Vultures

Alejandro

It’s been three days since I called Katerina Eneva to inform her that her father is dead and she’s about to inherit a fortune, and she mocked me in the face.

Three days and neither she, nor her lady lawyer have reached back to me, and I am starting to get impatient. There was actually a deadline in that will according to Maria - if the daughter doesn’t come to claim her inheritance up to one month after the will is opened, she looses everything. But so do I. Which means that I need her for now and it pisses me off, I am not a person who relies on others to do his business, especially when so much is a stake. I lost my sight for a second and now I will pay for my mistakes.

So, here I am, haunting the empty halls of a house that’s no longer my home, alone and restless, and angry. God, I am so angry all the damn time. It’s added to the old grudges buried deep in my heart, waking up the sleeping volcano of my patience.

What is there not to be angry about? My entire life’s work is hanging by a thread at the hands of a strange, insolent woman who just doesn’t care. And I can’t do a fucking thing about it. I have to remain stranded on this island because if I am not here to hold the estate together, everything will fall apart and our enemies will loose no time to strike.

A silent curse escapes my lips as I turn to the west wing of the house, not particular direction to my stroll, just wandering, trying to calm my restless heart down so I can get at least a few hours of sleep. There’s an opened bottle of rum in my hands. I am not drinking, but the slight smell of the alcohol in the air help me focus on the end goal, a reminder not to give up for the little bumps on the road.

I stop at the large floor to ceiling window and look into the valley with the sleeping town at its base. It’s almost 3 a.m. and there’s barely any lights on except for the church and the harbour. It all looks so peaceful, organised. San Luis has always been so good at pretending to be decent, and welcoming, all the ugliness of its people hidden under the polished cobblestones of the town square and the colourful houses that surround it. On Sundays everyone goes to church dressed in their finest clothes, putting on their fakest smiles and showing off how decent and moral they are.

A sardonic smile lands on my lips at that last thought. I know better. There’s nothing decent about shunning an orphaned kid who just lost his mother at the hands of his own father, walking the streets and begging for help that never comes. Not so easy to call yourself decent when the only person willing to help that broken kid turned out to the the only other outcast in town, a foreigner with a broken heart of his own who has nothing to lose anyway. And look how it all turned out at the end. Even Pedro became a part of the crowd, showing his kindness did have a price. And oh, how well did I pay for that lie.

The night breeze plays with the white curtains of the opened windows, bringing unusual chill to my bones and the promise of a storm along with it and I try to focus on that instead of the pathetic tragedies of my past. We have time before the storm though, the moon is still peaking bravely through the clouds. I make a mental note of all the things we need to do before the storm hits us tomorrow afternoon and it distracts me for the next few minutes.

The problem with distractions is that they won’t last. Soon I am back with the darkness of my thoughts. The world has time, but I don’t and I am stranded here with my ghosts and regrets, helpless to do anything to change the outcome.

My legs carry me to my father’s study and I slowly open the screeching door, inviting more of our ghosts in my personal space and mind. The rum weighs in my hand, but just as always I am too weak to throw it away. I need it as a constant reminder what is my end goal - an expired bottle of rum summarising my entire existence so well it’s pathetic.

Commotion at the back of the house draws my attention. Someone’s shouting, the noise muffled by the thick walls and the locked doors. We always keep the doors locked at night. A second later there’s loud banging on the front, the sharp sound of the bell waking me up from my haunting stroll. My heart skips a beat as I listen in to more voices and more shouts.

Cursing again, I rush to see what’s going on, the rum bottle still in my hands as I open the door, already not liking where this is headed. No one comes to your house in the middle of the night just to say hi.

It’s Juan, my long friend and one of the best workers we have. His dark face is covered in sweat and soots, his big gleaming eyes making him look like the devil in all the darkness that surrounds him. They filled with horror as they bore into me with confusion the moment he notices the bottle.

“What happened?” I ask as I walk out, leaving the bottle on the porch table, ignoring the surprise and question in his eyes. He knows more than well I am never going to drink that bottle just like he knows I never want to talk about it.

“Fire, boss. At the east crops. The men are already there to put it down,” Juan reports once he’s As he speaks I am rushing down the stairs, Juan after me on my way to the stables.

“Damage?” I cut him off as I head to the stables to saddle Pegasus, Pedro’s horse.

I don’t miss the way Juan makes the cross sign the moment he sees the animal that’s responsible for my father’s death, but I ignore it. I am keeping Pegasus no matter what and it’s not out of the goodness of my heart. If anyone has something to say about it, I welcome them. Both me and Juan know it’s not Pegasus fault, not really, about what happened despite what the police said about it, declaring it all a horse-riding incident and refusing to investigate further. Pegasus is my sign to the world that I know. I know it wasn’t him and one day I am going to expose the truth, along with everything else that’s rotten on the island.

Juan gathers his wits quickly and blinks a few times. “When I left, it was mainly contained with only local fires here and there.”

“Do you know how it started?”

He shakes his head. “No, boss. Sorry. But…”

Just as I am about to straddle the horse, I pause and give my old friend a stern look. He seems all kinds of scared and confused.

“But what, man?” I cut off whatever it was he was about to say, impatient.

He hesitates for only a moment, then his eyes move to the horse and back on me. If anyone knows me and where my loyalties are, that’s him. He still looks nervous and hesitant because throwing random accusations in the air is never a wise thing, but we both know what’s at stake here and that not speaking up is as good as being an accomplice.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence, Alejandro,” Juan finally says. “Fires don’t just start out of the blue on a random night like this.”

“Then we will let the good police handle the issue later,” I reply dryly and get on the horse.

Juan doesn’t reply to that as he follows me on his own horse, both of us riding in silence to the sight of the fire. There is not much to say anyway. Our enemy has a name and it’s up to a random girl to keep that enemy away until I find a way to get rid of her. Of course, she needs to come here first for me to do that. The old anger starts creeping up in my veins again and I spit on the ground, trying to focus on what’s in front of me. One battle at a time, I remind myself. One battle at a time.

When we arrive on site fifteen minutes later, the fire is put down, but the damage is already there. All that’s left of the crops is smouldering embers and the smell of death and desperation lingers in the night air and on the spooked faces of the men who came to help put the fire down.

Remembering to uncurl my fists, I head to talk to the guys to see what they know about the incident, but their stories are the same - they woke up to the sound of the fire as most of their houses are on the this end of the river, and rushed to help contain the damage, because that’s what good, loyal men do. I am grateful for their help and don’t suspect any of them in wrongdoing. We’ve worked together side by side for years and I know it’s not one of them who’s responsible. No, I know perfectly well who did this. Besides, why look for enemies in our house when they are all out there, waiting like vultures to grab whatever they can and tear apart everything I’ve worked for just because a spoiled girl decided to play games? Just because my father decided to take everything away from me?

Juan taps me on the shoulder to draw my attention and motions for me to follow him away from the others. When he’s sure nobody is looking, he shows me what’s left of a bottle with a cloth stuffed in it.

Another curse leaves my lips as I spit on the ground as I take the remains of the Molotov cocktail from my friend.

“Call the coroner, double the guards,” I instruct him, my eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of the attackers. Of course there aren’t, those people are not sloppy. They come and go in the dark, not leaving any trace behind.

Spitting on the ground, I get back to business.

We have to secure the perimeter and send a message that we are as united as we’ve ever been. Just because someone managed to take Pedro off the equation and his daughter is still no where to be seen, as long as I am breathing, I will not give up. Not for Pedro, but for myself.

By sunrise, I am exhausted and just as sweaty and covered in soot and dirt as the rest of my people, but my mind is finally clear. Our enemies are at our back door now and they are just starting their offence to take away everything me and Pedro worked for for so long. The war is on and I swear on my mother’s grave I am not going to loose it.

And here it is my first win, waiting for me when I get back home to clean myself up - it’s on my phone, one single message that brings me back in the game. It’s from Katerina Eneva and she’s finally made her mind. I will be there next week.