Memories of a Life That Never Happened

Chapter 81 - Genie

Some people, as the man who had vanished in the dark mists of the charred forest, are simply incapable of good deeds. Others are prone to such things at one or other occasion, but only as long as they expect to barter such deeds for favors when their roads get bumpy.  

Several times, Escobar had crossed paths with those sort of people. Yet was hardly one of them. For that reason, when Escobar dialed a certain number, the man he called turned out to be rather incredulous. 

"En serio, ¿eres tú?1" 

"Si," Escobar said. He also nodded, even though the man could not see him. 

"De toda la gente que yo esperaba jamás recibir una llamada, tu encabezabas la lista,2" the throaty voice said. There was no disrespect, just a tinge of sad disappointment in his tone. 

"Tú sabes que no te llamaría, sino que-3" 

"Se trata de una emergencia4," the man completed. "No me debes explicación, Escobar. Me alegro de ayudarte, aunque lo siento que lo necesites. ¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?5" 

The conversation's upshot was a stealthy meeting set for three days later. Done with the most urgent matter Escobar had to see to that night, he headed upstairs to the children's bedroom.  

As soon as Escobar opened the door, their scent enveloped him. Ignoring the aching in his stomach, he focused. There was no time for sentimentalism if he intended to keep everyone safe.  

Grabbing Mica's mattress with both hands, he hauled it up and saw, just as she had described, a white bag on the bed frame. He picked it up and let go of the mattress. Bed sheets flied loosely as the mattress came down with a loud thump and then slowly landed, tips now brushing the wooden floor. 

Escobar went down the stairs two steps at a time and sunk on the couch. Turning the bag upside down, he shook its content over the coffee table. The envelope fell open and spit the pictures out onto the table's surface.  

The rap on the door was so soft that at first Escobar mistook it for the heavy rain. The second rap, however, was loud enough to capture his attention.  

Escobar stood up, already formulating an excuse to dismiss whichever untimely altruistic caller this was. If only people could imagine the unspeakable kind of aid he required right now, they would not bother visiting. 

Nevertheless, the man standing in front of Escobar was no considerate neighbor of his. Even though the portico provided some cover from the rain, he remained holding up an umbrella from which iron tips water cascaded profusely.  

Escobar tried in vain to conceal his dismay. He stood rooted on the doorway, pondering what to say or do. 

"May I come in?" Ishikura half-asked, half-suggested. 

Escobar stepped away from the door for the other man to enter. Ishikura leaned the soaked umbrella on the outside wall before he came in.  

"It'd be best for us both if this meeting is kept between you and me." 

Escobar remembered the pictures spread over the table and hurried to put them away. Ishikura's vigilant eyes followed him.  

"I have no problem with that," Escobar agreed. "What can I do for you?" 

"Oh," the old man chortled, a smile twitching on his lips. "I believe you mean what I can do for you." His bony fingers pointed his chest and then Escobar's as he said it. 

"Excuse me?" Escobar bent down and resumed shoving the photos in the white bag. 

"Oh yes," Ishikura said, looking down at the scene. "I see you got the photos I sent you, after all."