Bloody hell.
"You annoying goggles," I mutter.
I lost my them again. What is wrong with them? Because of the 'Lynn' thing, I couldn't take the swimming lesson. I was confused and lost, so directly came home. And I'm guessing I can't make the afternoon lesson, too. I'm not used to swim without goggles, when I'm with many students. And another reason, despite I've been swimming for many years, I don't see well in water.
Now, what? Did I really put them in bag when Jake gave? Honestly, I can't remember.
Wait, maybe I have another pair.
I walk hurriedly to the storeroom and start to search. I first reach to the shelf where I put my old sports items, but I've bumped into something.
I swallow, gazing at the curtain.
I take a deep breath and put the curtain away.
Dad's piano.
June 2016
"Samlin, time for your piano lesson!" My father knocked at my door.
I put my phone on the table and sighed. I didn't want to play that day. Because Michael was having a party in his house that night and I wanted to go there.
I opened the door and faced him.
He was a journalist in profession, but in mind, he was a pianist. My father was the youngest son of the Greenham family, which is one of the most ancient family of the local community. His parents, I mean my Grandparents are still strict and moody, but I've always had a good relationship with them. They live in the manor, inherited from our ancestors, though I never knew why my father didn't live with them.
Thanks God that my father didn't inherit the 'I'm-rich-and-powerful' attitude from them. He was that kind of father, with whom you could share everything. He was worth of so much respect. He was mid forty, yet looked younger.
But at that night, I was kinda mad at him.
"Can we not play tonight?" I asked him.
"Why? Are you not feeling well?" He searched my face worriedly. "I thought we would practice a different, softer pitch tonight. And give more attention to the accidentals."
"Dad__I can't."
"Are you going out?"
"Michael is having a party tonight. I told him I would go." I said, a little frightened, because I knew Dad had a thing against the parties.
He released a long breath, slanting at the doorframe. "So, you really like him, huh?"
I thought for a while. "I guess, I do."
"You play piano well. You even achieved awards in some competitions. Now, you're evading your lesson for this kid? Going to a party in his place?"
I frowned, "He's my boyfriend, Dad. And I'm only skipping one piano lesson. Why are you making a big deal out of this?"
My father sat on a chair, holding his arms across the chest. "Fine. Since we're so honest with each other, what if I tell that I saw him with a girl today inside an alley? Are you still going to him?"
I blinked, not understanding. "It could be his sister. Or any of his female friends."
"If you say he was kissing her any of his female friends, then fine again," he turned to his piano.
I was really shocked then. I was feeling stupid. Dumb. Angry. Clueless. "Why are telling me this now?" I shouted.
He didn't turn. "To prove you wrong. That kid is playing with you. You should stop wasting time with him and focus on your study."
"And focus on playing your stupid piano? Aren't you telling this?" I pointed at his boudoir grand piano, glaring. "Aren't you, Dad?"
He turned to me, so shocked. That piano meant so much to him, but I hurt him.
"You hate piano?" he whispered.
I couldn't stop the angry part of myself.
"Well....you didn't give me much choice," I said these words before slamming my door.
After a minute, I heard him stop in front of my door. He said quietly,
"You can go wherever you want, Samlin."
I covered my face with a pillow, crying, regretting. Oh God, what had I done?
I opened my door silently after an hour. It looked like Mom still hadn't come home, maybe she had a night shift in the bank. The entire house was dark, all lights were off.
Was Dad asleep?
I didn't think so.
I quietly passed the drawing room and entered the balcony. I took a deep breath. He was there, sitting on his easy chair. I slowly took a seat beside him.
"Good night," he gave a small smile.
I swallowed. "I am sorry, Dad."
I didn't look at him, I focused my eyes on the floor. I'd never had yelled at me before. I was feeling so sad. So small.
"I didn't mean what I said." I whispered the common sentence when almost everyone says that, when they are sorry. I bit my lip hard to not to cry, remorseful.
"Come here."
I slowly put my head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent deeply. This was my father. Who always forgave me when I did something improper. He brushed my hair gently.
"It's okay. You're just hurt." He said after a minute.
I moved my head from his shoulder, looking at his face. "You're not mad at me, then?"
My father laughed. "How can I be mad at my little daughter? Who wanted to be a butterfly?"
I giggled.
We sat there in the dark calmly, feeling the autumn breeze, hearing the sounds of night. Then my father spoke,
"But one day you'll understand the pain, when I am not around you anymore."
"Don't say these things, please."
"Okay. Anyway, I am going to Belèm tomorrow. Maybe I won't be able to back for a while."
"In Brazil? Near of A****n, right?" I asked.
"Hm. Belèm isn't a famous city, though our chief editor gave me a serious assignment."
"What is it now? Gold smuggling? Nature protesters? Illegal chemical garbage?"
"It's a kind of secret task. I can't tell you. Like you secretly hate Maria, but pretend you don't," he laughed.
I blushed a little. "That's so not true. I don't hate her. Hey, Dad, don't change the subject. Where are you gonna stay, by the way?"
"At Forte do Castalo. It's an old fortress in that town. Don't worry, I'll be back soon."
But you didn't come back, Dad.
I brush my fingers on the keys of the piano and start to play. My fingers are moving spontaneously through the keyboard, the sound becoming louder.
Faster.
Fingers move more quickly.
Why didn't I realize the beauty of this harmony before? Where was it hidden? Why didn't I feel the waves in my heart before?
I suddenly stop.
I rush to the leaving room, standing in front of our family photo. I place my fingers at the image of my father.
Then I whisper,
"I am sorry, Dad. Can you please come back?"
• • • • •
Lynn Vandestine
He gets ready, wearing his wristwatch. He looks at his revolver, feeling a little confused, whether to take it with him or not.
He's going to meet an old friend.
He decides, placing the gun behind of his hip, at the waistband. He grabs his car keys and starts to walk in a quick pace.
But he stops.
Lynn knocks at his brother's door, hearing carefully. Is he with someone? Woman?
"Come in," his cheerful voice speaks.
Lynn rolls the doorknob and steps in.
His room is a little dark, he's lying on the bed, two blondies hovering over his body, both moaning madly.
Oh, Jesus.
"Good evening, brother." Mahone greets him, his hands caressing their shoulders.
"This isn't a brothel, Mahone," he groans, looking away. "Do it outside."
"C'mon it's just one night. Uncle Kramer has no problem with it, so why do you?" He kisses the first blonde. "Don't mind, baby. My brother's a bit shy."
First blonde winks at Lynn. "He's hot."
"You want him?" Mahone pouts.
"Not more than you," she nibbles his ear.
Lynn sighs. "Fine, I'm out of here."
"Where are you going?" Mahone asks, second blonde kissing his chest, panting.
"None of your business." Lynn turns around.
"Okay, I'm enjoying myself."
He closes the driver's door.Lynn looks around the little house carefully and walks through the driveway, entering his hands into his pockets. He's not sure if this guy still lives here, but if anyone could help him to take the Feingold Brothers down, this guy would be one of them. But also, time changes people.Lynn rings the bell twice.After a while, footsteps approaches. A pale looking, red haired woman opens the door slightly, looking at him suspiciously."What do you want?" she asks coldly."Er__does Ray Jenkins live here?""Who are you?" she frowns."My name is Lynn, an old friend of Ray. Is he here?" Lynn replies patiently."Oh, he's here." The woman raises her eyebrows. "But I don't think you're gonna meet him.""Why? What's wrong?""You work for that secret society, don't you? Which screwed up his whole life, our life," she speaks harshly. "I don't know why you're here, but I don'
Lynn VandestineHe wraps a towel around his lower naked body, stepping out from the shower, then looks at the mirror ummindfully."What kind of a freak showers at noon?" He suddenly hears a low voice behind him. Lynn turns, then notices his brother lying on his bed, holding a wine bottle in his hand."Only your brother does," he chuckles, lightly shaking his wet hair, then pulls out a blue shirt from the wardrobe. "Are you drunk?""Of course not," Mahone sits up idly, looking with sleepy eyes. "Wait."Lynn turns to him, "What?"Mahone puts the bottle down, then walks to him, feeling horrified. "Lynn, the scars in your back look....more. What happened to you?"Lynn turns away from him, buttoning his shirt quickly. No, he didn't want to remember the three months when he was starving in a basement, being tortured and beaten up, waiting for to die, wanting to die."What happened to you?" he asks again."Stop it,
I walk back to the house.I can't deny the fact that Mahone sings well, the song was thoughtful and meaningful. Yet I don't really know him, because Lynn never told me about his brother. Again, why he would tell me some basic truths.I pass the dancing people, getting myself another drink and it felt good. I know that sometimes drinking helps to ease away all the emotional pain. Likewise, I agree with whoever first said and did that.I throw the used cup in the bin and take another one, thinking what I could use instead of vodka. I roam my eyes at all the bottles placed on the table, because Maria always has a good collection of drinks ( from her father's cabinet, easy guess ). Strawberry Daiquiri? No, this cocktail makes my mouth sweet, don't like much. A margarita sour mix would be good and I crack the bottle open, then pour the glass. I turn and suddenly notice Emilia and Jack on a couch, shagging."Whoah!" I exclaim, then tak
Rome, ItalyMarch 2015"Do you speak English?" Mahone asked the bartender and his mind was scattered, filling another shot.The middle-aged bartender looked up at him and said nothing, no expression."Ok, non lo fai ( Okay, you don't )," he sighed and finished the rest of Amaretto, a famous sweet drink in Italy. The cocktail bar was quiet, covered with Victorian atmosphere and it was early night. A red-faced man with a giant mustache, was talking calmly with his wife and sipping soda, as they just ate their dinner. They were Asian, perhaps Malaysia, he guessed, travelling the city of stunning architecture and ancient empire. There was another couple, looked like newlyweds, holding hands and smiling at each other. Mahone looked away from them and sighed again, because he was having a intense crappy day here. He landed his foot yesterday here after accepting a hard decision, which his brother and uncle didn't know.He had got expe
Lynn Vandestine"Madonna still hates me," he said normally, sipping tea with his friend Ray.Ray shakes his head, "She doesn't hate you. You gotta understand, man, she's pregnant and her emotions are heightened. I'm trying to convince her, but she doesn't like the idea of me helping you to take the brothers down.""I understand," he puts the cup down on the table. "So, what did you find?"Ray opens his computer. "Listen. We both know that the cyber security of The Conditorem is super secure. But I hacked their website after spending two hours and encrypted the keystrokes and added some antiviruses, so they can't track me back," he holds out some printed notes. "You ever heard of the Protectors?"Lynn glances at the pages, thinking deep."The Protectors mainly keep the informations of their agents, their programs, their scientific technologies. I guess there are seven of them total, as I heard. I don't know what their names are or how t
Samlin GreenhamMartha Stewart is dead. Part of me wants to yell that it's not my fault that she died, but another part of me is telling that you're the one who went to see her last night. Now, I know from where Mahone got her address. From me, for sure, when that embarrassing, sexy thing happened with me and him, the address must be slipped away from my pocket. And obviously he took the page and went there to do what? Investigate? He doesn't look like a dumbass, then why did he go there?It's the worst holiday ever.I sigh and pick my phone up. After my pretty intense conversation with Lynn, actually I'm feeling kind of dizzy and confused. At some moments, you can tell me - "Forgiveness is a great virtue," then again, since I'm not an angel, since I've my anger, contempt, revenge, it's pretty hard to forget the past. He gave me his phone number today, in case if anything happened to me.I dial my mother's number, the line'
Lynn Vandestine"So, your mother and Martha were friends?" he asks, putting his elbows on the table.Sam gulps her chocolate coffee, nodding. "Yeah. She pretended at first that she didn't care and she didn't want to tell me about her, then I pushed her about her death and then it turned out Martha tried to mess up Mom and Dad's relationship a few times," she looks up at him. "She's sad, though.""It's obvious. I knew her for a short time and she seemed like a good person," he says slowly, didn't forget her help. When he was being starved and beaten up in the basement of a deserted house, located in the end of the city, Martha sneakily helped him by bringing food and water, although she knew The Conditorem would murder her, if they found out. Yet she helped him."Do you know anything about her husband?" he suddenly blurts the question."Hmm, his name is Poseidon Stewart, a professor of biology," she replies. "Martha and Poseidon were divorced,
San Quentin State Prison"Open cell forty," the officer shouts at the walkie-talkie and with a disgusting sound, the cell bars-door is opened.Mahone steps in the cell."Close cell forty," behind him, the fat officer shouts again and the door of this tiny, sultry cell is closed again. Mahone puts the white clothes in the edge of the lower bed, then glances at the man lying on the upper bed. The man is less older than fifty, not so big in his body, but he can't see his face, because his back is turned to him.Dear new cellmate, Mahone utters silently, then drops himself on the single bed. Who knows what kind of criminal you are. A psychopath? Child abuser? Sex defender? A murderer? Or maybe, if God helps, a drug dealer? He sighs and puts an arm below of his head, shutting his eyes."Why aren't you in juvenile prison?" a deep, gentle voice comes from the upper bed.Mahone lifts himself up, "Who are you?"He hears a chuckle in reply. "It