“I don’t know who you think you are, but you will not have him!” the woman told Madalina as she wrestled the teacher to the floor. “Tell Rudolph and his consorts that I will see them in hell before they get their hands on Raul! He is ours!”
“Ours?” Madalina asked inadvertently.
“Yes, you idiot. The Black Sun claimed him at birth and there is no goddamn way you will take him from us. He is ours!” she hissed, spitting her blood in Madalina’s face.
The teacher could not believe her ears, but she was being punctured for a second and third time while she tried to make sense of the woman’s words. Meanwhile the boy was wailing in terror on the other side of the door. She had to do something, or she was going to greet the morning in a body bag. At a loss for any aid, Madalina tried to scare her attacker off with the gun. She pressed it against the woman’s forehead and pretended to pull the trigger by pressing the shard of steel that used to serve as one.
The woman’s face exploded like a melon, as the deafening clap of the shot affirmed the kill. Stunned in disbelief and horror, Madalina’s eyes remained frozen on the ruptured skull of the corpse that was still straddling her.
“Jesus Christ!” she shrieked hysterically, yet keeping her voice low enough exude only guttural consonants of the exclamation. “Jesus, no! No! Oh my God, no!” Madalina’s face was covered in fragments of bone, her skin already sticky from the woman’s blood and brain matter. She was horrified beyond comprehension, but during what seemed to be an eternity of confusion, panic, and disbelief, Madalina knew that she had to start moving before anyone arrived at the door. The shot fired had been loud and unmistakable.
With great effort, she shoved the dead woman off of her, struggling to free herself from the dead weight. The floor was slick, making it almost impossible not to slip, but she knew she would be discovered if she did not get going within the next few seconds. Already she could hear the sounds of muffled voices approaching as people in the rooms nearby emerged into the hallways to determine where the shot had come from. The child on the other side of the bathroom door was wailing in fear, another threat to Madalina’s momentary asylum.
Electing to keep the pistol with her in molten thoughts of hysteria and movie quotes like ‘no weapon, no proof,’ the teacher shoved the old firearm into her bra and staggered toward the basin to rinse off most of the mess. Before she exited, she put on the woman’s black overcoat to conceal her bloody clothing and slipped her wet arm around the door to switch off the light.
“Raul?” she whispered in the darkness, following the boy’s whimpers. “Raul, I am not here to hurt you.” She had to think quickly. This was not the time to be held up by having to sweet-talk a child, but he was, after all, the reason for her visit. In her mind, she made herself into a little girl to find a way to persuade him. “Raul, I was sent to save you. I’m here to help you, so you have to come with me, alright? Let’s just leave quickly, before they catch us and keep us here. What do you say, hey?”
“Who sent you to save me?” he asked through his sobbing. She was elated that she had gotten his attention, at least. The teacher slowly approached him by sound and sat down on the carpet so as not to alarm him.
“Your angel sent me, of course,” she said softly, sniffling quietly. Madalina was in shock, weeping in panic, but aware that now was the pivotal time that would determine the success of her escape. She had to play it very calm and keep the boy’s sensibilities about the incident tranquil.
“I have no angels,” he said casually.
“Of course you do,” she replied. “Could I ask you to turn on the light, dear?”
“Why?” he asked, his voice still riddled with fear and uncertainty.
“So that we can see where your shoes are. You know, we don’t have much time before those angry men outside burst in here. We have to go, sweetheart,” she said with as much composure as she could manage.
“I don’t even know your name,” he reasoned, and switched on the light. The sudden brightness prompted her to pinch her eyes shut. “Are you blind?” he asked innocently. Madalina couldn’t help it; she laughed. She opened her eyes, still bloodshot from crying.
“No, sweetheart, I’m not blind,” she smiled. “Now, put on your shoes.”
“Then what’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked, retrieving his loafers from under his bed.
“Just sore,” she explained, evoking his pity.
“Oh, I see,” he said. “My mother’s eyes looked like that too.”
For some reason the statement frightened Madalina. It brought up a myriad of questions about the woman in the bathroom that the boy had revealed was not his mother. She dared not change their fickle understanding at this point, so she had to keep the questions for later.
“Shoes on?” she asked. He nodded. “Okay, let’s go get some hot chocolate, right?”
The boy smiled, his face beaming. That alone made it all worthwhile to her.
It worked! Now make sure you don’t fuck up before you’re in the clear, her inner voice warned. Madalina stood up and dusted off the coat, cringing at the secret it held underneath, away from the child’s eyes. She held out her hand, and little Raul took it with trust.
Casually she opened the door, acting concerned enough to play into the befuddlement of the other guests of the motel. Her heart raced uncontrollably, rendering her stone cold sober, and she reckoned that hurrying from the motel would only stir up suspicion. For now, the teacher and the small boy walked in the direction of the stairs that would lead down to the main hallway. It would lead them to the street, and hopefully to flight.
Nobody seemed to have noticed them in the commotion of the frantic searching and speculation between staff and guests, for which Madalina was endlessly grateful. However, her reluctant gratitude was challenged when they exited the motel. A crowd had already gathered outside, many having heard the gun shot from the establishment they all knew to be quite a peaceful place, normally without much incident.
“Did you see what happened?” a police officer arriving on the scene asked Madalina.
“No, my son and I were just going in to look for a room when we heard the shot, so we came right back out,” she acted superbly. “I don’t want to stay over in a place where people shoot guns, my God!”
“Yes, get your son out of harm’s way,” the officer told her, turning towards the other people. “Come on! Get away from here. You want to get shot too?” he shouted at the onlookers swarming around the motel corner doors. “Go on! Get away!” His voice gradually faded in the din of the night traffic of the city as Madalina and her new charge careened through the park and people.
“When are we getting hot chocolate?” Raul asked.
“Soon, sweetheart, soon. We are going to the best hot chocolate place, I promise,” she panted, occasionally checking her trail.
Raul pinched his nose. “Good, because that blood on you is making me feel sick.”
3
Kismet
Purdue breathed in the Mediterranean air, feeling his lungs fill with its saline serenity. It had been a while since he’d abandoned his research into a new metallurgical device for a bit of a holiday. For once his was not an urgent patent or one of his more obsessive projects, therefore he elected to take a week alone with a small crew to test out a new yacht he had purchased from a Belgian company affiliated with one of his business associates. It was equipped with the latest global tracking systems, including sonar and whale tracking technology, which thrilled the white-haired billionaire no end.