CHAPTER TWO
I’m not a wild horse
to be broken.
I’m not a token
to be flipped in the air,
and lost,
In the dust of your memory
Silver streaked their regal wings as they
emerged from the snow caps into the quiet dusk. They laced through the stinging
air, disappearing into the mystified blue of the darkening sky. A million stars
revealed the playful mood of the awakening night, as the crystallized fingers
of the hermetic trees clawed at the silent mountains.
Memory mingled with expectation,
congealing into agony.
Her boots, caked with crusty slime,
crunched on the dry twigs and fallen leaves. Although it was mid-September, the
bitter cold found its shrinking target with relentless accuracy. Her heart
entombed in layers of clothing, pounded in a steady rhythm, and her legs,
though sturdy and well-trained, quivered with exhaustion. Her aching back could
barely support the sack with the meager possessions she had taken in her
flight.
Her
stomach contracted painfully, as her head started to pound with hunger. Her last
meal of lentils and rice, the only fare to be had, had worn thin. Her memory
taunted her with visions of the enticing delicacies she had once had access to.
Her mouth watered, but she firmly removed all such thoughts from her mind. She
had without regret closed all doors to the elite society in which she grew up.
Her actions precluded returning to the familiar opulence which had been almost
as staggering as the decay it hid. From the time she entered the wasted,
beggar-swamped streets of the city, in her desperate journey to the mountains,
she did not look back.
The wind rose to a whining moan. She
controlled her mind, drawing from her years of training, piecing out the trail
she had minutely planned. This was no haphazard escape, yet it was not without
its dangers. They would pursue her, bent on taking revenge for her treacherous
and traitorous acts as they perceive them. Those who will be sent to find her
and eventually kill her will not know the truth behind her actions...
Bam!
Mika’s body shudders so violently, as she
falls from the sofa where she had fallen asleep onto the soft rug below.
Disoriented, scared, drained from so many nights of restless, vision-filled
sleep, she hugs herself to stabilize. She knows she needs help, and fast.
***
Samantha Burke's address is in a poorer
part of the city. She lives in an old,
once quite majestic, house that has been sectioned off into apartments out of
desperate necessity. The house itself is
quietly falling apart, but is doing so with some dignity. The owners have tried
to keep it up, but the elements and the economy have gone against them.
The
officer that stands the door is obviously amused to see Curtis. “Surprised you
don’t have your hands too full tonight, Bain.”
. Curtis grins at the tall blonde. “You
went and got married Petros; there was no choice. What do we have here?”
Eva Petros shrugs. "Not much;
forensics are finishing up in there. The door was locked from inside. She was
lying near a table in the corner. It kinda looks like a shrine. There were no
obvious signs of struggle, but her neighbor heard her scream.”
Curtis nods. “Thanks. Who’s in there?”
The officer smirks. ”Rebecca and Bill.”
“Perfect!”
His wry tone doesn't escape the officer
and she grins. "Rebecca will be delighted to see you.”
Curtis winks, “Hey! We’re all on the same
side.”
Eva grins. “Sure thing, Task Force.”.
Curtis quietly steps in, ignoring the
annoyed glances from the detectives. The only good thing about Ms. Burke's
apartment is the high ceilings. It's small and drafty. The windows are useless
for light. Curtis can't believe anyone would willingly live here. It is obvious
she tried to give it some color with the prints on the wall and the pillows,
but the place is a dump. He studies the room meticulously.
The open window is open, it's lace
curtains billow wildly with the arctic wind. The room is very neat, except for
the small pedestal table in the corner where the victim (of what?) was found. Curtis
examines it. The thick white candle stands melded on layers of other melted
candles. The table itself is covered with candle drippings, forming an awesome
and slightly grotesque sculpture. The officer was right; it does look like a
shrine; but there are no pictures, no statuettes, none of the usual trappings.
Curtis
shakes his head. He seriously doubts there is a crime to investigate here, but
it is a mystery. He steps over to the
two detectives, to confer, knowing he will have to overcome their usual
reluctance. This reaction doesn’t bother him. Curtis’ focus is elsewhere. He
loves a good mystery.
***
Kiro Hammond absently drums his fingers on
the desk as he quickly scans his newest patient's file. He scowls. Dr. Malcolm
has asked him to review this case that has stumped even her. The recurring
dreams and lack of sleep intrigue him. A clear picture of Mika Gurin has formed
in his mind. It wasn't the meticulous contents of the folder or the words she
spoke that gave him the clues. It was her voice on the tapes. The inflections,
intonations, the pauses, the chewed phrases have revealed the broken path that
his newest patient is on.
He closes the file.
He swivels in his seat to look out at the
darkening Toronto
skyline. The Tower flickers warnings to oncoming planes, much as the warnings
flicker in his head. He reaches back and pulls out the elastic that binds his
hair in its controversial ponytail, and loosens his tie. He feels a
headache coming on. The peace and turmoil of the last few days on his boat
recede to the background of his mind.
His life which has led him from the
cosmopolitan to the primitively ancient cities of the world brought him back
home. Back to the place he vowed he would never see. He, unlike most in his
profession, believes in destiny, making the feelings he has been getting recently
hard to overlook. Something big is about to happen.
He
reaches for the photograph that has gone everywhere with him, even on weekend
conferences. He strokes the cool frame and gazes at the two faces that were so
dear to him. His mother, smiles serenely, her almond eyes reflecting the beauty
of her Japanese soul. She stands safely in her husband's arms. His father, a
tall rugged Irishman with a weather-beaten face grins at his beloved. Kiro
hopes he will have their courage and confidence to brave the storm coming...
His parents had weathered many storms in
their lives. They even survived the greatest and longest monsoon of disapproval
their marriage wrought. Both families were vocal in their resentment of a white
Irish man marrying a Japanese woman; of a mariner marrying a noble woman. They
were both thrown out of their respective families; but they didn't let people's
dismay phase them . This was love pure and simple.
Their only true sorrow was that their
beloved son was thrown into exile with them, but Kiro had never minded. His
parents' magic was more than enough for him. He lived an enchanted life. To
him, his parents were gods. Perhaps that is why he lost them so soon...
The wage of idolatry is death...
Kiro returns the photograph gently to its
place of honour, as the phone rings. It is his aunt confirming their lunch
date.
***
All day, pins and nettles have been coursing
though Mika’s system. She has worked like a robot, getting through twice as
much as any other day. Others have steered clear of her, afraid to be near when
the spontaneous combustion would surely kick in.
Keeping busy is the only antidote to the
constant churning worry She hopes her afternoon appointment with this doctor
"whiz" will settle this turmoil that’s lasted for almost a year.
"Where
the hell is Jones?"
"He
called earlier. He won't be coming in until later. He was pretty
hush-hush."
"I'll
show him hush-hush. Who’s covering the Burke story? When, IF, he calls in, tell
him to haul it in here, pronto!"
“Ummm...” Her
assistant backs away slightly.
Mika takes a
deep breath and smiles. This isn't the poor girl’s fault. “Sorry, Becca. I’m on
edge and I don’t mean to go all Medusa on you. I’ll take care of it. Thank
you.”
She sits down
and picks up the phone. Her contact at the hospital dropped this case into her
lap, and she is determined to get to the bottom of it. Time to call in some
chips.
***
"So, darling, how have you
been?"
Kiro smiles warmly, "I can't complain
Auntie."
The very polished woman who looks no older
than him swiftly scans the nearby tables and frowns. "You know better than
to call me that!"
"I don't see why not." Kiro
grins mischievously.
She makes a droll pouting expression. "For
a psychiatrist, you have a pathetic lack
of understanding for human vanity."
Kiro laughs as she gives him a hearty
wink. "My dearest Mattie nothing can detract from your beauty."
Mattie’s laughter is like champagne
crystal. “ You've been working on your charm, I see.”
"I try. What's new and sparkling on
your horizon?"
"Did I tell you about my upcoming
cruise to the islands?"
"No, you haven't but I'm sure you
will."
Mattie takes a delicate sip from her
glass. “i hate drinking alone. Why don't you have some wine?"
"Never at lunch dear."
Mattie sighs. "You make me feel like
such a lush. Why can’t you learn to let loose a little?."
"It wouldn't do to intoxicate by
patients with my breath. Now, you were saying about the cruise?."
Kiro listens carefully and affectionately
to the details of his aunt’s newest escapade. Throughout the riveting account,
he cannot help himself from being enchanted. All his life he has held the
deepest admiration and respect for his mother's spunky sister. She had been the
only relative in either family to thumb her nose at the indignation of such an
"unholy" match and continue her relationship with her beloved sister
and her husband. Indeed she was their friend, confidante and crusader.
When Kiro was born, she declared herself
his godmother, becoming a fairy godmother at that. She showered him with attention and praise.
She took him to his skating lessons and later to his hockey practices to give
his parents some time alone and to spend some time with him. She was there for him when his parents traveled for their thriving export business. She was a second mother, a
guardian angel, a confidante in his times of trouble and triumph. She was the
only relative to go to his parents’ funeral.
***
"Look at him sitting over there all
smug and confident. He is a handsome bastard isn't he?"
"Come on Natalie stop drooling, the
cleaning staff has already been through this office."
"Don't tell me you wouldn't like to
hop into the sac with him, Mika."
Mika gives the other woman a withering
glance which goes unnoticed. "Sadists are not my type."
"No, masochists are." The other
woman retorts icily.
"Excuse me?”
Natalie back-pedals quickly. "Sorry.
I don't know what I'm saying."
"Obviously. Don’t you have any work
to do?" Mika is doubly irritated by the comment and the fact that she has
to deal with Curtis under Natalie’s hawk-eye stare.
"They say that he's the eighth wonder
of the world."
"Oh my gawd, Natalie. Give it a rest!"
"Rest is not what’s on my mind,”
drools the redhead.
Mika studies the other woman, unable to
stop herself from taunting her. “Right, well if you will excuse me, he’s here
to see me.”
Curtis ends the call, a satisfied gleam in
his eyes. He quickly maps out a strategy for tomorrow when he'll meet with the Burks.
He studies Mika as she breaks away from an obviously irritating discussion with
Natalie and strides purposefully toward him. Even from a distance he can see
the familiar hungry look in the redhead’s eyes. He gives Natalie no more
thought, as he gets up from the comfortable leather sofa to meet Mika who is
not smiling.
“Curtis.”
“Mika.”
She sighs, slightly exasperated. “What can
I do for you?”
Curtis grins to melt the glacier between
them. “It’s more what we can do for each other. I won't ask if you've heard
about Samantha Burke.”
Mika nods, warily. “Yep. We just ran a
preliminary story.”
Curtis. “I’m investigating this case.”
“Congratulations?”
Curtis, clenches his jaw,
deciding to ignore her sarcasm. “It’s better for both of us if we work together.
We’re not at cross-purposes. We don’t want a repeat of the Spieller Case.”
Mika's smile is limited to her lips. “You
mean you don’t want me to get more information and basically crack the case for
you again while you try to coerce me to cooperate? You mean like that?”
Curtis foregoes trying to charm her. He
studies her without expression. “That and you getting arrested for obstruction
of justice.”
“Enter the threat,” she sighs wearily this
time. “Look, that charge was tossed after I helped you solve the murders. I
don’t give up sources and I won’t. So, what do you want?”
“A free exchange of information. You help
me. I help you.”
This day is endlessly annoying, she thinks
to herself as she stares the tall, muscular man down. “Fine. What you got?”
***
An hour later, after a gritty exchange of
information with Curtis, Mika stands in front of an unfamiliar office door. She’s been studying it for the last ten
minutes, trying to get enough courage to open it and step in. Once again, she
has to bear her soul into the hands of a stranger. Once again, she has to go
through mental dissection. But if it will purge of the dreams that have been
stalking her life, she will bite down and do it.
She reaches for the doorknob and enters another
world. The receptionist's desk is dwarfed by an enormous plant and the muted
sounds of water draw her attention to an indoor waterfall. With less taste, the
effect would have been tacky. It's beautiful but hardly conventional for an
office.
"You must be Mika Gurin. Doctor
Hammond is expecting you." The receptionist's musical voice cuts into her
creeping hysteria.
Mika nods as the secretary waves her in and lets herself
into the inner office which is more subdued. The colors were chosen for a
relaxing effect. The doctor however, is not what she expected. He must be in his
late thirties, early forties. His tanned face is a severe alabaster
sculpture. His dark auburn shoulder-length
hair is tied back.
He is imposing in the grey suit but his
eyes entrance Mika. They are large almond shaped. A legacy from an Asian
heritage, Mika estimates. Stunning in their own right with a turbulent sea green
color that holds Mika's attention.
Immediately warning bells chime in Mika's
head. A voice inside her insists she’s seen him before. Uncomfortably, she
realizes that she has left too much time elapse since her entry. And in that time,
he has been studying her too.
He smiles, a slow easy smile that rests on
his face. In spite of herself, Mika returns the smile a bit self-consciously.
"Ms. Gurin. Please take a seat."
He indicates a low, comfortable armchair in front of his desk.
"Dr. Hammond, please call me Mika.
I'd like to thank you for seeing me so soon. I'm used to working on holidays,
but I was surprised that you were in today."
He smiles again. "My receptionist and
I have no ties so we prefer flexible holidays. Before we begin, let me tell you
a little bit about myself..."
For
the next half hour, Kiro tells Mika everything about his professional life;
where he studied; where he worked; the cities he lived in; some past cases he
worked on. He entertains all her questions and answers them simply and
truthfully.
This reassures her enough to tell him
about her life. She gives a brief overview of her childhood and adolescence.
She talks about her university life and the traumatic time she had when her
father died and her mother later moved back to her native Vancouver.
"I felt doubly alone, but I knew that
was the best way that she could deal with dad's death. I came to accept it and
it's given me a place to escape to once in a while. She's remarried since and
her new husband is really great. I'm happy for her."
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you happy for yourself?"
"On the whole, yes. I have the job of
my dreams, a wonderful house, and awesome friends. My love life isn't that
great, but whose is these days?"
Kiro smiles and nods agreement. "When
did the dreams start?"
Mika
tenses for the first time. "About a year ago."
"Did
anything happen that you think might have set these dreams off?"
"Not
that I can think of. I was promoted
earlier that year from researcher to assistant editor. The new job is more
stressful, but frankly, I thrive on stress. I had spent the holidays with mum
and Bill and it was really fun. I was going out with a man I was serious about
at the time but later proved to be a genuine jerk..I really can't pinpoint
anything specific."
"Okay.
Good enough. Now, this is what I propose we do...stop me when you like. I want
to hypnotize you to go back to the events of the time just before the onset of
the dreams and insomnia."
"Hypnosis?"
"You
sound a bit hesitant. Let me reassure you. Hypnosis has a good rate of
effectiveness and is dangerous only in severe situations of psychosis, in which
case I would not go into it without any extensive preparation. While you're
hypnotized, although you're in a state similar to unconsciousness, you never
really relinquish control of your psyche. In other words, you don't say or do
anything that your mind cannot live with. Are you with me so far?"
"So
far."
"I
will be recording every session and you
will have access to those recordings. We can go through them together. Needless
to say, I treat all my cases with extreme confidentiality. All tapes and files
are kept in that safe to which only I have access, and my law firm of course,
in case of emergency or death." He chuckles at her expression. "I
know this seems all cloak and dagger, but my prime objective is that my clients
feel secure and at ease."
Mika exhales deeply. "Let’s do this."
***
The streets are deserted even though it is
early evening. Even the criminals that patrol the streets at night have given
up and gone to their dubious source of warmth. Curtis likes walking at times
like these. It gives him the sense that the city belongs to him.
His feet bring him to the tiny all night
diner in the Greek section of town. This is the only place Curtis has ever
considered home, and unconsciously, he gravitates here whenever his deeply
buried soul is troubled.
He looks through the freshly cleaned windows.
Nasos is there as always - big, tall, with the perpetual apron around his thick
waist. The florescent light shines on his balding head. He is joking as usual
with one of his pre-dawn regulars while attacking the grill with his famous
pancakes.
Nasos is the only family Curtis has known.
He took in the rebellious adolescent, giving him room, board and a job when
everyone else regarded him with suspicion. It didn't matter that they didn't
even have a drop of blood in common.
Curtis pushed open the door, the
bell-chime announcing his arrival..
"Re! If it isn't the soldier of
fortune. How ya doing Curtis?"
"Well. Ti kaneis, gero?"
"You call me that again and your
chops will be minced meat... You hear him, Joe?
Calling me an old man! No respect do the young have for their
elders."
Curtis straddles the stool and grins at
Nasos' mutinous expression.
"What are you grinning at, re? Why
don't you go home instead of prowling the streets?"
"If it weren't for us prowlers, you'd
be out of work."
"Will you listen to him? Bull shit!
How about a strong coffee? You look like you need it along with some
pancakes...and sleep."
"Nix on the last two, but a coffee
will be great."
"Then get off your ass and get it!
What? Did you forget you used to work here? Or you too important to hustle
now?"
"Okay! I give up. I'll get it. Lord What
a nag."
The two men grin at each other
affectionately.
"How're the wife and kids
Nasos?"
"Kids are great! George and Nikki are
doing great in university. Maria went
to Greece for a few weeks to see family. And what brings you to the old neighborhood?"
Curtis holds up the cup and grins.
"This."
"Oh, bullshit! Don’t you have fancy
coffee shops in your neighborhood? What's troubling you?"
"Nothing's troubling me. I just have
a new case and you know how it is."
“All I know is you better take care of
yourself. You need to live life, not battle through it. I say this with love.”
“I know, man. I know.”
***
The wind rose to a whining moan. She
controlled her mind, drawing from her years of training, piecing out the trail
she had minutely planned. This was no haphazard escape, yet it was not without
its dangers. They would pursue her, bent on taking revenge for her treacherous
and traitorous acts as they perceive them. Those who will be sent to find her
and eventually kill her will not know the truth behind her actions.
The imposing rock started to recede. The
wind retreated, howling behind her. Slowly, the layers of cold began to peel
away and she loosened her scarf to take in the chill air. Her hands in the
thick gloves started to thaw. Between the last two mountain breasts, she saw
the darker turquoise of the distant fields. She was closer to her destination, which
eased the vice that had taken hold of her heart.
Rocks crumbled under her trembling feet.
She could barely see, her body feeling heavy. A cave opening materialized,
inviting her with its possible safety. She gathered some kindling; and
illuminating the cave’s thankfully unoccupied depths, she entered her haven for
the night.
A fire was soon burning high and warm. The
ground cleared and the sleeping mat unrolled, she released her feet from their
booted prison. With her sheepskin jacket wrapped tightly around her, she
wriggled into her warm bedding.
Taking a deep drink of jasmine tea and
several hearty chunks from the dried beef, she felt her frozen blood starting
to course faster. She chewed slowly, listening to nature settle into the arms
of the night. She settled too, resting her head on her bag. Nestled in the
downy blanket, she stared at the purple core of the burnishing, copper fire.
Tears trembled on her eyelashes and slowly drifted down her cheeks.
Her own survival was unimportant, her task,
however, was. Those who would persecute her had their own motives. They
believed in their own truths. She had to defend hers. Burying herself deeper in
the bedding, she closed her eyes to sleep...
Mika's eyes snap open. She groans, wishing
she has already started her hypnosis sessions with Kiro; yet he insisted that
she journal her dream first. She gazes at the frost patterns like crone’s
fingers clawing at the panes. She has confidence in Kiro, almost too much
confidence for such a short acquaintance. Yet, it does not feel like that. The
moment she looked into his eyes this afternoon, she felt transported. At ease.
Protected.
“Irrational” she tells the empty room and
pulls the pillow over her head. Doggedly, she decides that she will sleep
through the night.
***
Curtis goes home to shower and shave. His
condo, new, cool and functional sees him very rarely for any other purpose. It
is sparsely furnished with the barest of essentials. No pictures or ornaments
break the monotony of white walls and black furniture. No visitors have ever
crossed the threshold.. Curtis even does his own cleaning to avoid any
intrusion into his sphere. His dates are inevitably taken to hotel rooms of
varying degrees of luxury or to their place if he cannot avoid it. Not even
Nasos or his family have ever seen this inner sanctum.
Quickly, he throws his clothes into the
laundry hamper, taking note that this chore can no longer be put off. He steps
into the shower, alternating the water from hot to cold. He allows his mind the
rare luxury of wandering.
Suddenly, the distant memory surfaces, of
his feet sinking in the clay soil as he runs to the river. Then the tree comes
into focus. The tree he would sit on, far away from the world, his haven from
the poverty and confusion that he lived in. On the tree, he never felt helpless.
Since then, he has waded through a world without trees or rivers, through
solemn, grizzly realities. Some he barely escaped from with his life.
He
wasn't expected to be anyone then, or anything. He was just a boy. People
laughed at him or got angry at him. He did not care.. Now, he is a man who
avoids thought or emotion. He seeks not to find or be found. In his mind, he wishes he never left that
tree.
With a grunt, he pushes those thoughts
away. In record time he is out of the shower, dressed, and ready to go to the department
and then on to the interview that will possibly shed some light on this case
that has haunted him since he heard about it.
***
On his third awakening, Kiro finally gives
himself up to the sleepless night. He rises, feeling the chill crouching in the
shadows. He pads to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He flicks on his CD
player, letting the music softly stroke the air. Preferring the dark, Kiro
stands at the window. He is held hostage by an overwhelming feeling of not déjÃ
vu but déjà écouté. Her voice transports him to mountains and frosted air,
fields and flight.
He looks down at the various lights still
burning a hole in the night. The light in the kitchen reflects his image,
superimposing it on the cityscape. He knows exactly what is happening to Mika,
for it has happened to him. He however, has had the training and access to
ancient wisdom to deal with the truths that lie behind those dreams. He must
prepare Mika thoroughly and gradually, before any such realization can be
allowed to foster in her. Kiro hates deception, but if he must use it, so be
it. Mika must be made comfortable with rituals of contemporary psychology.
Otherwise she will buckle under and break.
He stands naked at the windows, feet apart,
hands behind his back, hair untied. He realizes that he has taken the stance of
the warrior.
"That is exactly what I have to
be."
His motionlessness is broken by the
kettle's whistling. Returning to the kitchen, he prepares the tea. He pours it
in a cup and returns to the window which he opens for air.
"Why must my life be plagued with
visions?"
Shattered fragments are seeking to be
reunited into a whole. Will he recognize these fragments? Was he part of them?
Will he be able to put them back together? Who knows, but life?
Dragon's breath forms as the cold night
air invades the room.
And life has secrets.
