Niko’s Eye

Chapter 34.

"Deja-Vu."

Isis.

The paint over the soft wood is deep like the way her "mother" used to spread her cream cheese over layers of sponge. The flakes peel at random depths showing different sun-baked hues underneath. In this way, in its decrepitude, the old house has become more beautiful. The door, once cherry red, is just the same, though the peelings are all shades of a pink that surrendered to the high August sun.

I’m sure it will move on its hinges still, but with the weariness of an old man. It would probably creak like the moan echoing to the rafters that still fight the sagging roof above. The windows no longer beckon light inside, no longer lift the gloom that the walls impose. Instead they add to the growing sense of damp and dark and permit the chill wind to penetrate.

Isis stared at her old home and resided in her head, on their way to the police station.

She practically had no home. No where to go. And a head filled with half-empty thoughts.

They arrive at the police station and an escort is assigned to walk her in.

For what though?

Isis walked like her limbs didn’t really belong to her and each step was a negotiation rather than an order. Everything was hurting her, especially her arms. Every damn thing. She winced to walk across the station’s parking, into the building, heading to get whatever was waiting for her inside.

As she approaches the front reception, she looks up to see two familiar figures, standing around like robots.

Alejandro...and, the man who was having an affair with Aisha? What’s his name again?

At this point she was too tired to think about her problems and who is dangerous for who, what and where. She just needed a rest, a shower, and some food.

Chicken wings would bang right now.

I am worthy of escaping this hurricane of thoughts, the positive and the negative analysis of the actions and words of others. I am worthy of love and a better life, I am. So instead of wondering why "they" said it or did it, who did what and where, I simply say, "This situation isn’t working for me and I have the right to seek something that does, some place I feel loved, welcome and appreciated." And so I make my escape plan through the paths of musical lyrics and stories of adventure, through the green palm trees of Barbados, sipping coconuts with whoever it is that’s not going to die next or end up being a bad guy. Sigh.

She looked at Alejandro and forced a placid smile.

I guess I’m not forgotten quite yet.

She watched him as he took a seat. She didn’t think he had seen her yet.

Or maybe he’s just trying to keep his cool.

Isis bent over Alejandro, against the will of her joints to get down to his eye level and he looked at her, wide-eyed.

I’m expecting a poke on the facial injury but instead he wraps his arms around my neck.

"You are my alchemy. You turn the emotions I resisted, that I was trying to leave out in the cold, into gold. As corny as that is. I was blocking parts of me because they’d been rejected in the past, because I had been told that they were wrong or bad. You saw who I am, all of me, and you loved me all the more. There’s a lot of healing power in that," Alejandro whispered as he rose to meet her embrace.

Man, I don’t know. I’m just kind of hungry right now.

She clung to his shirt and the smell of blackberry vanilla, spring floral and star fruit mango wafted into her nostrils.

"Take me away from here please."

Aisha.

As soon as Aisha saw Officer Rãmirez, she was certain that she was not going to prison just yet.

Rãmirez is a corrupt cop that I have known for so many years. We have operated so many drug cartels together and helped the Mexican borders stay afloat. He should be thanking me for a huge part of his wealth. I’m certain that he will not be ungrateful.

Officer Rãmirez walked up to Aisha and said, "Mrs Kasmira or Miss Arismendi? You are under arrest, and anything you say now could be used against you in the court of law."

Aisha almost died of a heart attack.

Under arrest?!

"Wha...wait, this must be some kind of a mistake. This is a misunderstanding. What am I getting arrested for? Rãmirez, really?"

She desperately looked at Rãmirez, hoping for a signal or a low-key explanation, but nothing.

In that split second before they placed the handcuffs on her, every nerve in her body and brain was electrified.

It was the anticipation of a different outcome of the situation that made it even worse, in a way that was more than words, in a way that was completely tangible.

It takes a second or two for the new information to sink it, even though it is right before my eyes, larger than life. Then I feel my lips stretch wider into gaping grin and my eyebrows arch for the sky. I’m not going to make it out of this. I’m here right now.

And in the seconds that followed, Aisha could feel the officers squeezing her arms around her and her arms reciprocating. She became pixelated and two dimensional.

Amazement doesn’t quite cover it. I feel like someone just took my spark of wonder and poured on kerosine. The grin I show on the outside can’t adequately reflect what I feel inside; it’s like every neurone of my brain is trying to fire in both directions at once - the worst kind of paralysis.

This world is quite astonishing, when you claw your way out of the mire of dysfunction. When you first peek over the horizon and see nature without the haze of discontent. Without any filter, with the naked eye and the brain open to the beauty of this reality, amazement comes. It is the amazement of the baby when they first meet a dog, or see a leaf move in the wind. And when you see those simple things, when you can in love with the small, everything gets so much better. The larger things become almost overwhelming, the sense of love so much stronger. It is then you realise that before you lived a half-life, greyed and without the warmth each human is born with.

Aisha was amazed that she had been outsmarted.

Is this real? Maybe the story will be different once I get to the station. Maybe Rãmirez is putting on a show. Yeah, that’s it. This is all for show. I mean he can’t expose himself in front of all of these police officers right? I’m still in the game. There’s no way I can be taken out just like that.

But even though she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t really over, her anxiety was over the roof.

She sat in the back of the police van, biting onto her bottom lip so hard that she started to bleed.

For the most part, addictions are to stuff that’s bad for you; that’s how I am with anger and revenge. When things calmed down, when everything was nice, that’s when I’d find fault in someone or something. I am the emotional volcano, convinced it was the fault of others, or circumstance. I never wanted to be this way; it’s the trait I most disrespect in others. But maybe that explains a lot. Don’t they say that most folks are mean not because they struggle to like you, but because they struggle to like themselves? My father once said, "Respond, don’t react, breathe, take yourself out of the situation, be a fly on the wall for a second, let love back in." It’s not like that was magic. I still blow hot and blow off brains, and it never better over time, more often.

There is a scream from deep within that forces its way from my mouth, it is as if my terrified soul has unleashed a demon. All I feel is anger, all I feel is that I don’t want to be friends with anyone at all because then I don’t have to trust anyone, it’ll be safer, easier to choose not to stay. And I know I’m hiding a truth from myself, of how much this is really to do with sadness and the scars that just won’t heal. Yet these fists clench and my teeth lock up once the sound is out. I’m just gonna have to walk away for a while, see this "elephant" from a few miles away, figure it out.

I never started to see the real things that caused it, or the things I believed I was angry about. It was the petty frustrations of life, the things that flicked my anxiety switches, that or the things that made me sad or just my need to hurt everyone that stands in the way of what I want to do. I’d felt entitled to better treatment from others, consideration and respect. I still think I’m worthy of those things. I must get them.

Aisha sat in an isolated cubicle at the police station for more than 3 hours.

Her black-painted fingernails tapping onto the table with impatience.

Then suddenly, Officer Rãmirez walked in, with a huge grin on his face.

I knew it. I’m getting out of here.

"Murderer, or no Murderer."

Alejandro.

I saw her but I had to stay calm, because I didn’t know what her state of mind was. Did she want to kill me? Was that my last moment as a free man? Would I never get to love her the way she deserves to be loved? As she walked towards me, I had an accelerated breathing rate, an accelerated heart rate and an increased blood glucose. My shoulders were hunched, I cowered away inside and the fear crept even higher up my spine. But then she got to me, and hugged me. The love I had for her was greater than any fear.

Alejandro struggled to conceal his shock.

Especially when she had asked her to take her away from the police station.

As much as he wanted to, they were there so their statements against, Aisha could be taken.

"I don’t have anything to say about her. I just want her dead."

"Whoah babe, what’s wrong with you? A true Christian does not wish death upon others okay? No matter what?"

"A true Christian?" Isis scoffed and walked out of the police station.

What the hell is going on with her?

Sergio looked at him, unphased. "Psychosis is a natural response to being unable to solve

problems, Alejandro", he said.

"How do you mean?"

"In childhood we are more creative, that part of our brain that dreams at night has more access to our daytime thinking and we can dream up the most wonderful fantasies, live them in a sort of way. It’s what small children do all the time."

"Go on."

"But for the most part we fail to continue using our imaginations, or rather, it gets ’educated’ out of us. The brain connections between the subconscious and the conscious minds weaken, like when anything is unused. But in times of serious problems, of high stress, the brain panics and tries to reconnect them. The result is ’awake dreaming’ or ’psychosis.’ And since the person is already in crisis, it’s difficult to handle. She’s just tired of bad stuff always happening to her. Understand the poor girl. But soon, it will be over and her happiness will be restored."

"So what are you saying I do for her in the meantime?"

"Exercise patience."

"Wow. I have a degree in psychology and I didn’t even think that far."

Sergio lightly tapped him on the shoulder and proceeded to go in and give his statement.

I could be in for a serious problem. But she has always been there for me. Let me be the wall she needs to throw dishes at.

For so many years, I was a corporate climber, a money-seeking vulture, eating up-market ready meals with sitcoms, living vicariously through movie stars instead of leaving my mansions. I laughed at my peers and their "greenies", with their alternative lifestyle, baking their own bread and dancing improvised music in town halls and forests alike. I had the designer outfits and the most perfect shoes ever made. I had the granite counters. I had teeth whiter than fresh paper. I could find lovers on the internet and in reality, as easily as ordering a pizza. Then I retired. I had to find a spiritual psychologist because I was indeed mental. Killing cold-bloodedly, pushing innocent people down the corporate ladder and stepping over them with the heel of my shoes. I didn’t even have anyone. Nobody to turn to while I affront the realities of life. I cut off my family, stopped calling and visiting altogether.

Finding God was both liberating and very difficult.

Sergio.

Sergio knew exactly what Isis was going through.

He went through the exact same thing after he lost his mother through depression. He watched her deteriorate as she kept on reliving what happened to her when she was enslaved in Europe.

As he sat in the questioning room, he thought of the dark time in his life.

It’s that day of drowning, here again, the cold wash only I can feel. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to move at all. And in that moment it takes all the strength I have to make a good choice, to reach for an oxygen tank and take a breath - that’s my good mood music playlist. It gives me the thoughts I need, that I am someone worthy of love and joy. The first tracks aren’t easy. They show the tears in my soul, but without that how would the soul stay alive? So I let them call to me and bring the salty rivers. This is how I stay alive. This is how the universe reaches me and tells me good things are coming.

And he remembered what he had said to Aisha when he had first spent the night with her in Mexico, unaware that she was married.

"Depression has a floor, a rock bottom, and finding it is a blessing. When you hit it, when it feels as if you should stay down, you find a reason to get up. Perhaps it’s your kid you get up for, maybe it’s your pet dog, maybe it’s just for the sake of finding out what happens tomorrow... but you get up. Then, Aisha, it’s rinse repeat. At the time it feels as if you have no strength, yet after days uncounted of all this, you are truly stronger than those who still wear the mask. You become the hope. You become a chance to give them heaven even as you walk through a personal hell. Yet since we are both here, in this flame pit others are oblivious to, perhaps we can become a heaven for each other. The road to hell is comfort and self-confidence - the road to heaven is lashings of pain. Maybe we’ll be the ones who get there first. Maybe we’ll be the ones with a little piece of true happiness, the ones with a love that can light up the world. Finding a love such as this isn’t the reason I agreed to go to hell, I did it because I’m a weirdo freak who wanted to save creation, humanity too, but I asked for love if it was possible. So walk these fiery coals with pride. You’re the only one who dared show up to join me. I love you for it. I always will. Of that you can be sure."

He scoffed at his thoughts.

What a joke.

He felt like his life was a pile of bad luck. And he was determined to change that with Aisha.

He was not going to allow his destiny to be controlled by someone else, especially not a woman.

She didn’t know what she had coming.

He smiled.

Rãmirez.

Undercover cops are an odd bunch. They learned to live rootless, able to transplant into the strangest of situations and still appear as normal as anyone else. I’ve been at this game so long I can only approximate what being normal is. I lost my family bonds at tough developmental stages, because of this woman. Instead of my connections to others getting deeper, as they naturally should, the universe cut them.

Rãmirez was either the person undercover, roles he adapted to so well that he became that other person in a way, like an alternative life. When he had to pull out, he was the professional, giving reports and being debriefed. The man he had been, the one who skipped stones into the winter ocean and crab fished each summer with his family, was all but gone.

Of course Aisha and I went way back. Smuggling drugs and arms together, money laundering, and even having s*x together. Orgies and freak shows. I always made sure that I set our personal lives apart from our professional lives. I know she thinks I’m here to bail her from her s**t.

"Aisha, it’s great to see you."

She looked relieved, with a painful desperation splattered all over her face.

"I’m gonna cut straight to the chase. I’ve been an undercover cop for the International Criminal Police Organisation in Barbados. We’ve been chasing a woman in the underground criminal world who uses a code name called ’The Red Dragon’, and we have gathered every crevice of evidence together to believe that that woman is you. The fingerprints on every safe in your warehouses around Barbados, Mexico and the United States of America are an exact match with yours. I’ve been working with you, not because I indulge in those crimes, but because I was instructed to build a case against you.There are plenty of witnesses and a mountain range of evidence. You are here on charges of illegal dealing of weapons, smuggling of drugs, the bombing of the Pueblo Viejo mine, laundering of stolen and dirty money, the murders of your father, Mr Arismendi, a certain Mr Dravilkos, Mrs Kasmira, and the attempted murder of Miss Isis Kasmira, and lastly, the attempted murder of Mr Kasmira."

"The attempted murder of Mr Kasmira?!"