CHAPTER 14

RENZO

 

I should have felt relieved. Well, part of me did, but another part… was still thinking something else.

 

I wanted Zaria to be found too.

 

Just not yet. Of course, I needed to hear her voice again, to ask why, to see her face when she explained… and that meant only one thing. I had to wake up before Elix found her.

 

Elix stood abruptly, wiping her face hard. “Alright,” she muttered. “Enough.”

 

She secured the straps around my chest and arms herself, checking them twice. “We’re going home.”

 

They wheeled me out of the warehouse. The air outside felt different even through my numb body. Suddenly, the sounds of cameras flashing reached my ears.

 

Several people were shouting all at once…

 

“Elix! Over here!”

 

“Is Renzo dead or just a vegetable?”

 

“Is the mafia queen missing?”

 

“Are you the new replacement?”

 

“Is this a takeover?”

 

Elix didn’t stop walking.

 

“No comment,” she said evenly.

 

Flash.

 

“No comment.”

 

Flash.

 

“Step back,” she said, still calm.

 

She didn’t sound rattled. Her hand stayed on the wheelchair handle as she gently guided me into the car. Then the doors slammed and the car engine started. Only then did she exhale.

 

“We’ll deal with them later,” she said quietly, brushing her thumb over my shoulder. “Right now, you need rest.”

 

The car pulled away.

________________

 

ZARIA

“Peace be unto those who enter…” I read carefully. Well, that was unexpected. As I stepped fully inside, I realised that I didn't need to pretend anymore. It wasn't even a requirement…

My smile dropped.

The door closed behind me with a soft wooden sound that made me feel things I could not explain.

I froze.

The house was… nothing about it was poor, or fancy. It was just small and lived in. A narrow sitting area opened up immediately, with two plain chairs, a low wooden table, and a faded rug that had clearly been washed many times. Nothing in this room matched, yet everything fit together as it should.

The walls were bare except for a calendar with Chinese characters I could not read and a framed photo of a younger couple standing stiffly beside a tree.

No children?

The furniture was simple and old and there was no television noise, no phone buzzing, no hum of a washing machine… something was boiling in the kitchen though.

My body suddenly remembered everything it had been holding back.

I remembered that my shoulders were aching, my feet hurt inside my shoes, my head felt heavy, as if it had been pressed down for days and only now was allowed to lift.

Jesus, Zaria…

I not only felt all these things, but also felt numb. Completely numb in a way that wasn't damn healthy. My eyes throbbed…

“Hey!” The woman suddenly clapped her hands lightly, smiling as if she had just welcomed a long-expected guest. “Come, come,” she said eagerly. “Sit. Feel at home.”

She guided me to one of the chairs before I could argue or think. I sat because my legs no longer felt like they belonged to me. After all that running? Pfft. I could…

“I hope you're good? Sorry, we have no telephones here.” The woman disappeared into the kitchen area, still talking, her voice lively and warm even when I could not catch every word.

Telephones? I placed my hands on my lap and looked around again. There was a faint smell of cooked rice and herbs which was clean and comforting.

“Drink,” the woman said, returning with a cup of warm water. She placed it gently in my hands, nodding encouragingly.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

She smiled wider, pleased, and motioned toward a doorway. “Husband. Come.”

A moment later, a man stepped into view.

He was tall, thin, with grey hair and a face beaten into an elongated shape by years of sun and work. His back was straight, but his movements were slow. He looked at me once with his unreadable eyes, then nodded.

“Sit,” he said plainly, pointing toward the dining table.

Well, would you look at that? He wasn't smiling or greeting me… and for some reason, my chest warmed. That was genuine enough for me.

The dining area was just as simple. A wooden table with four chairs, a bowl of rice already placed at one end with steam rising quietly.

The woman bustled around, setting plates, humming to herself.

I sat where the man pointed, folding my hands together as I watched the man sit opposite me, his posture stiff and his gaze focused on the table rather than my face.

Ignoring that tiny irrelevance, I took in the other details of the room. The warmth of the room, the smell of food, the simple order of it all reached a place inside me that had been untouched for a long time.

All I could see was Mama standing in the kitchen, stirring something while telling me not to sit like that. And then of my Papa clearing his throat at the table, pretending to be serious when he was not.

My eyes burned.

I tried to swallow it down. “Breathe, Zaria… fucking breathe!”

But my body did not listen. A sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. It was small at first…but then, my vision blurred and suddenly I was crying. Not quietly. Not politely. My shoulders shook as tears poured down my face, hitting the table, my hands, everything.

I covered my mouth, embarrassed, overwhelmed…and helpless.

The woman gasped.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, rushing to my side. “Why cry? Why cry?”

She shot a sharp look at her husband. “You!” she accused loudly. “You scare her!”

The old man’s head snapped up. “Me?” he barked. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t smile!” she snapped back. “You sit like stone. Looklike death spirit.”

“I am eating!” he shouted. “Do you want me to dance?”

Before I knew it, their voices rose and words began to fly past me in angry Chinese words.

Shit.