Then, he walks over to the wall, where a picture hangs. It’s a hand-drawn image of what looks like a goddess with an oversized mountain lion. Something about the woman and the mountain lion looks oddly familiar, but before I can take a closer look he yanks the painting away from the wall, revealing a safe.
“But in the meantime, you will live here with me.”
What he does next is shocking. He stands at least two arm lengths from the safe when he points his finger at it…and pop! The safe opens. But how? Was it magic?
He explains, “Magnetic pulse technology…but don’t try it yourself. Every person has his own magnetic signature, and this lock responds to only mine.”
As I peer over his shoulder into the inner recesses of the safe, I’m surprised at what I see…stacks and stacks of euros, all in five-hundred denomination notes. Wow.
“This is just great!” Janus’s voice is thick with sarcasm as he pulls out and shuffles through several stacks of notes. “We may have a real issue cashing these out for lower bills with the banks in disarray and the capital controls.” He grumbles, “Hopefully, the school will take notes this big.”
“What school?” I ask, now curious.
“Your school. You’re in high school, right? We call it Lykeio. Diana will want you to go to the best school in Athens, where there are other English-speaking kids, of course. This would be the Athens International Academy. Most people just call it the Academy. This is where most of the elite Greek kids go, as their parents want them to learn stronger English,” he says in an even voice. “I’ll have to call them, but I’m sure they can make room for you.”
It’s a little surprising that a school as amazing as he is describing would just let me start midyear without a rigorous application process, but I keep this to myself.
Janus rolls his eyes. His hands shake as if he drinks too much coffee. He’s starting to get pretty amped up as the conversation proceeds. “Look, you’ve been through a lot, but I’m not your babysitter. There are a few rules that you need to get straight if you want to live here. You sleep over there.” He points over to a narrow couch in the corner next to the window. “You make your own food, wash your own dishes and clothes, and stay out of my way. My room is in there.” He swings his hand in a sweeping, exaggerated gesture towards the only closed door in the place. “You are not allowed in there for any reason.”
He pauses to catch his breath. “My shop is downstairs. You do not touch anything down there. If I find one thing out of place, you will find yourself working for me as slave labor until you turn twenty-one. Understand?”
I nod.
“I don’t help with homework and couldn’t care less about your hormone-induced urges or traumas. Don’t bother me with that bullshit. Anything female-related goes in the trash. Do not clog my toilet. I don’t give a rat’s ass when you get home at night,” he declares. I wince. “And yes, I swear like a shit-sucking sailor. I don’t care. Live it up. You’re only young once.” He seems quite satisfied with his obnoxious speech.
He scurries over to a closet and starts tossing sheets, linens, and pillows out behind him in a dramatic cascade. The safe is still open, so I sidle over to peek inside while he’s distracted. Mostly, it is filled with notes, but there is something else in there. It looks like an antique version of a smart tablet. As I draw nearer, it starts to light up as if coming alive. Suddenly, Janus is right behind me. He whips his arm out and quickly slams the safe closed.
“What was that?” I ask, eyebrow lifted.
“Nothing.”
What a bad liar. What was that thing? The strangeness in his tone intrigues me.
Suddenly, a faint tremor shakes the apartment. Janus’s eyes grow wide as he reaches over to catch an art piece that is falling off a shelf. As he replaces it calmly, he says simply, “Earthquake.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Greece has earthquakes?”
“Oh yes,” he says. “We are on a fault line like the San Andreas in California. You should be used to that.”
Janus begins to admonish me for wearing nose and belly button rings. “Do you have any idea how much bacteria are in your nose and belly button? Those are the most concentrated places on your whole body and the worst possible places to pierce a hole in your skin. You are probably a walking infection. I’ll bet you have a tattoo too.”
I pull the neckline of my shirt down a bit to reveal the small tattoo of an eye.
“But, of course, you do. At least you have only one.” His voice falls down an octave, his angry ranting finally fizzling out. “Although interesting choice with that eye.”
“My mom picked it out for me. She said that with the symbol of the eye, she would always be able to see that I was safe.”
He raises his eyebrows. Janus pulls out an old laptop and a cell phone and hands them to me. He points to the cell phone. “Use this only in case of an emergency. I do not want to see any mushy texts from any boyfriends. I will be checking.”
I smirk. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t know anyone here.”
Janus looks skeptical. “Not yet.”
Then he picks up my suitcase and empties the contents onto the floor. A deep frown consumes his features as if he has just discovered illicit drugs. Now I see what fascinates him so much, there in his clutches. He’s found my birth control pills.
“Absolutely no drugs are allowed here!” he yells.
“Janus, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He shakes his head in earnest and grabs his reading glasses, perching them on his nose. He scrunches up his face to read the label. “Birth control?”
Good. Now he’s got to understand how silly he is and apologize to me, but my hopes of that are dashed when I see his face transform, gearing up for full lecture mode. “How could Diana buy into this load of crap? Birth control pills are made with synthetic hormones that are incompatible with the natural hormones in the human body. Very unhealthy!” The expression on his face shifts back to high anxiety as he continues his diatribe. “Besides, there’s no reason for you to use birth control anyway. No boys are allowed in this house!”
And just like that, Janus marches my last package of birth control pills over to the bathroom, pops all the pills out of the pack, and then pours all of them into the toilet, flushing them down with a whoosh.
I scream, but I’m too late. The only thing in the toilet is the swishing water left to settle after the flush. How will I find more of these pills here in Greece? They clear up my skin and make me feel less irritable around that time of the month. I need my pills!
That’s it! I can’t take it anymore, so I burst into tears.
Janus grabs my shoulders and forces me to meet his eyes. “You need to cut the crap and stop your crying right now,” he scolds. “Nothing pisses me off more than a crybaby.” Anger now boils in his eyes. “Stop. It. Now.”
His total lack of empathy stuns me speechless. I wipe my eyes and glare at him.
“That’s better. Anger is better than crying.” An alarm alerts Janus, causing him to look down at his phone. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
He rushes around the room, grabbing papers off the kitchen counter. How he would know the difference between these papers and the multitude of other stacks of papers all over the place is a mystery. “I’ve got a client waiting downstairs. Gotta go. Be back in an hour.” He runs down the stairs, grabbing the scarf to cover his shiny bald patch on his way out.
I pick up the thin blankets and a moldy-smelling pillow off the floor, and then sit on the ragged couch, surveying my new home. Is this what my life has come to? I’d rather live on the street than spend another second with this hateful man.
Enough is enough.
I need to get out of here…now.
6 – Bastet
Thoughts spin round and round in my mind. If I run away, where will I go? A faint beam of sunlight hits my arm, distracting me. On the far side of the room, I see the source of the light, which streams in through a large, old dirt-encrusted window.
An escape route? I use my shirt sleeve to wipe away some grime and peer outside. That’s when I see it. A steel gray spiral staircase. I creak open the window. From here on the second floor, the stairs lead up to the top of the house, presumably to the roof.
I need to get out of here. Now. Sudden urgency propels me through the open window and out onto the narrow spiraling stairs.
When I reach the top, I can’t believe what I see. The entire roof of Janus’s building is covered with lush plants and trees which surround a small, circular, wooden sundeck. Two chaise lounges and a sweet little table with a turquoise and white striped umbrella make me think that this little hideaway was planned well outside of Janus’s influence. My mother has been here before. I’m sure of it.
Her taste is everywhere. There’s even a wicker basket filled with plush blankets. The only thing out of place is a book on the table titled The Art of Tantric Sex. I pick it up and open it to where it’s bookmarked. Wow. My cheeks flush as I slam the book shut and throw it down with a thud. Janus is full of surprises.
The plants are tagged and labeled: rosemary, thyme, garlic. The smell of fresh herbs makes my mouth water and my stomach grumble in agreement. From here, the city is a extraordinary. Off in the distance, tiny gray and white square buildings shimmer and twinkle in the slowly setting sun. The dimming sky creates a magnificent canvas of magenta, violet, and amber, a glorious offset to the deep blue sheen of the Aegean Sea. Church bells chime in unison all over the city.
This is a magical place…my new refuge…my escape.
I curl up on one of the chaise lounges. What do I do now? So much has happened in the past twelve hours that I’m exhausted. My eyes grow heavy, but I need to stay awake.
As the sky darkens to night, hundreds of stars start to glitter above. Instantly, my mind sharpens, and I consider my options. I could break into the safe, steal some money and run away back to the United States. I’m practically an adult. But how would I survive? And what about Mom? I need to find her. Even though Janus is a complete jerk, he did offer to help find her. Why would he lie?
Trust no one.
I can’t leave now. The only alternative, then, is for me to get more information from him. But how? I rack my brain for answers. When I wanted something with my mom, what worked? Stealth and charm. I know what I need to do. Slowly, I make my way back down into the apartment.
“Uh, Janus?” I say, my voice soft and sugary sweet. My feet clank on the metal spiral stairway and the old rusty hinges of the door creak and groan as I come in from outside to our teeny-tiny apartment. An intoxicating aroma of rosemary, lemons and simmering meat saturates the room…yum. My stomach grumbles. All I’ve eaten since leaving California is a few bites of gross airplane salad.
“Huh?” Janus looks up, startled. His headscarf has fallen sideways. Tufts of long, stringy gray-black hair stick out in odd directions. He’s hunkered down over a plate of seasoned chicken skewers, licking the savory grease from his fingers.
“Were you going to say something, or was there some other reason you needed to interrupt my dinner?” He smacks his lips in obvious delight as he takes another bite of chicken. My mouth waters. Why is he not offering any to me? This is torture.
Oh crap. He told me earlier that I have to make my own food. But I have no idea how to cook anything but packaged microwavable food! And there’s none here. I need to go grocery shopping.
“Uh, yeah…I…” My stomach grumbles again. I grab my midsection to quiet the noise, wishing my body would cooperate with my plans.
He cuts me off. “Would you just spit it out?”
“Stop interrupting me!” I raise my voice. He glares at me, wide-eyed and defiant.
I take a deep breath and start again. “Can I ask you something?”
“You already are,” his voice deepens to match mine.
“I never heard of you before yesterday, so how can you be my godfather?” I ask, trying my best to remain calm.
He stares at his fork, silent for a moment, then shrugs. “I’m not really your godfather. Isn’t that a Christian thing? I’m not a Christian, and neither was Diana. It was a convenient way, though, for you to have a ‘relative’ so you don’t get lost in that shithole quagmire that is the US foster care system. Diana was at least smart about that.”
“You sure swear a lot,” I whisper under my breath.
“What?” he says dryly. “Oh, I’m sorry, but you would too if you had my life!”
“It doesn’t seem that bad,” I say, twisting the frizzed-out ends of my hair.
“You don’t know me that well yet.” Janus pulls out a tall bottle full of clear liquid, pours it into two shot glasses. In one swift movement, he chugs it down his throat, shuddering and twitching as the drink consumes his body, then shoves the other glass across the table to me. “Drink it.”
I must be frowning because it makes him grin. “This is mastiha…a Greek aperitif derived from the mastic tree. We drink this or tsipouro to cleanse the palette before meals. You’ve probably heard of ouzo?”
I shake my head. Greek liquor wasn’t a subject that was covered in my mythology class at school.
“Okay, whatever.” He shrugs. “Take it and drink it down fast. You’ll feel good.”
This stuff looks scary, but why not? When in Greece… I down it. Oh my! My body shudders just as Janus’s did earlier. Suddenly, the world seems not only good but…funny. Really funny. I laugh out loud.
As the food on the stove crackles and simmers, the succulent aroma grows even stronger. I can’t stand it much longer. My stomach groans. Janus smirks. “You hungry?”
“Yes!”
His eyes sparkle, but his tone remains dry. “I suppose this one time I can relax the ‘you make your own food’ rule.”
“Is this some kind of Greek food?” I inquire as I walk over to crackling chicken skewers sitting on a hot plate on the stove.
“Souvlaki,” he informs me. His eyes grow wide with excitement as he explains in detail how to prepare the meal, including his use of fresh-cut herbs from his rooftop garden. Clearly, Janus enjoys teaching.
When we sit down at the table, I pour him another shot of mastiha and pretend to pour one for me. Maybe a little more alcohol can soften him up. “How did you know my mother, then?” I ask innocently.
He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “We met through common friends. Let’s just say that we both have an avid interest in…Greek mythology.” His speech begins to slur. “She was my client for years, back when she lived here.”
“She lived here?” I remember the roof deck and her obvious influence there.
“Well, yes, in this very building. My bedroom up here was her room, and I slept in one of the rooms downstairs, in what is now my shop. Those were the days.” His eyes light up and dance in sync with the flame of the flickering candle on the table in front of us. He clearly cared for her. But how much? I need to know.
“You and my mom were romantic, then? Were you…in love with her?”
Janus chokes on his food, laughing out loud. “Oh, God no. I’m not her type. Besides, your mother wasn’t interested in men. Of course, you must have known that.”
What is he talking about? My mom wasn’t a lesbian. She went out with men throughout my entire childhood. Though she did spend a lot of time with her best friend. Didn’t my mother always say that anything is possible? Eith
er way, it doesn’t matter to me—but now I wonder why she felt she couldn’t tell me.
Janus breaks the silence. “But then again, she wasn’t really interested in women either.”
What is that supposed to mean? So, my mother wasn’t interested in anyone? It makes no sense.
“Janus?”
“Hmmm?” He seems off in space, somewhere else.
“What if I told you that I know that my mom is still alive?”
His eyes shoot open, and he sits straight up. “Why, because that lawyer gave you her necklace?”
“No…” I say, completely sure of myself, “My mother and I have always had a special bond, like I can feel her in my heart. And, well, I feel her strength, as if she’s breathing inside of me. I know she’s out there somewhere…and I will find her.”
He visibly relaxes. “Ohhhh.” His eyes sparkle. “Well then, if you’re so sure she’s alive, where is she? Because if you know, I have a daughter to return to her.”
I whisper, but my voice is dead serious. “The mafia has her.”
“Is that so?” A deep rumbling reverberates from Janus’s chest with a rich laugh that ends in a giggle. He wipes tears from his eyes, clearly enjoying this.
“Yes, I overheard the attorney say that the fire at her labs was linked to some secret crime network in Greece. Sounds like the mafia to me,” I say earnestly. “And then the shooting at the house…”
Janus fidgets with his terry cloth wristband, deep in thought. “Helene, the mafia, organized crime and the black markets here in Greece, are very…complicated.”
“Oh, so you do have the mafia here?” I ask with an edge to my voice. “I knew it! It’s not just in Italy.”
His expression darkens, very serious. “Sometimes things are not what they seem. You’ve got to be careful asking around generically about ‘the mafia.’ There are immigrant gangs from a wide variety of countries and nationalities involved in many different facets of the underworld in Greece. It’s a melting pot of multicultural organized crime, facilitated by Greeks. They can be dangerous if provoked, but otherwise, they leave the rest of us alone. Do not provoke them.”
Protogenesis: Before the Beginning Page 5
