "No, the store closed as usual. I had been hoping you would stop in, and when you didn't I waited."

  "Abdullah, that's kind but unnecessary."

  "I told you the other day I worry about you living alone in the city."

  "Please, don't worry. I am used to it now. I like living alone."

  Abdullah laughed with a full throaty voice.

  "No woman likes living alone!"

  "Well it suits me fine for now."

  Maryam's smile was strained once again. The door to her building was just one more block, but it looked like Abdullah had no intention of leaving her side.

  "Only because you are not married. If you were married you would have a family and children to nurse, no need for hospitals and late nights alone."

  Silence was her only response. Abdullah's crush on her had worked to her advantage so far, but had she encouraged him too much? Had she tempted him in some way she hadn't intended? Again she felt thankful for changing out of her scrubs and she pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her abaya, hiding as much of herself from Abdullah's gaze as possible.

  "Maryam, would you like to be married?"

  "Someday, perhaps, but for now I am enjoying my work."

  She increased her pace, hoping someone would be out smoking in front of her building as the men who lived on the other floors sometimes did.

  "I think you enjoy your work because you don't have anything else. Perhaps if you had a child and a husband you'd be fulfilled instead of trying to find happiness through work."

  "Abdullah, it's late. I think you should go home."

  "Not until I know you are safe."

  "I am safe. I walk home every day alone; tonight is no different."

  "There have been more attacks."

  His voice was low and had lost some of its playfulness.

  "I work in the Emergency Department. I know all about the dangers of the city, and still I am fine to walk alone."

  Maryam lifted her head higher and drew on strength she didn't quite have as she approached her door. It was abandoned to the night, no one outside at this hour.

  Abdullah stopped next to the door, situating himself so Maryam would need to reach past him to put her key in the lock. Her building was only four stories high, with the grocery on the ground floor, the second floor for women tenants only, and the two top floors for men. There was no doorman, only a maintenance man who lived on the third floor and didn't fix anything.

  "You should marry," Abdullah blurted.

  "Someday, when the time is right."

  "You should marry me."

  "Abdullah!"

  "Someday, when the time is right," he smiled broadly.

  Abdullah's dark skin contrasted sharply against his white teeth, making him look like a smile without a body. A beat passed before he stepped away from her with a glint in his eye. Maryam unlocked her door and stepped inside, unable to breathe again until she heard the click of the deadbolt snap into place.

  Imam Al-Bashir kneeled alone in the mosque facing the quibla for the early-morning prayer. He kept his focus in the direction of Mecca and waited for others to arrive. Every day, five times a day, he did this. Perhaps this would be one of those times when a straggler or sinner would make their way here. If not, he would prostrate before Allah and vow to minister to those who needed him.

  The call for prayer, no longer performed by a muezzin but instead a recorded voice, echoed out over the wealthy neighborhood:

  Allaahu Akbar

  Allaahu Akbar

  Allaahu Akbar

  Allaahu Akbar

  Ash'hadu an laa ilaaha illallaah

  Ash'hadu an laa ilaaha illallaah

  Ash'hadu anna Muhammadan-rasulullaah

  Ash'hadu anna Muhammadan-rasulullaah

  Haya ‘alas-salaah

  Haya ‘alas-salaah

  Haya ‘alal falaah

  Haya ‘alal falaah

  Allaahu Akbar

  Allaahu Akbar

  The sound echoed in the emptiness within the grand prayer hall.

  With a sigh, Al-Bashir stood and began the movements that corresponded with his prayer. The ritual was so embedded in his body the individual steps were unimportant; the sequence cleansed his mind and soul.

  Standing, he raised his hands to heaven in reverence and then folded them one over the other upon his breast, opening his heart to the love of Allah. Al-Bashir enjoyed the ritual of prayer. As he bowed, he placed his hands softly upon his knees. He felt the warmth of Allah spread over him. In his mind he recited passages from the Qu'ran, centering and focusing his mind on the peace promised to the faithful. Finally he lowered himself to the ground in sajdah, laying his body prostrate on the prayer rug in complete submission. With deep breaths he released his vanity and selfish desires, making room within his heart for the love and wisdom of Allah to guide him.

  After performing the rak'ah four times Al-Bashir sat, eyes closed. He easily pulled prayers from his mind, having begun memorizing the Holy Book, reciting it rote while sitting at the feet of his father, before he could read or write.

  There is no God but Allah, and He shall be glorified most high.

  Softly, the faithful man opened his eyes to the barren room. Sadness entered his heart. "Peace on you and the mercy of Allah," he whispered to all of the souls who had forgotten the importance of worship. Mayor Yilmaz and his RTK had forced the external trappings of religion down the people's throats. The compulsory acts were driving people away from the mosque instead of into the house of Allah. Each day, men and women were forced to conduct themselves in ways conscripted from the secular world instead of finding their way to embracing Islam.

  The Ummah is dying from within. Al-Bashir's fears for his people grew every day. Each day he saw zina, vanity and sin. The pillars of his religion were falling around him, leaving the city in ruins. The few who proclaimed true faith fell into two categories, the pseudo-Muslims who do not practice the tenants of their religion but make quite a big show of it in public, and the jihadists. Perhaps in the city's other mosques this wasn't the case, but here, in Aydinkonak, the mosque was empty.

  What am I to do? Al-Bashir prayed: There is no power and no strength save in Allah…

  Recai awoke with a start, coughing and sputtering as if he had water in his lungs.

  Her name was on his lips as he kicked off the covers and pulled on a pair of jeans. He'd passed through unconsciousness and woke to the nightmare of having been left behind. Unlike the Queen of Sheba, it seemed he did have nine lives.

  How many more must I suffer before I am released from this earth?

  He stumbled around in the darkness for a moment, disoriented within his own room. He had fallen asleep unexpectedly after dinner, unable to focus any longer on business or Hasad's increasingly annoying lectures. The night was black, and when he looked out his window he could find no moon.

  A night with no moon… Rebekah…

  Recai pulled on a shirt and stuffed his feet into the shoes lying on the floor before grabbing his keys and heading out into the darkness.

  He pulled his Marussia B2 out of the estate's large garage and toward the streets of the city without turning on the headlights or switching on the radio—he preferred the silence of the abandoned neighborhoods. With his windows down the heat rushed through the car, bringing with it the scent of the desert. Overhead a flash of lightning lit the sky, exposing the orange hue that preceded a sandstorm.

  Above, the stars were being snuffed out one by one before him as the night sky became opaque and thick. The acrid scent of burning sand filled the air and rode on the wind, warning all in its path of looming destruction.

  The idea of driving into the kum firtinasi entertained Recai as memories of the deaths he should have had swarmed around him. How many times mu
st a man be expected to survive? How many deaths must he witness and be helpless to stop before he can succumb?

  Except Sabiha. Sabiha is alive!

  Recai sped down the side streets without direction as his mind focused on other, more upsetting thoughts. He lived in the shadow of the parents he had lost, hiding in a past he'd rather forget. He had spent his life wandering, purposeless, never accomplishing anything because of his own self doubt.

  Except Sabiha.

  Soon the city shrank behind him, the light of civilization reaching up to the heavens and reflecting back the orange glow of the storm. Before him there was no light and nothing but the sand.

  Since his time living with the Kurdish nomads after Rebekah's death, Recai had come to think of the desert as a refuge, a place outside of the demands of real life. He missed the simplicity and ease of disappearing into the sea of sand. His car roared, speeding toward the end of the world, prepared to drive off the edge and into the abyss.

  The wind picked up, whipping the sand it carried into a cyclone, feeding on its own power and ferocity. Sand beat against the car. Tiny particles ate into the paint and enamel, stripping away everything but speed and power as Recai raced further into nothing.

  Soon the storm was too severe, and Recai couldn't see the road ahead. Sand blew into the car through the open window and infiltrated the air vents, causing grit to fill his mouth with each breath. Stopping the car, he pushed the door open and ran toward the building chaos.

  "I'm here!" he called to the heavens. "I'm here and there's nothing to stop you this time. Take me! Free me! I'm no good here! I can't do anything! I don't know what you want of me, but I can't do it. Allah, I seek refuge from you!"

  The wind howled in response as electricity crackled and sparked in the sky.

  With his arms spread out above him Recai closed his eyes. The storm surrounded him and beat against his body. His thin shirt offered little protection and his skin stung. But he stood, braving the elements, wishing to disappear into the ferocity of the storm, to become one with it, to leave himself behind.