Blood Kratom

Hornbills

By dark, we got to a floating inn. I just wanted to rest and dreamed of a full sleep on a comfy bed. Some boats parked by the side, being tied to the structure with ropes. Men swam in the river, taking a bath. Simon parked Satan next to a green boat. My head spun as I rose. I had to eat something good and sleep.

Shadow observed surrounding like a teacher during exams, looking for misbehaves. I met that man yesterday, on the way to the airport. He never talked, but seemed to know what to do. The way he shot the driver impressed me. God knew what dad had this man do. I got into fights, but never did I take someone’s life. Shadow showed no emotion after killing and I felt lucky he was on my side, at least for now.

To sound credible, I wanted to introduce my educational background. I went to Harvard and finish law school in four years. I barely passed; never wanted to be a lawyer. I dreamed of becoming a movie producer, but dad always had his opinion. He dictated orders, even his son’s future career.

After graduation, I went straight to Indonesia. Like any other new graduate, I had no idea what I should do after graduation. I had two choices, helping my dad or finding a job. Helping my dad meant I let him control me. Deep inside I wanted to be independent. I wanted to do what my heart desired. In the end, if I succeeded or failed, it wouldn’t matter.

Joan, Dad’s secretary, informed me that dad wanted to see me right away. I handed my bags to our male servant. It surprised me he still worked in the house. Dad had a habit of replacing house workers. The man smiled and darted to the lift, going up to my room.

I pressed my finger to the lock and turned down the handle. The door swung open. Lavender welcomed my nose as I inhaled the air. Never changed his favorite scent. It lowered his anxiety, dad said. I strolled to his table. Two chairs pinned a brown mahogany table. I rubbed my hand against the surface. My fingers slid. Dad always wanted his desk clear.

At the back, stood a wall of fame. At the top lane, pictures of my dad visiting Paris, the USA, India, Pakistan, Africa, and many more countries hung. Certificates of appreciation and awards are positioned below it. The last lane had our family pictures. My mom held my hands while dad let me perch on his shoulder. I probably was fifteen at that time. The last celebration we had with mom.

I wiped my tears. The memory of her saddened me. She died young. I hoped she smiled, looking down from above. I turned my gaze to the cupboard on the right. Trophies huddled. Next to it stood a table, more trophies on top. Dad had achieved so much. I started to question my worth. What had I done to my life so far?

On the right, a calendar board was pinned to the wall. Every day had a meeting to attend and people to meet. He traded his life for wealth.

I moved to the left corner where the Costerfield sofa set was located. I dropped my body onto it. The material bounced, sending my body up. The comfort took me, I glanced at the glass wall separating the room from a garden full of Dracula Monkey Orchid, Lily, and Kunzea Kunzea. Those flowers signified power. Dad wanted power and more of it.

I positioned myself facing the ceiling. Dad requested it white. Recess lights lit the room. At the ceiling center, an empire chandelier hung. I saw many things on the ceiling, even in rich people's houses. The office ceiling looked immaculate.

Sleep almost took me as the door creaked. I stood and combed my hair with my fingers. We hugged. His hand entangled me, expressing power. We sat on the sofa. He eyed me and smile.

“Congratulations!” He pointed at me. “Your professors said you did well.”

I sensed his sarcasm. He dreamed of becoming a lawyer himself, but his family was poor; that’s what he told me. Later, he forced me to chase his unfulfilled dream. He leaned forward. I sensed something was coming.

“You’ll take my position sooner or later,” he lifted his right leg and rested it on the left.

I leaned, distancing our distance. Wrinkles decorated his arms, neck, and forehead. Few hairs turned grey despite regular dying. His pants looked loose. Had my dad been exercising? His eyes were tired.

“You’re educated but lack experience.”

The words hurt like a blade. He never lay his hands on me, but he punished me with words. He reached for a brown envelope from his pocket and played with it.

“None joins my ranks without a test, not even my son.”

I clenched my fists. He rose and patted my head.

“If you failed, you wouldn’t get any share of my wealth. But if you succeeded, I’d give you two companies to manage.

He handed me the envelope. “All there, the money, the things you should do. Your flight is tonight.”

I squeezed the envelope and went outside, slamming the door. I heard his laugh.

My mother would never treat me that way. I could not understand why God took someone kind from me. I would trade dad for mom. She died of cancer while dad went to Africa for a business meeting. I just celebrated my 15th birthday that month. She bought me a book about directing a movie as my birthday gift. She understood I wanted to work in the film industry.

After my mother passed away dad took more business trips; Work had become the center of his life. He even missed my high school graduation. He sent the mayor instead to represent him. The other kids and their parents thought it was cool. I just wanted my dad, not the mayor.

Harvard called me the night after graduation, informing me that I got a spot in their law school. My dad reserved a seat for me at Harvard and I couldn’t refuse. So, I went to the USA. I never really attended my classes; I spent most of my time partying and playing a game. I had no problem with money. Not taking law school seriously was my way against my dad's dictatorship.

Dad drove the BMW 5 series himself. I brought with me one backpack which I threw onto the middle seat. Dad handed me one black bag. I unzipped. The bag was full of cash. Putting the bag on the back seat, I noticed Dad turned to the right. I perched on my sunglass, trying to hide my feeling. People read your feeling through your eyes, they said. We did not talk anymore. Dad stopped by a middle-class apartment; a man bowed to get in.

He nodded, moved my bag, and sat. He scanned me from hair to toe. He did not say a word. We got to the airport in twenty minutes. Dad wished us luck. We hugged and I kissed his hand. I and Shadow dragged our bags. Garuda airline announced their last call.

The security stopped us because the body scanner beeped. Shadow reached for his wallet and showed the security a card. I recognized the document. It indicated the owner worked for my dad. The security apologized and let us through.

Two deep dimples formed as a stewardess smiled. She guided us to our seats, a room separated from the rest of the passengers. I seated near the row, but Shadow signed me to take the window seat. I moved. I hated the security procedure.

Another stewardess with Lily on her nametag showed us the menu they served. I ordered a glass of Adriana and a french fries. Shadow pointed at a heavier meal, fried rice, and a glass of mineral water. Again, we did not talk. I spent the whole flight sleeping.

Now, here we got to this floating inn. Gun lifted my bag. Shadow watched me as I climbed up. The resting place rested on a logs raft. A thin man greeted us, smiling. He took my bag and ushered us into our room.

The inn formed a ‘U’ shape. It looked like a public school building in Jakarta. The doors had a number on them; 15 was the highest. A counter was located at the center of the inn where a woman sat, clamping a cigar with her big fingers. She dropped her cigar butt into a metallic astray as she saw us coming. She picked up three keys hanging on the wall and rushed toward us. Her feet stomped the floor. I felt the inn floor tremble.

“We don’t need to check-in? I eyed the counter.

“Not needed here.” He hurried.

The lady unlocked the doors. Number 10 was painted on top of my room. Shadow requested a room next to mine, number 11. Two pairs of slippers parked in front of the door.

“Can’t be. There is a couple in there.” The owner shook his head.

Shadow persisted.

“We couldn’t do this, especially to this customer.”

I reached for money and handed the owner. He refused. The lady trembled. “Please don’t do this to us.”

Shadow knocked at the door. A man cursed inside.

“We are sorry Sir Ambro.” The owner fell into his knee, and so did his wife.

Ambro swung the door open. A woman trailed behind him, covered in a blanket. I understood why he got mad as I saw the woman. I, too, would get mad in a similar situation. The man screamed and grabbed the owner by the neck, lifting him. “What did I tell you?”

“The man did nothing. We need the room.” I eyed Ambro.

His nose flared, dropped the owner, and charged at me. Shadow blocked his advance. Ambro launched a punch. Shadow dodged and jabbed the man’s rip. He attacked again, aiming Shadow's legs. I swallowed my saliva; a bone cracked. Ambro lay on the floor, holding his shine, and screamed. A hornbill appeared on his neck.

Other doors swung open. Men charging at us. Gun shouted in the local tongue; they froze and dragged their friend into one room. Gun smiled at Shadow; the two men exchanged a look. The owner excused themselves and apologized for the trouble.

“Have a nice rest Sir.” Gun and Simon opened their room.

I smiled. Shadow watched me until I closed my door.