Niko’s Eye

Chapter 31.

"Trouble."

Isis.

This woman...is...my mother.

Memories spiralled up into her brain like gun powder out of a Flintlock Pistol.

They say that if a bad memory is like a bird, it is okay to know it is sitting on a branch nearby. It is okay to notice it fly and sing. Yet move in calmness with eyes only for the nature around you, with skin that feels the wind and eyes that open for the light. When your mind naturally moves back into the present, into the moment that is the gift of life, the bird will be gone.

In those nostalgic sepia memories, all she saw was bad memories, and words from her varsity lecturer and her beloved grandmother.

Her varsity professor once said, "The professor said, "At one time we could not imagine light to act as both wave and matter, nor that matter and energy were the same thing. Now we see that time is not a continuum but another energy transformation, and it is part of what brings the sense of distance and space in our reality. For now, perhaps think of time as a ball of light, a buzz of energy that we call ’the present.’ As such, there really is no past or future, only ’right now.’ Yet what we do with this gift of ’the now’ determines the health of our planet in all the moments to come. So, there is a separation to make here. We have what time really is, a ball of energy, and our human concept of it being a continuum from past to future. What I propose is that for our purposes as scientists rather than those speaking in the everyday sense, that we use energy-time and imagined-timeline. Giving concepts new words is helpful to the human brain when building new ideas. What was once considered one thing, becomes two, and so it goes on. This is learning, this is progress."

And her grandmother added that, "Isis, stay way from the black and white thinking traps; stay away even from the grey scale. Keep your thoughts guided by empathy, love and compassion. There are no absolutes. Those who judge and weigh others by any scale are still wading in the waters of childhood; they have stunted their own intelligence. Any society run this way will become punitive and divided, caught in a negative spiral. Any i***t can condemn another; yet their judgement is only one of their own limited imagination. Life is complex. We need grace, forgiveness, forbearance and wisdom. Give to each what they need to thrive - love, shelter, nourishment, care - and nature will lead toward order and peace. I know this is a big ask, but Isis, you have their trust. You have a better chance than any other to save this world."

Everything was triggered to clarity and she stared wide-eyed, in disbelief. But she knew what she needed to do.

Play it cool, play it innocent.

"You’re...alive?"

Aisha cackled warmly and asked Isis to step into the car so they could go somewhere and talk.

All she wanted to do was to just give up the ghost in her mother’s arms. Just to feel a mother’s love, even if it meant, for the last time.

At first she was hesitant because the last memory she was served with, was that her own mother wanted her grandmother dead.

What reassured her that she would not wish the same for her?

But I can’t keep running. I have to face my past. I need answers. If I need to start somewhere, it should be here. To the woman who gave birth to me. Surely she won’t be able to go through with killing the only fruit of her womb?

Isis told herself that the fear was simply brain chemicals, her amygdala pinged. She would usually try to analyse the situation, and try to imagine it from the outside, as if it were a movie and not real life. Then she would ask herself what her "character" would do. She found that it helped her to make better decisions.

To the ancient palm trees in the backyard of their old home, her entire life so far had been like one cloudy afternoon, passing quickly and soon forgotten along with all the other days that had no stand-out excitement, but filled with darkness and tragedy. At fifteen, Isis was ready to explore the entire world, learn languages and new cultures. But with her back to the rough bark and several acorns poking into her jeans like beach pebbles, she cast her eyes to the autumn sky. Her life in this place was probably coming to an end, she could feel it. But unlike this waning season she was determined to head into the summer of her life, not the winter. She had her youth ahead of her, stretching out like an untrodden path into the mist, it’s destination unknowable. Her eyes caught the chords of light that streamed through the vert palm leaves. One day she would do the same under a Mango tree in the Caribbean, under a pine tree in Russian boreal forest, under the boughs of an olive grove in Italy.

She put on a brave face and hopped into the back seat, closing the door behind her.

Aisha.

Aisha had been on the way to the hospital to tie up some loose ends on one of her crimes, when she had almost run Isis over.

Well, look what the devil dragged in.

Isis.

Just the harridan I was looking for.

Aisha knew that Isis could not go Scott-free after witnessing the air go through her nostrils.

She quickly thought of something and thought it best to invite Isis to ’someplace quite’ so that she could ’explain’ everything.

"Your suffering, your memory of it, is like a teddybear fashioned from glass shards - the tighter you cling to it the deeper it will cut. So perhaps practice putting it down for longer periods of time, noticing when you have picked it up and it slices at your skin. You and it are separate. One day you’ll notice that the bad teddybear is gone, you lost it sometime and never noticed. You will see that your good and noble choices made a better life, something positive, and now you hold a new teddybear, soft and warm, one that brings an inner glow and keeps you cosy under starlight and sunshine alike. Let’s go and have a chat my dear. I’ll make it all right."

She looked at Isis from head to toe, wondering what she was doing in a hospital.

Aisha flicked her hand lazily to signal Isis to go ahead and enter her vehicle; her bling-bling platinum bangles shifting and clinking to exaggerate the signal. Then she returned her arms to their resting position; arms on the well-maintained figure eight. The bangles fell to the soft skin part way down her arm and lay glinting in the afternoon rays, bright against her brown skin. There they would rest until she had finished drawing in the imbecile before her.

Isis looked afraid. Mouth shaped in an ’O’ and eyes wide with disbelief.

Laughing to herself, she eyed how uncomfortable Isis looked, standing in a pair of tarte jeans and a t-shirt that looked like it had been through a lot.

She on the other hand underplayed her part, coy and acting harmless. She let Isis feel like she had earned her trust.

She’s still easier to steer than my new Mercedes. The poor damsel in distress.

Sergio had gotten her a new car in celebration of their ’engagement’.

She remained girlish, innocent. Beneath her mask of delight and interest, she was planning Isis’ death and the disposal of her body in the same manner most people reserved writing a list of household chores.

As soon as they were both in the car, she grinned with satisfaction and drove the girl to her doom.

Alejandro.

Alejandro sturdily kept his right hand on the wheel as he texted away, with his left hand.

He wasn’t too worried about keeping the vehicle in his sight, as he had the coordinations of the vehicle, in his hand.

He occasionally threw a quick glance onto the road as he squinted at his phone and wondered who the person was and where he or she was taking Isis to.

He suddenly got the idea to ask his connect if there was any way that they could send him the driver’s information.

Seconds later, a photo popped up onto his screen.

Sergio? The owner of the vehicle was Sergio?

Where would Sergio be taking Isis to? Why would she leave her hospital bed like that? Was she forced? Did her memory come back so fast that she decided to leave? That made no sense. No damn sense at all.

Dear God, it’s in your hands.

A light switched on in his brain and he dialed a number and swiftly put the phone to his ear.

"Sergio? I’m right behind you. Stop the car."

On the other end, he could hear a confused Sergio asking him what he was talking about.

"You’re driving a black Mercedes A-class Sedan. I’m following you. What are you doing with Isis in the backseat?"

"Oh my God!"

Suddenly the line went dead.

The man didn’t even sound like he was on the road. There was another type of background noise. What the hell is going on here? Could they possibly be somebody else behind the wheel?

He looked down at his phone so he could recall the number, before hearing a loud hoot in front of him.

In his distraction, Alejandro had skidded into the wrong lane.

He quickly maneuvered the vehicle and lost control of the wheel, derailing off of the road and causing the car to tumble down a steep slope.

The vehicle was upended.

And Alejandro, had lost consciousness.