The Wrong Gentleman

Cici

~~~

An eerie silence settles over me as I make my way into the familiar mansion I grew up in.

Maids bow in greeting, with stiff smiles while I walk into the small living room—as we loved to call it, but in reality it’s Mom’s living room.

Mom is here in her cheetah print capris, a black off the shoulder top, and a pair of black heels to match. It’s obvious she just returned from a trip to the salon with her shiny burgundy nails and wavy hair that sits perfectly on one of her chocolate shoulders.

James is leaning against the cream-colored wall, his arms folded across his chest and a slight frown on his face as usual. Leon is sitting cross-legged on the couch with Mathias right beside him, his head tilted to the side.

My chest squeezes, and tears sting my eyes. It feels like I haven’t seen them in so long when all I did was go to school and return. Asides Dad, my entire family is here, and I’m excited to see them.

But I can’t shake the feeling…something is off.

Mom hasn’t said a word yet, and she’s never quiet. She should be complaining about the black ink on my thigh peeking out of my skirt. I got it today after school with my best friend.

James, Leon, Mathias, they’re all quiet too. They’re overly protective, so they should be asking questions about where and when I got it done.

But they’re not.

I take a step forward, towards mom. She lifts her eyes to me. Her brows crease and she parts her lips as if to speak. However, the words never make it past her throat. The second she opens her mouth, blood suddenly sputters out of her lips.

“Mom!” I shriek with wide eyes. My legs move before my brain registers the motion, rushing to hold her.

My heart races, and all I hear is the pounding of my pulse in my ears. It’s deafening.

“James! Help!” I scream, only to register that my three brothers haven’t moved an inch. They’re all just standing there, watching.

Blinking my tears away, I furrow my brows as my eyes travel between them.

“Guys, can’t you see what’s—” The rest of my words die in my throat as a gunshot cracks through the room. James’s head jerks violently, and he crumples onto Mom’s expensive Turkish rug.

For a second, I can’t understand what I’m seeing. I stare at him, waiting for him to move.

But he doesn’t.

My gaze lands on Leon. Blood is dripping down his eyes, nose and ears, staining his white dress shirt.

What?

“Mathias, wha—” Mathias is lying on his side on the ground. Blood is slipping out of him but I can’t tell where it’s from.

My lips instantly go dry.

“Help!”

“Cici!” My name echoes through the room but there’s no one here that’s alive but me.

I whip my head to the left, then to the right, searching for the source of the voice. I don’t find it, but it calls out to me again, louder this time.

My gaze drops to my hands. They’re bloodied, warm and sticky as is the rest of my body.

I rise up to my feet immediately, ready to get the hell away from here, but I hear my name again. This time in my right ear.

My body rattles, and I lose my footing as my leg slides against the wet floor. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for the fall.

Just inches from the ground, my eyes suddenly snap open.

“Cici!”

My vision is blurry but for a second it looks like I’m still drenched in blood.

I’m not.

Instead I’m in a clean set of black sweatpants and a grey tanktop. My fingers are gripping something so tightly that I don’t recognize what it is until a yelp pierces my ear. I blink my eyes a few times before realizing where I am and what I’m doing.

I’m in a Gulfstream jet, and crouched beside me is my assistant, Zarah, whose hand I’m gripping for dear life.

“Are you okay?” She asks, her Kenyan accent dripping in concern. But it’s an unanswerable question, so I don’t respond.

I clear my throat instead and release her arm, trying not to replay the details of that damn dream and failing miserably.

“No seriously, do you need something? You were whimpering in your sleep,” she says, rubbing the arm I nearly crushed.

“Sorry,” I tell her, eyeing the arm, but the words sound hoarse. Somehow my throat hurts too.

Zarah’s eyes are on me, I can feel it, but I pay her no mind as I take a deep breath with my hand on my chest, smoothing it out while I release it.

“The pilot just made the announcement. We’re about to land.”

So how come I didn’t hear it when I’ve been a light sleeper ever since that night?

“I need some water,” I say and she’s on her feet from her crouched position in a split second. She nods and heads to the front of the cabin.

Now alone, I stare out the window at the tiny cities below, and another breath escapes me.

Is it because I’m back in the states? Is that why I had that dream…? I thought I was free from the horrid reality of that night since it’s been years I’ve dreamt about it.

“…ci?” My neck cranes upward to see Zarah towering over me with a water bottle in hand.

She starts to speak as I take the bottle from her, but I beat her to it because I know what she wants to know.

“How’s she doing?” I motion my chin towards the cabin. Zarah pauses, looks towards the direction, and sighs.

“She seems alright. Just like you, she's been sleeping.”

I twist the bottle cap open and take a sip.

“Sounds like progress to me,” I say and take another sip. Zarah nods and lets out a breath. Then she narrows her eyes at me.

“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you or…”

“The plane is about to land. We’ll talk later.”

Reluctantly, Zarah steps away to her seat and buckles up, yet her eyes keep shifting in my direction.

Zarah is my first ever employee, and we’re pretty close. But I’ve never told her anything about my past.

I don’t talk about it. Not about my family.

Not about my marriage.

Nothing at all.

And it’s for a good reason. I kept those memories locked and hidden away when I left. And now coming back, I haven’t even landed and I’m already being tested.

Maybe I should’ve listened to my guts and stayed back, let Zarah make the journey and return.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t have it in me to send Valerie all the way to America without my supervision. It would’ve been impossible for me to sit still.

I first noticed Valerie at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport when I went to pick up some delegates. Five days later, when I returned to send the same delegates off, she was still there.

Pregnant and alone.

It was obvious she had nowhere to go, and since helping people is my day job, I took her in, listened to her story and promised to help her find her way back home and reunite her family.

A good deed that is already beginning to feel like a mistake.

Twenty minutes later and the plane lands in JFK. Zarah, my three bodyguards and Valerie all move around, getting their things to exit the plane, but I can’t get my body to do the same.

The flight attendant walks up to me as the rest file out, her eyes wide and searching.

“Are you okay, Ms. Miano?” She asks innocently and looks around before returning her attention to me. I want to tell her that I am, but my lips won’t move.

I can’t believe I’m back here.

“If you’re feeling any sort of discomfort…” the flight attendant is saying but her words get drowned out as I look out my window at the other planes parked.

Three years.

That’s how long it’s been since I was last here.

I was supposed to return in two months. I’d been preparing for it since the beginning of the year.

But Valerie happened and somehow, I convinced myself this would be a good way to test the waters.

So why do I feel so uneasy?

Nothing has happened… at least not yet.

So why does every instinct in me keep screaming that coming back was a mistake?

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Ms. Miano?”

I whip my head towards the flight attendant, finally earning control of my body.

“It’s okay. Thank you,” I tell her as I rise from my seat, grabbing my matching grey sweatshirt and my small duffle. I swing the sweatshirt over my shoulders and head out.

Two SUVs are already parked outside, waiting. Valerie and one bodyguard are in one car, while Zarah and the other two are in the second car. I go into Valerie’s car.

“I can’t believe we’re in New York,” she says the second I settle in, her glassy brown eyes widening, and her slight mexican accent slipping out.

“I can’t believe it either, but we’re here,” I say to comfort her, but I mean it.

She takes my hand.

“Without you, I don’t think this would’ve been possible. I owe you so much for this.” A tear slips down her cheek, and I shake my head.

“You don’t owe me anything. I wanted to help you.”

Valerie’s situation wasn’t complicated to understand. Her husband had been framed for something he hadn’t done, and they’d used the last of their savings to get themselves out.

They were supposed to travel together, but only Valerie made it to Nairobi. Her husband’s passport was flagged before he could board the plane.

Maybe that’s why her story got to me.

I know firsthand what it feels like to be blamed for something you had absolutely no hand in.

“I’m aware, it’s just that,” she sniffs, more tears pouring from her face. “Not everyone would help, you know?” She cries, rubbing her swollen belly. “I was at that airport for almost a week and no one would even bat an eyelash my way. You took me in for an entire month and you’re doing this again, I…I don’t have the words to thank you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away.

I learned a long time ago not to cry with the people I help. Once I start, it’s too damn hard to stop.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. You can thank me after we reunite you with your husband,” I tell her with a smile.

She returns the smile, but the peace only lasts about thirty minutes. Then I glance at the map on my phone.

My brows pull together.

We’re not on the way to the address Zarah booked.

My stomach sinks and panic settles in.

We’re going in the exact opposite direction.