Fic: What Country, Friends, Is This? (ch. 3 of 12)
Title: What Country, Friends, Is This?
Author: Katta
Fandom: Heroes
Characters (in order of importance): Nathan Petrelli, a whole lot of OCs, Peter Petrelli, other canon characters
Rating: PG-13
Chapters: This story is written in 12 chapters and 5 interludes. This part has 2 chapters and 1 interlude. Everything else is still in the beta process.
Author's note on spoilers: This story was written during the summer, based on rumours and speculation. As you can see, I kind of got things backwards. :-) So, spoilers up to 1x23: How to Stop an Exploding Man, and complete AU for everything after.
Summary: The flying man has lost his home, his family, everything he knew about himself - and his clothes. What is left for him now?
Previous chapters: Chapters 1-2
Chapter 3
He was the last to bed that night. Adil waited up until Rim had returned from work, and Qais hung around for quite some time - he seemed to have very irregular work hours. But when the clock went from twelve to one, even Qais said his goodnights. Watching TV with so many people sleeping would have been rude, and there didn't seem to be any books to read, so at a loss of what to do, he resorted to his new bedroom. The cats' painted eyes watched him from their shelf, and he wavered between finding them comfortable and unsettling.
Somehow during the course of the night he must have fallen asleep, because he was definitely sleeping when Adil knocked on the door.
”Hunh?” he grunted into the pillow.
Adil watched him from the doorway. ”I think that you come long way. Or that you travel on the night.”
”Yeah,” he agreed groggily, looking at the alarm clock. Ten AM. Well, it was better than yesterday. ”I seem to be a nocturnal creature, all right.” The strange part was, he didn't feel nocturnal. Jet lag? But from where?
”I work not today,” Adil said. ”I am 25 pro cent sick.”
He blinked. ”25...”
”Pro cent sick. Disability.”
”Oh. Right.” That made sense, once he had untangled it in his head.
”Want you go out? Or stay here?”
”Out,” he said immediately. Just sitting around doing nothing was enough to drive him crazy.
”Okay. I think that we can go to library. See what you know. Or Internet, but Internet is here. Library is in the city.”
”Yeah. All right.” It was actually a pretty good idea. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. From what he had seen during that first bus ride, this town was large enough that any library was bound to have at least one English language newspaper, not to mention books to keep him busy if his sleepless nights continued.
This time, they went by car, meaning that he missed the tinned voice calling out names of places around the city, but gained Adil saying much the same things in plain English. Even though he very much doubted he'd be able to find his way back to all those squares and shops and statues, he appreciated seeing them, knowing they were there. It made his world just that much bigger.
”And here it is,” Adil concluded, steering the car into a parking lot.
The library, on the other hand, he definitely wouldn't forget. From one side, it was an old brick building, vaguely castle-like, but when they turned a corner he found that the brick building was connected to a modern-looking section with smooth surfaces and a multitude of large windows. He couldn't decide if it was brilliant or a disaster, but he quite liked it.
”Newspapers is to right,” Adil said. ”Café, children's books... rest is up.” He pointed upstairs. ”Where want you start?”
”Newspapers sound good.”
The newspaper section had several titles in English. He picked up USA Today and International Herald Tribune and sat down with them. The international section held articles on Iraq, Darfur, fires, floods, elections in a couple of places - for some reason those articles made him stop for a moment even though he didn't even remember the countries, much less any presidential candidates. News from the USA included a discovery of a new protein, a UFO sighting in New York City (UFO sightings in the morning news? Journalism was clearly at a new low), the death of a crime lord...
He stopped short at that, and his heart started beating faster as he tore his eyes away from the article as if it had burned him.
”Is something wrong?” Adil asked, giving him a worried look over the edge of his own newspaper.
He smiled, forcing himself to appear calm. ”Of course not. Why would anything be wrong? Listen, I may take a while here. Looking up some books and stuff. It'll be boring for you. You don't have to babysit me, we can meet up again in a few hours.”
”Are you sure?”
”Very sure. You've got to have better things to do on your day off, right?”
Adil seemed hesitant, but got up from his seat. ”Okay.”
He kept his smile, even when Adil clasped his shoulder and he wanted to shield the article from sight. Which was ridiculous; it was just a news piece. He had every right to read it.
”Two hours,” Adil said, ”then I meet you here. Okay?”
”Okay,” he agreed.
He waited until Adil was out of sigh, hating the slow way the other man moved, and then returned his attention to the article. Death of Las Vegas crime lord still a mystery.
The further down he came, the more seasick he felt. The crime lord, Linderman, had been found dead in New York, his brain showing evidence of severe physical trauma, but with no damage to the skull. The doctors quoted in the article essentially hemmed and hawed, trying to figure out a reason for that one. The police said that they couldn't confirm any suspects, though the article theorized a bit about Linderman's different enemies.
Linderman. He knew that name. He knew that face, the almost laughably harmless old man in the newspaper's grainy image. Chasing that image, he saw the same old man taking a pot pie out of an oven - a crime lord making pot pies? - but it kept being interrupted by other faces, one light, one dark, and a woman's voice saying, Let us finish the job.
Had he been a mobster? Was that it? It was certainly as plausible a reason as any why he would end up half naked on a foreign shore. Was he the one who had... No. He didn't want to know.
He closed both papers and put them back where he'd found them, walking with long strides as if to quickly put a distance between himself and that article.
But what now? He had two hours left before he had to meet up with Adil. Somehow he didn't think he'd be able to just sit down with a good book.
Well. There certainly wasn't any limit to the things he needed to find out.
”Excuse me,” he asked at the information desk. ”Do you have any books about amnesia?”
”Humaniora, section D, or possibly V,” the librarian replied. She was kind of pretty in an anemic way; the first person he'd met here who vaguely resembled his ideas of Sweden. ”Upstairs, in the calendar of light.”
”Calendar of light? Nice name.” He followed her directions and after some searching found section D. Some of the books were even in English, but he couldn't quite find what he was looking for. The Science of the Mind, How the Mind Works... lots of books that might have something, but he wasn't ready to plow through pages after pages on a hunch.
Going further down the section, he found himself looking at completely different types of books. Telepathy, telekinesis... just as he was about to go back, his eyes fell on the title Activating Evolution.
Slowly, he pulled the book out. It looked like the kind of insane ramblings you'd expect to find in a New Age shop, but it stirred his memory in a way that... it was unpleasant, but not frightening in the same way the article had been. This was mixed with something else - no, someone else. Someone he really wanted to remember.
”Do you need help?”
Another librarian, much older, but with a very sweet smile. ”Please. Do you have anything in English on amnesia?”
”Hm, let's see. That would be further down the aisle, cognitive psychology.”
”Yeah, I've looked but I couldn't find anything.”
”Well, let's take a look at the catalogue, then.” She motioned for him to come along to a work station, where she spent a few minutes typing into the computer. ”Let's see... There's The Essential Handbook of Memory Disorders for Clinicians...”
”Perfect.”
”Only in e-book, I'm afraid. Will that do?”
”E-book?”
”Digital form. To read on the computer.”
”Oh. Yeah, that's fine.”
”Are you having the book you're holding, too?”
He had forgotten about that one, but handed it over. She raised her eyebrows. ”Parapsychology and amnesia. Interesting combination. Is there a link?”
Yeah, me, apparently. ”No, I just like reading.”
”Well, we certainly encourage that! Do you have a card?”
He probably did, somewhere, but certainly not for this library. Nor did he have an ID to get one. He wrote down the title anyway - perhaps he could ask Adil to get it for him later. The evolution book too, he supposed. The thought of bringing such a book back to the apartment was slightly embarrassing, but he didn't quite want to let go of it just yet.
When the two hours were up and he went back to meet Adil in the newspaper section, his arms were full.
”Hello again,” he said. ”Would you mind lending me your library card, please?”
Adil made a funny face at the sight of the pile. ”I believe I must, right? What is this?”
”Mostly language stuff.”
They went over to the machine and Adil picked up a couple of CDs at the top of the pile. ”This is songs.”
”In French and Italian. It seems I speak those languages. I want to brush up my skills a bit.”
Adil kept looking at the media as he took them through the machine. ”Language course on Swedish, very good. Arabic... Serbo-Croatian?”
”They didn't have Bosnian. This is close, right?”
”Yes. Why need you speak Bosnian?”
”I think I already do.”
”Really? Huh.”
Adil let Activating Evolution pass without a word, of which he was grateful. In fact, it wasn't until they were back in the car that Adil said anything else at all. When he did, it was slow and searching. ”There is a doctor near here. We have used her before, to our guests. She can keep a secret. I asked her about you.”
”You asked a doctor about me?” He wasn't too happy about that. Still, a doctor was better than the cops, especially if he really was mixed up somehow in the Linderman thing.
”She said that she can meet you tomorrow, if you want.”
Tomorrow? Tomorrow gave him some time to think about it. To come up with ways that she could help him without finding out his connection to Linderman - whatever that connection was. If she was as discreet as Adil implied, it shouldn't be too hard to get her to step away from a few issues. Besides, he might need the help. He didn't feel injured, but something sure as hell had scrambled his brains, and he very much doubted he'd be able to sort it all out on his own.
Beyond that, there was also the question of not looking so suspicious that these people chucked his ass out on the curb. Going to the doctor might buy him some much needed goodwill.
”All right,” he said. He could always change his mind later. ”Thank you.”
”You are welcome.” Adil patted his knee. ”You will be better soon.”
”Yeah,” he said with a sigh. ”Let's hope so.”
He had honestly thought that there was nothing to worry about. That was the problem with honest, generous people: they caught you off guard. Like a poker game played with open cards, and then some cherub-faced half-child goes, hey, what about that ace up your sleeve?
It was after dinner, he was lying on the bed, listening to some of the French songs on the CD he had borrowed. As it turned out, his French wasn't bad, but not that good either - he could get the gist of each song but not the details. He'd been feeling relaxed, calm, and for a moment the thoughts had stopped chasing each other in his head.
And then Adil came in, sat down in the large armchair by the door, leaned his chin in his hand and asked, ”Can we talk about the article?”
He stiffened immediately. ”What article?”
”That article,” Adil said with a tight smile. ”That make you look like that. About the dead crime lord.”
”I don't know what you're talking about.”
”You asked me to leave. I leaved, but I come back later. I read the article. This man, Linderman, was a murder. Knew you him?”
”I was just interested in the article, that's all. I mean, mobsters, mysterious deaths - that always makes for good entertainment, doesn't it?”
Adil nodded. ”Ah-hah.” After a moment's pause, he added, ”I can talk to Qais. Ask him to tell me when you lie.”
”Yeah,” he said, suddenly feeling very tired. ”Why don't you do that?” It was all a bunch of nonsense anyway, really. That kid couldn't tell liars by sight; it was all bragging, or maybe some superstitious mumbo-jumbo. Still, he felt a twinge of fear as Adil slowly walked out of the room.
When he returned, it was in the company of not only Qais but also Zaynab, who took the desk chair while Adil returned to his seat and Qais leaned against the desk.
”Making a family event of this?” That came out a lot more snippy than intended.
Qais gave him a reproaching look. ”It's her home too. She's got the right to know what's going on.”
”Best of luck with that.” He leaned forward and spoke slowly, hoping Zaynab would catch his drift. ”I don't know what's going on. I don't remember, remember?”
”Why read you the article?” Adil asked. His voice was kind and gentle, but his eyes were steady on him.
”It was there. It was interesting. Why shouldn't I read it?”
Adil threw a glance at Qais, who shook his head.
”Why more?”
”Why more?”
”Knew you him?”
”No.”
”Yes,” Qais said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.
”How?”
This was really getting too much to take. ”Why don't you ask your son? He seems to know more about my life than I do.” He turned to Qais, giving him a commanding tilt of the chin. ”Come on. Tell me. How do I know Linderman?”
”I don't know. It's not like reading minds. I can only tell what's true or not.”
”Great. I'll give you a few theories. How about that? Then you can tell me if they're true or not.”
”That's not the way it works.”
”Why not?”
”You wouldn't know if you were lying.”
”So all you can tell me is what I already know.”
”Yes. I...”
”Then you're pretty useless, aren't you?”
Qais's tan face became high red with anger, and he clenched his fists. ”Useless? Do you think I asked for this? That I prayed the Lord to make me special so that I could be useful to you? Is that supposed to be my purpose in life? I looked that guy up on the internet. If you're involved in the shit he did, we could all be in a lot of trouble. And none of us signed up to get killed. Do you even care about that, you selfish motherfuck...”
”Qais!” The word was sharp as a whip, and Adil frowned at his son for a moment before raising his hands in a soothing gesture. ”Please. Both. Calm down yourself.” Adil said something that made Qais lose some of the blush and cross his arms over his chest, though he still looked far from happy. ”I try help my family. Protect them.”
”I know you do.” He rubbed his forehead. It was a reasonable desire, and he would definitely have gone to much greater lengths to pursue it. Didn't make it any more pleasant.
Zaynab started speaking, and when no one translated she made a motion in Qais direction like swatting a fly.
”She says you don't have to worry,” Qais said reluctantly. ”That we're not going to make you leave like we made that man leave, since I'm not sensing any harm in you. Which I'm not. She says that we have to help you, because you need us to. That anyone would do the same, as...” He broke off. ”I don't know what 'sadaqah' would be in English. When you give even though you don't have to, because the gift is needed.”
”Charity?” he offered, feeling a sting of bitterness at the word.
”Charity. Okay, yeah, something like that.” Qais swallowed and gave his mother a resentful glance, but she kept talking as if she didn't even notice. After a while, he continued his translation. ”She says we need to know what's wrong, so we can protect ourself - and you. If there are people coming for you, we can help you hide, or send you on to other people who will, if you think that's safer. Just talk to us. Please.”
It was strange, hearing such kind words spoken in such an angry voice, but watching Zaynab made it a little bit easier. Her face was calm and pleasant, and her voice soothing. When she had stopped talking and Qais was finished with his translation, there was a pause, as all three of his hosts waited for him to say something. Though how on earth he'd be able to explain what he'd learned, he had no idea.
”There are two memories,” he said reluctantly. ”And they don't make any sense together. 'Cause I keep seeing Linderman, he's talking to me like an old friend - but I don't feel like a friend. I feel...” Scared. He felt scared, and tense, and like there was a big pit of frozen rage inside him that he had to keep cool so it wouldn't blow up on him. ”And then there's the second memory. A woman, talking about killing someone. I think it's him. She's talking about killing him, and I think... I think I helped her.”
Qais interpreted back to his mother, and then said, in a completely different tone of voice, ”Wait, you helped kill this guy? The crime lord?”
”Maybe. Yeah.”
”But then you're a good guy.”
”Am I? I'm not so sure.”
”He was a bad guy. If you...”
Adil shifted in his seat and told Qais something that made the younger man go still.
”Bad men often kill bad men,” Adil said quietly. ”For money, or power.”
”I know,” he agreed.
Adil watched him for a very long time. ”You are afraid that you helped to kill him for bad reasons. That you traitor him.”
”I guess so.”
”Bullshit,” Qais said. ”Bullshit! Are you telling me I wouldn't be able to tell if you were that kind of guy? That you wouldn't be able to tell?”
”Maybe not, no.”
”Then maybe you're right, and I am useless.” Qais sat back down, running his fingers through his hair, and gave a deep sigh.
”You are not,” his father said. ”The past is past. What Kalle is now, is not a killer. No?”
”No.” It felt good to be able to agree to that, at least.
”Qais?”
Qais' gaze was steady, and he actually smiled a little as he confirmed, ”No.”
”Then if you was a bad man, you are lucky. You have get a new life.”
The thought of that was so relieving that he resisted his desire to believe in it, finding the potential flaws in the idea instead. ”What if they come for me?”
”Different clothes, different hair... beard? This is a big town. Easy to not become noticed. If anyone seem bad, you ask Qais. We all prepare, that maybe bad men come, but we go on live as normal.”
He looked down on the ill-fitting, cheap clothes he was wearing and thought about it. Considering he didn't know who he was or where he was from, any way of reinventing himself wouldn't necessarily be less convincing than the truth. He'd have to be careful in public of course - even more so if and when he tried to get some sort of a job. Still, it might just work.
”I'd like that,” he said. ”Thank you.”
Adil nodded and stood up. ”Want you tell the girls, or will I?”
The girls. Right. ”I don't even know what to tell them.”
”We tell them, then.”
Adil spoke with Zaynab, and they both offered him reassuring smiles as they left the room. Qais halted behind for a moment, seeming to brace himself, before holding out his hand.
He shook it. ”No hard feelings?”
Qais offered him a wide, relieved grin. ”No hard feelings.”
Author: Katta
Fandom: Heroes
Characters (in order of importance): Nathan Petrelli, a whole lot of OCs, Peter Petrelli, other canon characters
Rating: PG-13
Chapters: This story is written in 12 chapters and 5 interludes. This part has 2 chapters and 1 interlude. Everything else is still in the beta process.
Author's note on spoilers: This story was written during the summer, based on rumours and speculation. As you can see, I kind of got things backwards. :-) So, spoilers up to 1x23: How to Stop an Exploding Man, and complete AU for everything after.
Summary: The flying man has lost his home, his family, everything he knew about himself - and his clothes. What is left for him now?
Previous chapters: Chapters 1-2
Chapter 3
He was the last to bed that night. Adil waited up until Rim had returned from work, and Qais hung around for quite some time - he seemed to have very irregular work hours. But when the clock went from twelve to one, even Qais said his goodnights. Watching TV with so many people sleeping would have been rude, and there didn't seem to be any books to read, so at a loss of what to do, he resorted to his new bedroom. The cats' painted eyes watched him from their shelf, and he wavered between finding them comfortable and unsettling.
Somehow during the course of the night he must have fallen asleep, because he was definitely sleeping when Adil knocked on the door.
”Hunh?” he grunted into the pillow.
Adil watched him from the doorway. ”I think that you come long way. Or that you travel on the night.”
”Yeah,” he agreed groggily, looking at the alarm clock. Ten AM. Well, it was better than yesterday. ”I seem to be a nocturnal creature, all right.” The strange part was, he didn't feel nocturnal. Jet lag? But from where?
”I work not today,” Adil said. ”I am 25 pro cent sick.”
He blinked. ”25...”
”Pro cent sick. Disability.”
”Oh. Right.” That made sense, once he had untangled it in his head.
”Want you go out? Or stay here?”
”Out,” he said immediately. Just sitting around doing nothing was enough to drive him crazy.
”Okay. I think that we can go to library. See what you know. Or Internet, but Internet is here. Library is in the city.”
”Yeah. All right.” It was actually a pretty good idea. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. From what he had seen during that first bus ride, this town was large enough that any library was bound to have at least one English language newspaper, not to mention books to keep him busy if his sleepless nights continued.
This time, they went by car, meaning that he missed the tinned voice calling out names of places around the city, but gained Adil saying much the same things in plain English. Even though he very much doubted he'd be able to find his way back to all those squares and shops and statues, he appreciated seeing them, knowing they were there. It made his world just that much bigger.
”And here it is,” Adil concluded, steering the car into a parking lot.
The library, on the other hand, he definitely wouldn't forget. From one side, it was an old brick building, vaguely castle-like, but when they turned a corner he found that the brick building was connected to a modern-looking section with smooth surfaces and a multitude of large windows. He couldn't decide if it was brilliant or a disaster, but he quite liked it.
”Newspapers is to right,” Adil said. ”Café, children's books... rest is up.” He pointed upstairs. ”Where want you start?”
”Newspapers sound good.”
The newspaper section had several titles in English. He picked up USA Today and International Herald Tribune and sat down with them. The international section held articles on Iraq, Darfur, fires, floods, elections in a couple of places - for some reason those articles made him stop for a moment even though he didn't even remember the countries, much less any presidential candidates. News from the USA included a discovery of a new protein, a UFO sighting in New York City (UFO sightings in the morning news? Journalism was clearly at a new low), the death of a crime lord...
He stopped short at that, and his heart started beating faster as he tore his eyes away from the article as if it had burned him.
”Is something wrong?” Adil asked, giving him a worried look over the edge of his own newspaper.
He smiled, forcing himself to appear calm. ”Of course not. Why would anything be wrong? Listen, I may take a while here. Looking up some books and stuff. It'll be boring for you. You don't have to babysit me, we can meet up again in a few hours.”
”Are you sure?”
”Very sure. You've got to have better things to do on your day off, right?”
Adil seemed hesitant, but got up from his seat. ”Okay.”
He kept his smile, even when Adil clasped his shoulder and he wanted to shield the article from sight. Which was ridiculous; it was just a news piece. He had every right to read it.
”Two hours,” Adil said, ”then I meet you here. Okay?”
”Okay,” he agreed.
He waited until Adil was out of sigh, hating the slow way the other man moved, and then returned his attention to the article. Death of Las Vegas crime lord still a mystery.
The further down he came, the more seasick he felt. The crime lord, Linderman, had been found dead in New York, his brain showing evidence of severe physical trauma, but with no damage to the skull. The doctors quoted in the article essentially hemmed and hawed, trying to figure out a reason for that one. The police said that they couldn't confirm any suspects, though the article theorized a bit about Linderman's different enemies.
Linderman. He knew that name. He knew that face, the almost laughably harmless old man in the newspaper's grainy image. Chasing that image, he saw the same old man taking a pot pie out of an oven - a crime lord making pot pies? - but it kept being interrupted by other faces, one light, one dark, and a woman's voice saying, Let us finish the job.
Had he been a mobster? Was that it? It was certainly as plausible a reason as any why he would end up half naked on a foreign shore. Was he the one who had... No. He didn't want to know.
He closed both papers and put them back where he'd found them, walking with long strides as if to quickly put a distance between himself and that article.
But what now? He had two hours left before he had to meet up with Adil. Somehow he didn't think he'd be able to just sit down with a good book.
Well. There certainly wasn't any limit to the things he needed to find out.
”Excuse me,” he asked at the information desk. ”Do you have any books about amnesia?”
”Humaniora, section D, or possibly V,” the librarian replied. She was kind of pretty in an anemic way; the first person he'd met here who vaguely resembled his ideas of Sweden. ”Upstairs, in the calendar of light.”
”Calendar of light? Nice name.” He followed her directions and after some searching found section D. Some of the books were even in English, but he couldn't quite find what he was looking for. The Science of the Mind, How the Mind Works... lots of books that might have something, but he wasn't ready to plow through pages after pages on a hunch.
Going further down the section, he found himself looking at completely different types of books. Telepathy, telekinesis... just as he was about to go back, his eyes fell on the title Activating Evolution.
Slowly, he pulled the book out. It looked like the kind of insane ramblings you'd expect to find in a New Age shop, but it stirred his memory in a way that... it was unpleasant, but not frightening in the same way the article had been. This was mixed with something else - no, someone else. Someone he really wanted to remember.
”Do you need help?”
Another librarian, much older, but with a very sweet smile. ”Please. Do you have anything in English on amnesia?”
”Hm, let's see. That would be further down the aisle, cognitive psychology.”
”Yeah, I've looked but I couldn't find anything.”
”Well, let's take a look at the catalogue, then.” She motioned for him to come along to a work station, where she spent a few minutes typing into the computer. ”Let's see... There's The Essential Handbook of Memory Disorders for Clinicians...”
”Perfect.”
”Only in e-book, I'm afraid. Will that do?”
”E-book?”
”Digital form. To read on the computer.”
”Oh. Yeah, that's fine.”
”Are you having the book you're holding, too?”
He had forgotten about that one, but handed it over. She raised her eyebrows. ”Parapsychology and amnesia. Interesting combination. Is there a link?”
Yeah, me, apparently. ”No, I just like reading.”
”Well, we certainly encourage that! Do you have a card?”
He probably did, somewhere, but certainly not for this library. Nor did he have an ID to get one. He wrote down the title anyway - perhaps he could ask Adil to get it for him later. The evolution book too, he supposed. The thought of bringing such a book back to the apartment was slightly embarrassing, but he didn't quite want to let go of it just yet.
When the two hours were up and he went back to meet Adil in the newspaper section, his arms were full.
”Hello again,” he said. ”Would you mind lending me your library card, please?”
Adil made a funny face at the sight of the pile. ”I believe I must, right? What is this?”
”Mostly language stuff.”
They went over to the machine and Adil picked up a couple of CDs at the top of the pile. ”This is songs.”
”In French and Italian. It seems I speak those languages. I want to brush up my skills a bit.”
Adil kept looking at the media as he took them through the machine. ”Language course on Swedish, very good. Arabic... Serbo-Croatian?”
”They didn't have Bosnian. This is close, right?”
”Yes. Why need you speak Bosnian?”
”I think I already do.”
”Really? Huh.”
Adil let Activating Evolution pass without a word, of which he was grateful. In fact, it wasn't until they were back in the car that Adil said anything else at all. When he did, it was slow and searching. ”There is a doctor near here. We have used her before, to our guests. She can keep a secret. I asked her about you.”
”You asked a doctor about me?” He wasn't too happy about that. Still, a doctor was better than the cops, especially if he really was mixed up somehow in the Linderman thing.
”She said that she can meet you tomorrow, if you want.”
Tomorrow? Tomorrow gave him some time to think about it. To come up with ways that she could help him without finding out his connection to Linderman - whatever that connection was. If she was as discreet as Adil implied, it shouldn't be too hard to get her to step away from a few issues. Besides, he might need the help. He didn't feel injured, but something sure as hell had scrambled his brains, and he very much doubted he'd be able to sort it all out on his own.
Beyond that, there was also the question of not looking so suspicious that these people chucked his ass out on the curb. Going to the doctor might buy him some much needed goodwill.
”All right,” he said. He could always change his mind later. ”Thank you.”
”You are welcome.” Adil patted his knee. ”You will be better soon.”
”Yeah,” he said with a sigh. ”Let's hope so.”
He had honestly thought that there was nothing to worry about. That was the problem with honest, generous people: they caught you off guard. Like a poker game played with open cards, and then some cherub-faced half-child goes, hey, what about that ace up your sleeve?
It was after dinner, he was lying on the bed, listening to some of the French songs on the CD he had borrowed. As it turned out, his French wasn't bad, but not that good either - he could get the gist of each song but not the details. He'd been feeling relaxed, calm, and for a moment the thoughts had stopped chasing each other in his head.
And then Adil came in, sat down in the large armchair by the door, leaned his chin in his hand and asked, ”Can we talk about the article?”
He stiffened immediately. ”What article?”
”That article,” Adil said with a tight smile. ”That make you look like that. About the dead crime lord.”
”I don't know what you're talking about.”
”You asked me to leave. I leaved, but I come back later. I read the article. This man, Linderman, was a murder. Knew you him?”
”I was just interested in the article, that's all. I mean, mobsters, mysterious deaths - that always makes for good entertainment, doesn't it?”
Adil nodded. ”Ah-hah.” After a moment's pause, he added, ”I can talk to Qais. Ask him to tell me when you lie.”
”Yeah,” he said, suddenly feeling very tired. ”Why don't you do that?” It was all a bunch of nonsense anyway, really. That kid couldn't tell liars by sight; it was all bragging, or maybe some superstitious mumbo-jumbo. Still, he felt a twinge of fear as Adil slowly walked out of the room.
When he returned, it was in the company of not only Qais but also Zaynab, who took the desk chair while Adil returned to his seat and Qais leaned against the desk.
”Making a family event of this?” That came out a lot more snippy than intended.
Qais gave him a reproaching look. ”It's her home too. She's got the right to know what's going on.”
”Best of luck with that.” He leaned forward and spoke slowly, hoping Zaynab would catch his drift. ”I don't know what's going on. I don't remember, remember?”
”Why read you the article?” Adil asked. His voice was kind and gentle, but his eyes were steady on him.
”It was there. It was interesting. Why shouldn't I read it?”
Adil threw a glance at Qais, who shook his head.
”Why more?”
”Why more?”
”Knew you him?”
”No.”
”Yes,” Qais said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.
”How?”
This was really getting too much to take. ”Why don't you ask your son? He seems to know more about my life than I do.” He turned to Qais, giving him a commanding tilt of the chin. ”Come on. Tell me. How do I know Linderman?”
”I don't know. It's not like reading minds. I can only tell what's true or not.”
”Great. I'll give you a few theories. How about that? Then you can tell me if they're true or not.”
”That's not the way it works.”
”Why not?”
”You wouldn't know if you were lying.”
”So all you can tell me is what I already know.”
”Yes. I...”
”Then you're pretty useless, aren't you?”
Qais's tan face became high red with anger, and he clenched his fists. ”Useless? Do you think I asked for this? That I prayed the Lord to make me special so that I could be useful to you? Is that supposed to be my purpose in life? I looked that guy up on the internet. If you're involved in the shit he did, we could all be in a lot of trouble. And none of us signed up to get killed. Do you even care about that, you selfish motherfuck...”
”Qais!” The word was sharp as a whip, and Adil frowned at his son for a moment before raising his hands in a soothing gesture. ”Please. Both. Calm down yourself.” Adil said something that made Qais lose some of the blush and cross his arms over his chest, though he still looked far from happy. ”I try help my family. Protect them.”
”I know you do.” He rubbed his forehead. It was a reasonable desire, and he would definitely have gone to much greater lengths to pursue it. Didn't make it any more pleasant.
Zaynab started speaking, and when no one translated she made a motion in Qais direction like swatting a fly.
”She says you don't have to worry,” Qais said reluctantly. ”That we're not going to make you leave like we made that man leave, since I'm not sensing any harm in you. Which I'm not. She says that we have to help you, because you need us to. That anyone would do the same, as...” He broke off. ”I don't know what 'sadaqah' would be in English. When you give even though you don't have to, because the gift is needed.”
”Charity?” he offered, feeling a sting of bitterness at the word.
”Charity. Okay, yeah, something like that.” Qais swallowed and gave his mother a resentful glance, but she kept talking as if she didn't even notice. After a while, he continued his translation. ”She says we need to know what's wrong, so we can protect ourself - and you. If there are people coming for you, we can help you hide, or send you on to other people who will, if you think that's safer. Just talk to us. Please.”
It was strange, hearing such kind words spoken in such an angry voice, but watching Zaynab made it a little bit easier. Her face was calm and pleasant, and her voice soothing. When she had stopped talking and Qais was finished with his translation, there was a pause, as all three of his hosts waited for him to say something. Though how on earth he'd be able to explain what he'd learned, he had no idea.
”There are two memories,” he said reluctantly. ”And they don't make any sense together. 'Cause I keep seeing Linderman, he's talking to me like an old friend - but I don't feel like a friend. I feel...” Scared. He felt scared, and tense, and like there was a big pit of frozen rage inside him that he had to keep cool so it wouldn't blow up on him. ”And then there's the second memory. A woman, talking about killing someone. I think it's him. She's talking about killing him, and I think... I think I helped her.”
Qais interpreted back to his mother, and then said, in a completely different tone of voice, ”Wait, you helped kill this guy? The crime lord?”
”Maybe. Yeah.”
”But then you're a good guy.”
”Am I? I'm not so sure.”
”He was a bad guy. If you...”
Adil shifted in his seat and told Qais something that made the younger man go still.
”Bad men often kill bad men,” Adil said quietly. ”For money, or power.”
”I know,” he agreed.
Adil watched him for a very long time. ”You are afraid that you helped to kill him for bad reasons. That you traitor him.”
”I guess so.”
”Bullshit,” Qais said. ”Bullshit! Are you telling me I wouldn't be able to tell if you were that kind of guy? That you wouldn't be able to tell?”
”Maybe not, no.”
”Then maybe you're right, and I am useless.” Qais sat back down, running his fingers through his hair, and gave a deep sigh.
”You are not,” his father said. ”The past is past. What Kalle is now, is not a killer. No?”
”No.” It felt good to be able to agree to that, at least.
”Qais?”
Qais' gaze was steady, and he actually smiled a little as he confirmed, ”No.”
”Then if you was a bad man, you are lucky. You have get a new life.”
The thought of that was so relieving that he resisted his desire to believe in it, finding the potential flaws in the idea instead. ”What if they come for me?”
”Different clothes, different hair... beard? This is a big town. Easy to not become noticed. If anyone seem bad, you ask Qais. We all prepare, that maybe bad men come, but we go on live as normal.”
He looked down on the ill-fitting, cheap clothes he was wearing and thought about it. Considering he didn't know who he was or where he was from, any way of reinventing himself wouldn't necessarily be less convincing than the truth. He'd have to be careful in public of course - even more so if and when he tried to get some sort of a job. Still, it might just work.
”I'd like that,” he said. ”Thank you.”
Adil nodded and stood up. ”Want you tell the girls, or will I?”
The girls. Right. ”I don't even know what to tell them.”
”We tell them, then.”
Adil spoke with Zaynab, and they both offered him reassuring smiles as they left the room. Qais halted behind for a moment, seeming to brace himself, before holding out his hand.
He shook it. ”No hard feelings?”
Qais offered him a wide, relieved grin. ”No hard feelings.”