unknown fate

Chapter Five - Episode Two

Scene Five

Imam pushed open the office door with heavy steps. He entered, closing it quietly behind him, and dropped into the leather chair dominating the center of the room. He lit a cigarette, exhaling the first puff like a muffled scream. His hand reached for the phone lying on the polished wooden desk, dialing familiar numbers before pressing it to his ear.

Imam (calm but low voice):

– Good evening, Tamer Bey.

The reply came promptly, dry and formal:

Officer Tamer:

– Good evening, Imam Bey.

Imam:

– Still haven’t found out who killed Jad?

A brief silence followed, broken only by Imam’s exhale of smoke, before the officer responded in a flat, professional tone:

Officer Tamer:

– No new leads in the case. Unless you suspect someone… then we can bring him in and question him. If you’ve got a name in mind, don’t keep it from us.

At that moment, Imam’s mind drifted. The officer’s voice faded away, replaced by a heavy memory. A vision from the past flickered in his mind: their last d**g delivery before Jad’s death, the heated argument between Jad and one of Ghali’s men — the reckless thug called Rabea.

And there it was again, echoing sharply in his memory: Jad’s furious voice shouting at Rabea.

Jad (in memory):

– Watch yourself, boy… or I’ll shoot you where you stand.

The words struck Imam like a ghostly bullet. His grip tightened on the phone as he returned to the present.

Imam (flatly, cutting the call short):

– Excuse me for now, Tamer Bey… I’ll call you back later. Goodbye.

Officer Tamer:

– Of course, Imam Bey. Goodbye.

Imam set the phone down heavily on the desk, rose to his feet, and began pacing the room. His thoughts were circling like vultures. Every instinct told him that Rabea was the one who had murdered Jad.

He froze suddenly, grabbed the phone again, and dialed another number. The line clicked, and a familiar voice came through — Ghali, smug and mocking.

Imam (carefully measured):

– Hello… how are you, Hajj Ghali?

Ghali (coldly):

– I’m fine, Imam. What do you want? Since Jad died, no one’s seen you around. Found yourself another racket, huh?

Imam forced out a short, hollow laugh, quickly masking it with businesslike intent.

Imam:

– No… I called you because of that. I want your biggest shipment of hash.

Ghali (mocking):

– Sounds like you’re starving, Imam.

Imam:

– You know me… since Jad died, I haven’t had a bite to eat.

Ghali:

– I’ve got some fine Lebanese stuff. You’ll like it.

Imam:

– I’ll take the whole lot. Alone.

Ghali:

– Fine, I’ll hand it over. Get ready.

Imam:

– Tomorrow.

Ghali (laughing):

– Tomorrow’s no good. I’m in Lebanon… honeymoon. I’ll be back in a week. Aren’t you going to congratulate me on the new bride?

Imam (coolly):

– Congratulations.

Ghali:

– I’ll call you myself when I’m back in a week.

Imam:

– Deal… don’t forget to give my regards to the bride. Goodbye.

Ghali:

– Goodbye, Imam.

But just before hanging up, Ghali slipped in a venomous jab, his laughter dripping through the line:

Ghali (muttering with a chuckle):

– Just like Jad… turns out the father who raises you isn’t the one who fathers you.

The call ended.

Imam froze, the words clinging to his ears like poisoned thorns. He slammed the phone onto the desk and stood still, fighting the urge to erupt. His breath grew slow and heavy before he finally turned toward the door.

He stepped out of the office and climbed the stairs toward his bedroom. Pushing the door open softly, he found Asrar lying on the bed. Her breathing was shallow, almost asleep, but her eyes opened when he entered. Her voice was hushed, fragile:

Asrar:

– Is it true… your mother’s still alive, Imam?

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

Imam:

– Yes… she’s still alive, Asrar.

She shifted, gazing at him with teary eyes.

Asrar:

– Why don’t you bring her to live with us?

He turned his face away, forcing a bitter smile.

Imam:

– She refuses to leave Upper Egypt.

Asrar:

– And your brothers… are they with her?

A long pause. Then, with a sigh that seemed to drain years from him, he answered:

Imam:

– No… my brothers were lost to her on the train… after my father threw them out.

Asrar covered her mouth in shock, her voice trembling:

Asrar:

– And you… carrying all that alone, Imam? Never telling a soul?

He didn’t reply. He simply closed his eyes, surrendering to the night, as though the weight of his past was too vast, too suffocating to ever be spoken aloud.