Niko’s Eye

Chapter 85.

"Confrontation."

Isis.

Isis stared at the piece of cardboard that was inbetween her fingers, a million thoughts running.

Her mind took her back to the night before, when she had mentioned to Alejandro that her father was killed in the Pueblo Viejo mines, he had suddenly gone stale.

And why didn’t he mention right there and then, that he practically owns that mine? Let’s face it, Alex has been acting strange ever since my mother died. So what does he have to do with all of this? If to lie is your default position your brain is being mis-wired daily. Then, when you seek love, and recall that truth is foundational to love, you will feel as if you are on the other side of a sheet of glass even though they try to reach you. The only way through, the only way back to the safety of love, is honesty, the kind that is raw and vulnerable.

She shook her head fiercely.

It must all just be a terrible coincidence.

I can’t draw up any conclusions until I have proof.

Isis’ investigation was proving to be deeper than what it seemed.

She had her mother on the one end, her father’s death, and now Alejandro.

Isis thought it to be wise if she began with the deceased, after all, they wouldn’t be able to bust her if ever she snooped around and found out some information that was not for her knowledge.

This was some dangerous ground she was playing on.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to get sucked into any underground world of shady business.

Isis gazed at the golden clock that was hung up in Alejandro’s study.

18:42.

Mami must have landed already.

She flipped out her cellphone to try and make a call.

Damn. Battery dead.

Isis then got up, and walked around Alejandro’s office area, so she could see if he had a telephone.

He probably had a telephone with a chord that could stretch all the way back to my house.

She chuckled at her own thoughts as she playfully slid over to Alejandro’s desktop, with the help of her plaid socks.

Once she got to his desk, she immediately spotted the telephone.

It looked like something that could only be found in a spaceship.

Thought as much.

Just as she was about to place her hand onto the telephone, the corner of her eye spotted a brown envelope, sitting on Alejandro’s table.

The papers inside of the brown envelope were slightly peering through.

Just enough for her to see the writings on the top.

Pueblo Viejo Mines: Contract.

Aha.

She quickly sprinted to the door and peeked through the hallway, before closing it and returning back to snoop through the documents.

"Okay, let’s see...", she sighed, as she slowly slid the documents into her hands.

It felt like vellum, or parchment.

She did not have time to admire the feel of some darn papers.

She needed to find out the truth.

After a couple of minutes of skimming through the documents, she had made out that...

Alejandro had authorized the bombings and her mother had paid him to do it.

She dropped the papers, and clung to the desk for balance.

No.

Alejandro.

Alejandro parked his car in his driveway and decided against driving all the way into his garage, as he had plans to take Isis out within the next 10 minutes.

He didn’t stop his engine, and getting out his car, he opened the left backseat door and grabbed the bouquet of flowers he had gotten for Isis, before making his way into the house.

I left the car running. Anyways, it’s all good.

He raced up the stairs and muttered curses under his breath, as he almost tripped.

Alejandro contemplated on calling out Isis’ name through the passages and decided it would be better to surprise her.

She can’t be in the kitchen. I’ve never seen her cook. She probably doesn’t even know how to.

He walked through the passages in his house and cut all the corners he knew, to get to his study.

Alejandro had a feeling that Isis was maybe studying or was still busy with her father’s investigation.

Before he left for work, Isis was curled up in her bed, going through some documents.

He held his breath at the thought.

Alejandro took his left and proceeded down the corridor, to his study.

Opening the door, he found Isis in a stupor.

When she turned to face him, there was no trace of tears in her eyes or any track marks on her reddening face.

Isis’ eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard.

Alejandro had never seen Isis look that way.

Her eyes had a deadness, a stillness. The girl who laughed often, the one who was everyone’s friend, had developed a hardness.

His eyes darted to the brown envelope on his desk, and then to the papers that Isis had gathered in her hands, and then back to her calculating glare.

It was as if Alejandro could read everything Isis blamed him for, in one extended glare and forgiveness wasn’t an option anymore.

In that moment, Alejandro knew that Isis had already gone from him.

Once more, he was the enemy. He was certain that she had concluded her investigation.

Alejandro had this sixth sense. A third nature, besides his killer instinct, and it was always accurate.

The swing from most loved, to most hated, would be the end of him.

Her state had no greyscale, only the polar extremes existed.

He traced his eyes towards the ground and stared at the documents he had constantly reminded himself to put away before he left for work.

He closed his eyes, regretfully.

Alejandro drew in a deep breath, the burning hard stare between himself and Isis, would last only as long as it took him to think of the most brutally cutting thing he could tear her down with.

But his killer instinct failed to rear it’s ugly head.

He had learnt how to control panic as a child. That came at a cost to his health but gave him a survival advantage in a dog-eat-dog world. The cost was caused by raised cortisol levels that could damage his brain and body. He was, for the most part, oblivious to stress and fear. It enabled him to survive better in the short term, but this time, he failed dismally.

Maybe I should kiss anything breakable goodbye. Which right now, might just be my nose.

It was so hard to tell and so pointless to run.

Isis spoke up.

"So, you caused my father’s death?", she asked, in an almost-hushed tone.

Well, not technically, but...

He thought he had prepared himself mentally and emotionally for such a confrontation.

He was wrong.

Alejandro swallowed hard and dropped the flowers onto the polished, marble floor.

Fuck.

Sergio.

Sergio was in a hotel room with another woman, already indifferent to the death of his former lover, when his phone rang.

He ignored it and carried on getting his skin kissed by a red-lipped, harem bawd.

Sergio was on a quest to erase Aisha’s memory from his mind, but she was etched in his memory like a tattoo.

The kisses of the woman that was bent in front of him, were as good as those in The Magician’s Nephew.

But, instead of transporting him to a new fantastical land, they took him back to every single time that he had met Aisha in secret.

1998.

Those drops of rain weren’t just magical, they were divine, only because he had seen Aisha.

Each drop of rain had washed away an unseen pain, a doubt, an angst from his past.

He had recalled that for the time their lips were locked together, the world itself ceased to exist, blurred and indistinct as a wet painting left out in the torrent that fell from the dark cloud above.

Sergio had been in love with Aisha ever since he had first set his eyes on her, on his holiday to Mexico.

They had a love child whom Aisha claimed had died.

She never wanted to specify the nature of the child’s death but he had suspected that she most probably might have aborted it, seeing that she was married at the time, and he was too.

It didn’t bother him because he was a married man and he didn’t really need that kind of drama in his life.

Although he had been in love with Aisha, he had never thought of divorcing his wife because of her.

And yet , she killed her husband, because of you.

That thought was partially the reason why his conscious would not let him be.

It’s like Aisha’s death, haunted his own existence.

His cellphone rang for the hundredth time, snapping him out of the hypnosis placed on him by his thoughts and his new lover’s caresses.

"Gita, stop. Let me answer. I think it’s important."

The woman, who had now succeeded in laying on top of Sergio, casually rolled off on her back and let him answer his phone.

He reached to the bedside and put the phone to his ear.

As soon as he heard the voice on the other end, even his balls froze.

Aisha?

"Flashback."

Isis.

He lifted her high. High, up into the sky. And with a carefree talent that echoes the joy of nature herself, a bird swoops toward the grass with a confidence that makes it a camera flash moment, a tiny fraction of time that etches itself into the happy memories. He swung her around as her lilac tulle dress rode the wind, together with her black curls. Her tiny smile matched his huge grin and their laughter harmoniously intertwined together as they crashed onto the plush grass and faced the sun.

Like an old movie reel being played at will.

It was 2004 on the back lawn of their old house. He’s laughing, relaxed after mowing the lawn. He asked her if she wanted an aeroplane ride and of course she did, what four year old wouldn’t want one? In moments, he had her right wrist and ankle. He spinned her around like a shot-putter, but he never let go. The garden turned into a green blur as Isis went flying. The memory had no smell, or weather, other than a lack of rain. The echoes of their summer days remained as flowers immune to winter chills. The garden was in fine detail: the crab apple tree, the rhododendron bush, the weeds in the flower beds. But the finest detail was his face, creased with love and her joy- not only for the ride but for being with him, for being with her Father.

"I love you," she screeched.

"I love you more sweet pea."

Imagination is painful and tiresome. The ability to create your own world or scenarios which will never happen; can make you feel like collapsing to the ground. The ability to make yourself so happy only to be snapped out of your trance by the slightest movement. The pain you can cause yourself just by reminiscing. Your imagination has the ability to mess with your flashbacks, making them feel even more horrendous than the true story. So, if you could switch it off. Would you?

Isis was asleep, yet awake in her soul.

The brain has little concept of time, and so the painful memory is experienced as a current event. This is why, once we have come to terms with them and gained new perspectives on what happened, it is important to move on and recall the happy times instead. This way you deal with them, disarm them, and choose real health for yourself. This way you love yourself and set yourself free, because the negative memories come with a cost. And as addictive as they feel, once lessons are learnt, there is nothing in them of value. The positive memories come as a friend with a picnic basket, they are good and nourishing, supportive and kind. And so you have to choose to build yourself this way, letting the bad ones wander off on their own and encouraging the good ones to blossom and grow. This way you become confident, well balanced and in control of who you are as an individual, able to appreciate each moment as a gift and to see a positive future.

Isis saw the world around her turning to white.

Suddenly she was in another world.

A world with hospital beds, drips, and...a man.

She turned her attention to him.

It’s Alejandro. Not my father.

It’s like she could hear him say," I know you’ve felt alone for so long, sailing on those unchartered seas. I know you’ve been calling for help in every way possible. The thing is, love, that when you’re the explorer, the discoverer, there is no advice anyone can give, and if they tried they’d simply make your job all the harder. Darkness is better than a false light when you’re navigating by the stars and by the instincts of the heart. What I can say is this, if you get the chance to sail with someone, do. If that right companion comes along who seeks our destination, make him your first mate and co-captain. The important thing is to sail on, always seeking that which it matters to your soul to find. It takes strength to love the way you do in a world such as this. Holding onto the best part of yourself, keeping that real, yet pushing onward as you do, that’s admirable. So many think they have done what you do, or are how you are, yet they delude themselves. Love became their mask and coldness became their real self, perhaps they never noticed the shift happen. You, however, don’t use masks at all. Not to yourself. As such you are strong and dependable. You are capable of real self evolution and being in control of it yourself."

Love became their mask?

"Have I been sleeping for centuries? My head feels like it’s been hammer jacking for construction sites."

Isis glanced around the room, and then at Alejandro, accidentally making eye contact with him; the guy that took up most of her thoughts and daydreams, as it was proven that he was the only figure in his life.

He chuckled, rather awkwardly.

"Just try not to move too much. I’ll get the doctor."

He winked at her and left.

I just dreamt about my father.

"Dear Isis," he would say, "never be like a flag, dependant on the capricious breeze for its direction. Be the captain of your own ship; chart a course and navigate with determination in choppy waters and fine. You alone are the master of your own destiny and responsible for the keeping of your humanity in the harshness of life. Do that and, no matter what happens, you will be proud of who you are."

She thought about her father’s words, and his perfectly peppered hair and how he used to bring her coconuts everyday. She used to love making bras out of the coconut shells and pretend that she had big breasts.

Cringing at the thought, she shifted uncomfortably in her bed and tried to center her thoughts back to where they were.

Besides coconuts, Isis’ father used to come home with different kinds of pens every time he signed a new contract. And in celebration of that, he’d take her and her mother to that little restaurant.

The little restaurant. The restaurant where she saw...

And just like that, everything came rushing to the back of her head with a loud bang.

She cried out in pain.

As she closed her eyes, images of her memories flooded her receptive cells.

Varsity. Zainab. Alejandro. Aisha. The affair with Mr Sergio. Almost losing her grandmother. Alejandro being behind her father’s death...Love, becoming his mask.

She flung her eyes wide open and jolted out of the bed, ripping off the intravenous cannula on her left arm.

She darted her eyes around the room and saw her t-shirt and a pair of jeans. She sprinted towards them, got changed, grabbed her shoes and fled out of the door.

She heard the nurses calling after her as she ran across the hospital halls and out of the hospital doors.

I have to get away. I gotta get away. He killed my father.

She stole a quick glance over her shoulder and as soon as she looked back in front of her, a car halted, barely 2 centimeters away from her legs.

She stood there, shaking.

The driver angrily got out of their car, and as soon as their eyes met, they both froze...

Alejandro.

As he watched her sleep, he stood there, waiting.

Patiently waiting.

He knew that this incident could mean the end of Isis’ love for him, or even the end of everything, including his life.

The last time she had her memory, she was trying to kill me.

He nervously bit onto his bottom lip and scratched his stubble, watching her as she shifted in her sleep, slowly opened her eyes and murmered something incoherent.

Something about having a serious migraine or some s**t.

He gave her an uncertain smile, dipped in fear.

He was really distracted and drenched in so much worry that his brow began to sweat. With a promise to return with a doctor, he backed out of the room and disappeared into the hallway.

Alejandro pondered on what would be the outcome of the return of Isis’ memory. His heart was beating out of his chest and his mind was racing with imaginations of what might happen to him.

Death?

Fear drove him to the edge.

With nails bitten to skin, and eyes reddened to crimson. Mind boggled out of his wits. Tie loosened. Jaw clenched. Mouth dried like the Sahara desert, he was defeated.

He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks as he looked up at the hospital’s exit and saw Isis in the back of an unknown person’s car.

Huh ?

Sprinting out of the hospital, he kept his eyes glued on the vehicle’s number plate and immediately wrote it in a text to somebody who could possibly help him track down the car.

As he entered into his own car, he made a quick call to confirm that, that person had received his text.

With reassurance, he stepped on the gas and hooted his way out.