Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (11 page)

Darya sat in silence, watching out the window. The storm was coming quickly.
When they appear without warning like this the Kurds say it's the mountain sending its devils to punish the city.
Darya had always laughed at their ignorance, but wondered if tonight there might be some truth to their legends.

"Here," Darya indicated and Recai pulled in front of the tallest building in Elih: Çagdas Tower.

He opened his door and ran to the other side in time to help Darya onto the sidewalk. Street lights flickered and the wind whipped around them with increasing speed. The main streets became the most dangerous first, allowing the wind to pick up momentum without anything to slow its path; soon the wind itself would be almost as dangerous as the sand it brought.

The front door of the Çagdas Tower was unattended, the doorman likely hiding somewhere within the safety of the building far from the curved glass doors that welcomed all who lived within. The building was grand in design and size. Its impression was one of power and strength.

Recai rushed her to the entrance.

"Come in," Darya said when he slowed his pace.

"Darya, I shouldn't."

Stepping closer to him, she allowed her palms to rest on his chest.

"It's dangerous out here. You can't drive in this wind. There's no time. Come in."

A palm slid down an arm.

A sigh broke through the howl of the storm.

A hand was placed gently on a hip, pulling bodies closer until there was no room between them.

Recai slowly lowered his lips to Darya's, without hesitation.

The tires on Recai's Marussia B2 screamed as he pulled away from the stunned woman left standing outside her building. Her uncovered hair whipped around her face in the mounting cry of the incoming storm. No rain had fallen but the winds spoke of disaster.

Recai drove off into the fury of the mounting kum firtinasi. The silence of the night was blotted out with what seemed like the screams of devils, and the dead who accused him with their absence.

Abandoned us…

Forgot us…

Betrayed her…

Sand hung above the buildings, frozen in time as the storm gathered momentum, preparing for its assault. The orange night howled as Recai pushed his car faster toward the impending storm. He felt the gears shift and grind as they bore down to meet the demands he placed on the engine. The power at his hands filled him with a sense of freedom and as he sped faster—he longed more for escape.

Why had he done it? Why had he kissed a woman he barely knew? Recai had fought to change himself, to become the kind of man his mother would be proud of. The kind of man who could have saved Rebekah. But in the end he was still just a useless child, ruled by nothing but his own whims. How had he ever thought coming back to Elih would make a difference? That someone like him could replace his father?

He was a coward and he yearned for silence. He never found it in the desert, in his travels, in books, or even inside himself. All he wanted was to feel his loss with purity of mind.

The storm sped toward him, bringing sand and grit so sharp it could rip through a man's skin without sympathy. Before him a wall of yellow death loomed. The street ran haphazardly through the suburbs and stretched beyond the city into the desert where the wind was gathering strength. With nothing to slow its advance the kum firtinasi grew to astronomical heights, filling the sky with its rage.

Recai slammed on his breaks, burning off the outer layer of rubber on his tires. Faced with the power of the desert, his instinct to survive kicked in. He pulled the car around as soon as he regained traction and sped north toward his family home in the hills above the city. Behind him the banshee's cry dulled as he backtracked.

Once safely ahead of the storm, Recai slowed and sank into his seat, his hands shaking with adrenaline, his body exhausted. He drove on instinct, retracing the roads and neighborhoods he could name in his sleep, returning to the only real home he'd ever had, returning to his isolation.

The bile of his failure rose in his mouth, bringing tears to his eyes. Rebekah's eyes flashed before him as the desert song rang out above.

There‘s no escape from the guilt of doing nothing. All I have now is the gripping pain that haunts me even in my dreams.

Every night for years Recai had dreamed of his mother. Now the faces of two women he loved and had been unable to save blurred and combined, creating a ghost more ghastly than any movie maker's imagination.

"No!" A voice called out in the eerily lit night. The cry was soft but it penetrated the air, pierced through his darkly tinted windows and directly into Recai.

Looking in the rear view mirror, Recai saw the storm looming in the distance, moving steadily closer like some army of vengeful angels come to consume the world.

The soft voice broke through anew: "
Alla'humma ajirni!"

The plea was quiet, yet deafening to Recai.

Sand caused the wheels of the powerful car to slip, breaking traction and forcing Recai's hand. The vehicle slid sideways along the street, the momentum slamming it against the back of a parked car.

The impact of the vehicles ripped metal against metal. Glass rained down on him as he fought the airbag for breath. The passenger's side was crushed inward. The frame on the driver's side was bent so that Recai's arm was caught and pinched beneath its strength. Recai's circulation slowed, and gradually he lost the ability to feel his fingers. The drowning sound of the incoming storm faded behind the pounding of his struggling pulse. Thinking this may finally be the end of his regret and pain, Recai closed his eyes in submission to Allah's will. He welcomed the blissful unconsciousness.

Before him the image of Rebekah stood in his mind, beautiful in her house-dress and gently draped hijab. An afterlife in her arms would be heaven enough for the beaten heart of a man who had seen nothing but cruelty and pain. As she reached out for him, he heard it again.

"No, please!"

A man. A voice. Darkness tangled her thoughts with fear and childhood warnings.

Sabiha, you shouldn't be walking alone,
she'd heard it say.

Stupidity had made her rash; selfish concerns about her brother caused her to make the worst possible mistake—the kind of mistake that would make her wish she had died, if by any chance she managed to survive.

The low voice knew her name, knew her family name—it had come specifically for her.

She ignored its call, quickening her pace. A laugh broke out in the night, mocking her fear. Suddenly the owner of the voice grabbed her, turning her around to face him.

Refusing to meet the voice's gaze, Sabiha fixed her eyes forward. Her gaze came to rest on his arm where she saw the outline of a tattoo, dark and menacing. A snake's tail circled his bicep and disappeared behind his back, only to reveal itself on the other side of his neck with two onyx eyes staring at her, unblinking.

What kind of man cannot die?

Pain was inconsequential to Recai when Heaven once again refused his entry. Wrenching his arm out of its trap, Recai slammed his shoulder against the dash. Glass fell around him again at the same moment the airborne sand arrived. The wind was warm as it swirled within the demolished car. He crawled out into the sting of sand against his fresh wounds, cleansing his mind.

"
No
," the voice called again. "
Help me!"

Grit and particles swam around Recai, spinning his mind and swirling in the air around his feet as it rose and enveloped him in its cruelty. Quickly he tore off his bloody shirt and pulled it over his face, covering his mouth and nose like a niqab. He tied the sleeves tightly around his head so the shirt clung to his skin, blocking the suffocating sand from entering his lungs.

An eerie glow came over the city as the light that shone from the lamps above and through the windows of apartments lit up each grain of sand. The movement of the air swept Recai's hair back from his face, revealing the scars in his hairline and forcing his eyes into a sharp and fearsome glare.

Following the voice that called to him from beyond the wail of the desert, Recai strode into the opaqueness before him. The sand parted, swirling in the air, and closed behind him again as he passed through the street and into the alley from which the sounds of terror rang out like a siren.

The grating sound of the sand hurtling through the city created a howling reverberation between the buildings. Within the alley Recai was protected from its ferocity, but particles crept in slowly, like a river overflowing. He saw a woman lying crumpled on the ground. A man in a tank top and jeans stood above her.

Though he knew the man before him had been cruel, the extent of his sin was unimportant to Recai. All he knew was there was a woman, alone and afraid, covered in blood with her denim abaya ripped open. Recai's mind flashed from the image of his mother standing rigid in the night, to the cruel murder of Rebekah, to the woman before him—and as an angel of death he leaped forward to avenge them all.

Before he was seen by his target Recai struck, knocking the man against the concrete wall. Wind gusted around them, blowing sand in from the main streets, which slithered along the ground. It whipped around them as Recai's fury grew.

He swung again, but the man jerked out of the way. Recai stumbled forward before he ducked and lashed out. Pulling on years of wrestling and military training, his movements were smooth and unpredictable. He struck out with arms, elbows, and feet, making it impossible to anticipate where his next blow would land.

Taking a boxing stance, the woman's attacker stood his ground despite the blood spilling from his nose and the swelling of his knee. Sand obscured his vision and saturated the air he breathed, but the man would not look away. Above them the storm thundered and the rain at last began to fall. Sand and rain competed for dominance over the city, falling and flying with such ferocity that the sting of it against the skin felt like a thousand tiny shards of glass.