ASHES TO EMPIRE

Episode 4

I didn’t sleep.

The photograph lay where I’d dropped it on the Persian rug, like a wound bleeding my heart out, which was hurt. Elias’s smile was faint but real, mid-laugh, just a little curve at the ends of his chin on both sides. The man beside him wasn’t smiling; he was clutching the boy too tightly with stiff arms, face. The anger rising in me refused to make my jaw unclench.

“He’s not safe with you.”

Five words, written in slants, with confidence and sent to me, his dad. Was I expected to become weak?

At 11:42 a.m., I sat at my desk, with the photo beside me, and dialed Jasmine’s number. It rang once, then cut. I sent her the photo, and redialed.

She didn’t answer.

I told myself not to panic. Told myself Elias was probably fine, probably asleep in his Spiderman pyjamas, curled under a Manchester United blanket. I told myself a lot of things, and they all sounded like lies.

The truth is that a man can never lie to himself. It only takes miracles for something to become right.

By 1p.m., I was in the car, I hadn’t shaved. The driver glanced at me through the mirror but said nothing.

We stopped in North Kensington, where Jasmine lived now, in a converted townhouse with clean hedges and a smart brass number plate. Elias had given me all the information I would ever need to contact Jasmine. I stood there knocking on the door, and it took her two minutes to answer. Her robe was silk, deep green, her face was bare. I’d never seen her look more human.

“He’s asleep,” she said, blinking in the hallway light. “What are you doing here?”

I held out the photograph, but she narrowed her eyes. Then looked at me.

“Where did this come from?” She asked. Looking at the photo again.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

She stared at it again, then at me. “I’ve never seen that man.”

“And the writing?”

She didn’t answer.

I pushed past her, into the house, down the corridor. The house was clean. With flower pots at every corner. Elias’s bag sat by the stairs, his shoes lined up too neatly.

“Elias!” I called.

“Don’t wake him, please.”

But I was already climbing. Where is his room? I asked.

She did not say anything, but rather just walked ahead of me and went straight to the door painted deep blue and opened it, motioning me to walk in silently.

His bedroom was small, painted pale blue, with stickers on the wardrobe. I saw a drawing taped to the wall with my name scrawled in shaky capitals. It captured my eyes and made me feel like a father.

Elias was not in bed, the sheets were cold.

For a second, I stood there, waiting for my body to react, to panic or to rage. But I thought it wise to remain calm.

“Where is he?” I asked, facing away from her.

“I don’t know,” Jasmine said from behind me. “I thought he was asleep, he was here when I went to bed.”

“You didn’t check?”

“I’m not you, Elliot. I don’t lurk in doorways like some…”

I grabbed my phone and dialed his number, the one she gave me with a sigh, like a gift I didn’t deserve. It went straight to voicemail.

I decided to look more closely for details in the room. he is a smart kid, must have dropped a hint or something. On the desk beside his lamp, I saw his watch. I gave him two days ago, he loved that watch.

He wouldn’t have left it behind.

“Start talking,” I said. My voice had gone flat. She folded her arms. “I didn’t do this. You think I’d stage a k********g? Why? To scare you? You already think the worst of me.”

“I only think about what you’d earn.”

She flinched, but I didn’t care. The boy was gone.

I scanned the room again, his window was open a c***k.

That was when I saw what I thought I needed.

A scrap of paper was folded and slid behind the curtain rod. I took it down carefully. One line, written in pen.

Ask your mother what she traded.

I stared at it for a long time, barely breathing.

Jasmine, is this about your mother or mine?

I’ll call my mom, you call yours.

I ran down the stairs and got back into the car. My driver turned to look with a questioning stare, but before she could say Jack, I was already shushing him.

There in the car, I called my mother.

She answered on the third ring, her voice rasped with sleep and suspicion.

“Elliot?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” I asked.

A long pause.

“You’re not making sense.” She said.

“Someone has Elias, I think the same person left me a note, for me. They want me to ask you what you traded.”

The silence that followed was not surprising.

“You did not bring my grandson to see after all these years”.

“You’ve been in London for months, without paying a visit”.

“And now you call from the blues, wow”

“Where are you?” she asked finally.

“On my way to you.”

She hung up, and immediately the message was digested

It took two hours to reach her place in Essex. She lived in the same flat she'd raised me in, except now it was no longer the old room. She opened the door in her dressing gown, her hair greying at the roots.

“He looks like you,” she said, nodding at the photo in my hand.

I stepped inside. “Don’t change the subject.”

She closed the door behind me. “You want tea?”

“No ma,” I responded quickly.

She went to the kettle anyway, busying herself with spoons and sugar like I was there for a tea.

“Tell me,” I said. “What did you trade?”

She looked at me, smiled and looked away. She poured the water, stirred and set the mug down. Her hands were shaking, I wanted to help, but my heart was too heavy to.

“When your father died, I didn’t have a lot of choices,” she said slowly. “Your cousin came sniffing around, he claimed he could help with the probate, said he’d keep us afloat. I believed him.”

“I know all that. What aren’t you saying?”

She looked up at me. Her eyes were tired.

“I signed something, Elliot. Something I didn’t understand. Gave away our rights, whatever he asked. I just wanted to keep the flat.”

My stomach dropped. “You gave away rights to me?”

She didn’t reply.

My voice cracked. “He owns part of my life? The drug addict? ”

She nodded. “He said it was just paperwork. That it wouldn’t matter once you were grown.

I was pissed, so I stepped out for air. I left the flat shaking. Outside, the wind cut through my coat, but I didn’t feel it.

I got in the car and sat still for a long time, my adrenaline rushed. I coulda squeezed life from my mom, cause she was proving to be too useless for me. Should I get back inside?

I don't know what came over me. I got a dagger from the back seat and rushed out of the car, back into my mom’s apartment in fury. My driver tried running after me, but I commanded the car to lock him inside, and to lock t

he seat belt too. I broke into my mom’s apartment and locked myself inside.