Protogenesis: Before the Beginning

by Alysia Helming

  Hal’s voice is strained but much softer, as if it’s a major effort to say anything. “You…you were right about your mom…”

  This is totally unexpected.

  “Wha…what do you mean?”

  He turns his lips up, but they quiver as he struggles for the words. “Your mother…she’s alive.”

  “What? How?” I ask, but of course, I knew it! My head aches. There’s no way I would have believed this guy before, but now that he’s shot and bleeding out, I reconsider my first impression of him. If he’s about to die, why would he lie? Something about the sneer on his face makes me hesitate. I need to find out what he knows.

  “I don’t believe you,” I say smartly, looking him square in the eyes.

  “Pfft,” he sputters. Slowly, he reaches into his pocket.

  I draw in a breath. Does he have a gun? He removes his hand from his pocket. Whatever he has there, it’s too small to be a gun. He holds out his hand, palm up.

  I move in closer. My mind spins when I see what it is. There, in his hand, is a piece of jewelry…a charm. Something about the way the light hits its tiny face makes it appear as if it’s glowing. I recognize it immediately.

  My mother’s necklace. The cypress tree charm.

  Hal couldn’t possibly have it unless...but why is she not wearing it? She would never take it off unless this was serious. He must be telling the truth. She’s alive!

  A mix of euphoria and giddiness fills me. Gingerly, I take the necklace and drape it around my neck. Steady calm fills me as I place the shiny cypress tree charm just above my heart. I can still imagine my mother soaring high above the desert sands on the back of Aetoa, the glorious golden eagle. Her power is mine.

  It’s then that I know the truth. She left the necklace behind as a sign for me because I would know without a doubt that she’s still alive... If so, then why? She must want me to find her, like an SOS. I think of the strange medallion – the sign of that Greek crime network. The gunman who attacked our house must be with them.

  Hal grunts in pain as he tries to move. The bloodstain on his shirt is growing larger. He doesn’t have much time.

  He looks at me through pained eyes. “I clocked the sniper, but he will come to any minute now. You have to get out of here.”

  “Who was he?” I ask, but Hal cuts me off.

  “There’s no time.” His hand trembles. “You have to get away from here now.” He nods towards the larger road ahead. “Just down the road, you’ll see a black sedan with a driver that is waiting to take you to San Francisco International Airport. Inside, you’ll find a suitcase and backpack. There, you’ll find money and a plane ticket that will take you to Athens.” His voice cracks. “Your godfather will be waiting for you at the airport.”

  “But what about you?”

  Hal holds up his phone. The face reads 9-1-1.

  “Maybe I should just wait for the police to come?”

  “No! You don’t understand. These people are everywhere, even among the police. They won’t expect you to go to Greece. It’s the last place they will think you’ll go, so it will be safe for you there.”

  “But how will I find my mom?”

  “Your godfather will know.” His voice grows urgent. “Now…go!”

  Moments later, I find the car where a gruff driver with a stern face waits for me. After what just happened, I feel wary. But I have no choice. I have to get out of here. Now.

  I get in. My backpack and suitcase are sitting on the seat. Where did this stuff come from? My mother must have packed it and given it to Hal.

  Just as we’re about to pass by the sign that marks the County line, a knot forms in my throat when I see the giant concrete football stadium and the red and gold sign that stands on top of the large brick building that is my school. Will I ever see this place, my friends, Mrs. Dilmore, or even Randall Sibley again? I have no idea, but above all else, I am sure of one thing...

  I have to find my mom. It’s not safe here anymore.

  I’m going to Greece.

  3 – American Girl

  I’m standing in line, waiting to board the plane. My hands tremble as I flip through the pages of my passport, which reveals a photo of me from two years ago when I went to the US Passport Agency. Out of the blue, Mom went nuts with a sudden, urgent need for me to rush out to get a passport. When I asked why, she simply said, “you never know when you’ll need it.” Now, I know why.

  A loud sound strikes my ears…Pop! Like a gun shot. Anxiety takes over. My heart races. Disoriented, I look around. Is the gunman here now? Terror fills me.

  “Ma’am…?” A woman’s soft voice breaks through my thoughts, “may I see your ticket?” As the line of people waiting behind me comes into focus, I see a boy standing there. He’s crunching loudly on some chips. As he reaches in for another hand-full, he slams his fist into the metallic bag and Pop! It wasn’t a gun shot. No one is here to kill me.

  I’m feeling a little queasy as I hand the airline attendant my ticket. It’s not until I walk down the long, chilled jet bridge that I begin to breathe easier. The plane slowly climbs high up into the serenity of white, wispy clouds. Here, I allow myself to fully relax as my body sinks deep into the seat. Finally, I feel safe. The low hum of the engines soothes my nerves.

  All the events of the past few hours come flooding back to me. The gunman was real. My mother is alive but missing. The police are dead. The attorney, Hal Avery, is horribly wounded. A mysterious Greek crime network wants me dead.

  They likely have my mom, and now they want me. But why? I’m just some girl. It doesn’t add up. And why exactly am I going to Greece, the very place where the people who want to kill me would be?

  I’m filled with dread about all this. I have zero control here. How can I travel all the way across the world all alone?

  But Hal was right. I’m not safe in California. My assassins would never expect me to come to them, and this godfather whom I never knew I had before will know how I can find my mom.

  As we approach Athens, I look out the window and am stunned by the sight below. Clouds hover and dance gracefully over endless blue skies, a deep, vast indigo blue sea edged in turquoise and thousands of white glittering rooftops staring up at me. The mass of flat, shining roofs extends across the land as far as I can see up to the tree line of the towering majestic mountains that encircle this vast metropolis.

  I am in awe.

  When I step off the plane, I’m greeted by bright streaming sunlight. I’m not sure if it’s the ten-hour time difference or the out-of-body feeling I have, but a weird sense of euphoria hits me. It’s as if I can sense that I’m closer to my mom, and once I find her, everything will be okay.

  Heat warms the skin on my neck. I reach up to my chest. It feels like I’ve been burned. There, the cypress tree necklace simmers, probably warm from the sunlight, but to me, it’s as if it has come to life.

  I look around, pleasantly surprised. The airport is meticulously clean, and wherever I look, there are happy, smiling people greeting others with hugs and kisses. The words on the signs at the airport in both Greek and English, and many local people seem to easily speak English well.

  A loud crack sounds over a loudspeaker. Pop! I cringe at the sound and cower, my ears ringing slightly as I experience sudden vertigo. The image of the gunman skirts my peripheral vision, filling me with dread. But when I blink my eyes, he’s gone.

  A mass of people speaking different languages congregates around the twirling baggage carousel. A rainbow-hued assortment of duffel bags and suitcases is dumped from the top of a chute, colliding one on top of another, then dropping down onto the revolving conveyer belt. Judging from the a
valanche of luggage, the travelers on my flight do not believe in traveling light. Of course, my overstuffed suitcase is the last to appear.

  A loudspeaker pipes in Greek music. The sounds are subtle and exotic, a juxtaposition of old and new. The beat feels ancient, awakening something inside of me that I can’t describe. An electronic ticker over-head displays the temperature, but it’s in Celsius. I don’t remember the conversion from science class.

  I step up to the small desk in front of the passport officer. I hope he doesn’t notice that I’m not breathing. He stares at my passport, pushes a button, and then turns to ask a question in Greek to some unseen person. I feel sweat pooling under my arms, sure that there is a huge stain there now. What if they won’t let me enter the Country? He painstakingly studies my photo. Just when I feel that I can’t stand it anymore, he shrugs and explains in a bored tone that I have an extra stamp on my passport now to show that I have a student visa. “Welcome to Greece.” He smiles.

  Relief floods me as I recall why I am here. I have a mission…find Mom. A touristy picture on the wall of the marble-columned Parthenon catches my eye, and for a moment, I think I see someone familiar there. It’s a woman with long, cascading brown hair, eyes dark and defiant, holding hands with a man, smiling. But wait; she looks just like my mom. I blink and look again. It’s not Mom. I must be hallucinating.

  I am so totally focused on this out-of-body experience that I completely miss the huge puddle of water on the slick floor. My white tennis shoes must have no tread left because I slip and crash down towards the ground. But I don’t fall…I smack into someone, painfully bumping my head in the process. My glasses fly off my face, clattering to the ground. Not good. I’m blind without my glasses.

  “Ouch!” I yelp, cradling my temple as I bend down on my knees, feeling around on the floor for my glasses. I hope they are nearby; otherwise, I’m screwed. How can I defend myself against the mafia if I’m blind?

  “Sorry!” a deep voice calls out to me. He sounds like a guy maybe around my age. Not an assassin.

  “With so many beautiful things to see in Greece, I’m guessing you need these?” he asks as the cool, hard plastic rims of my glasses touch the inside of my palm.

  Thank god. I put them on. Much better. I can see!

  But I can’t believe what I see. This guy has the most stunning eyes, like liquid turquoise, the color of the sea.

  “Uh, yeah,” I stammer, suddenly shy. “Thanks.”

  His short, tousled dark hair and olive skin are a striking contrast to those mesmerizing eyes. I’m not that petite, but he towers over me, tall and wiry, dressed in an expensive, but casual, navy shirt and jeans. He has a faraway gleam in his eyes, like James Dean; and there’s something sweet about how he diverts his eyes when he runs his hand through his hair, like he’s a little shy.

  “You’re from America?” he asks in a rich, smooth accent. I love this Greek-English accent. It melts me. Nothing comes out of my mouth, so I just nod. His warm smile captivates me, but even so, I sense something raw and untamed lies underneath his preppy, well-poised façade – something deep and complicated.

  “No,” I reply, trying to be funny, “California.”

  “Oh, so California must have defected from America, then?” There’s an endearing, mischievous playfulness about him.

  Suddenly, I can’t look directly at him, like I’m shy. This never happens! Not to me. When I muster the courage to meet his eyes again, I’m startled to find him studying me. “Your eyes,” he says, “they’re so unusual. What is that color? Purple?”

  “Violet,” I correct him.

  “Oh, I’ve never seen anything like them before,” he says quietly.

  I’m so lost in the moment that I just now notice that my backpack has fallen off and ripped. My clothes and books are splayed out all over the floor in a big mess. He leans down, trying to help me, but I don’t want him seeing my stuff – especially not my underwear! – so I grab the backpack away from him, maybe with a little too much force.

  “I’m fine,” I say in a clipped tone again, now fully composed. “I can take it from here, thanks.”

  He looks affronted, as if I’ve upset him, but he’s not easily dissuaded, so he continues to try to help me. His persistence, despite the abrupt change in my demeanor, intrigues me.

  Then something strange happens. Just as he reaches over to give me one of my books, his hand accidentally brushes mine. The hair on the back of my neck instantly prickles as a warm, tingling heat runs up my arm.

  It’s like…raw, pulsing electricity.

  I jerk my hand swiftly back at the sensation. My eyes meet his startled gaze. He felt it too. Something deep passes between us. It’s like I’ve known this guy all my life.

  The moment ends as I snap out of the fairy tale. This is so ridiculous. I’m crushing on this guy, and it makes no sense. I’m not that girl who fawns over guys. Especially not now. I have serious issues now to deal with. No time to fool around with guys.

  I take a deep breath. Focus, Helene.

  A woman calls out to him. It sounds like she’s from England or Australia. “Ever? There you are!”

  The woman is regal and well coifed, her shiny blond hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. Is this his mom? “Come on. Time to go.”

  His face brightens at the sight of her. It’s clear that he loves her dearly. Seeing this bond between them makes me yearn for my own mother…Mom! I try to push the thought from my mind, afraid I might burst into tears, which would be bad.

  “Okay, Mom…I’m coming! I was just helping this…girl after she dropped her stuff.” He points down to the scattered mess on the floor. “She’s from America.” He winks at me. Very smooth.

  I roll my eyes, continuing the joke. “California!”

  He grins, “California. Yeah. Ha-ha.”

  If his mom catches any of our playful banter, she’s not giving it away. “Oh!” She smiles briefly at me. “Years ago, way before Ever was born, I came here from Australia, but we have many relatives in California. Welcome to Greece! You’re going to love it.”

  She looks around, concerned. “But where are your parents?”

  I frown. What do I say? Officer Ryan’s last words “Trust no one” still haunt me. While she seems incredibly nice, I don’t feel like I can tell her the truth. I need to find my godfather. “Uh, not here. I’m alone.”

  “Okay, but is someone meeting you here? Do you know where you’re going?” she asks, eyes kind and nurturing. She seems genuinely concerned for me.

  “Yes.…I mean, no. Well, actually, my godfather is supposed to meet me here, but I haven’t seen him yet.” I look around. Where the heck is he, anyway?

  Her serious green eyes study my face. “Do you need help? I’d be happy to ask my driver to take you where you need to go.”

  I’m sure that he will be here soon. Of course, he will. He has to be. “Uh, no, that’s okay.”

  She turns back to her son. The name Ever is so unusual. It doesn’t sound Greek. Not that I would know what typical Greek names are. Maybe I heard it wrong. Or maybe it’s an Australian name. His eyes sparkle as he hands me one last book.

  Ever’s mother notices the time on her watch and says, “Time for us to go. Ya sou…Good luck!” She loops her arm in her son’s and directs him away.

  As they start to walk off, he turns and waves good-bye before calling out, “Nice to meet you, American girl!”

  I’m still trembling from the shock of the electricity that I felt with him. It’s then that the truth hits me. Athens is a big city. There’s no way I’ll see him again. I feel a little sad, which is weird because I just met him. But also, I was stirred by the obvious love betw
een he and his mother. It makes me want to see my mother. Now.

  Mom, why did you leave me all alone?

  4 – The Driver

  I’m down for a moment, but then I realize that I need to focus on a more pressing matter. I need to find my godfather.

  I make my way over to the place where the drivers stand with their placards. I am greeted by a few cheerful souls: “Kalispera. Welcome to Athens.” Their smooth accents and kindness are soothing, but when I don’t see my name on any of the placards, I panic.

  I should have let Ever’s mother help me! What was I thinking?

  One of the drivers notices my distress and turns to me. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asks in English. “Don’t worry! It will be fine. Listen, the person whom I was supposed to pick up is not coming after all. I can take you where you need to go.” He has a kind and weathered face, as if he has spent a lot of time in the sun with laugh lines etched around his mouth and eyes. This man has smiled a lot in his life. I instantly like him.

  I check the zippered pockets of the backpack for some money. Surely, Hal left me some. But no. The pockets are empty. Tears well up in my eyes as I choke out the words, “But I have no cash.”

  “I take credit cards,” he says persistently.

  I shake my head, can’t even bring myself to talk. I don’t understand how Hal or my mother would expect me to go to Greece without any money.

  The driver smiles with understanding, as if he is used to dealing with people like me. “I am sure there is money where you are going, right? You can pay me when we get there.”

  I am suddenly suspicious, remembering the stories that my mom used to tell me about girls who traveled alone in Europe and were kidnapped by a cab driver, then sold into slavery. But when we walk over to his car, I’m pleasantly surprised to see a brand-new shiny black Mercedes. Okay, so this is not some low-end driver…probably not a kidnapper. Much better than a taxi. Besides, I have no choice. My godfather’s not here! Some guardian he’s turning out to be.