Escape from Zion

Chapter 8

BZZZZ

"I'll get it" Sara announced to her mother who couldn't hear her or the doorbell from the kitchen. She could see an unfamiliar shape through the translucent glass. They were common after Amani, but it had been a while since she last saw one. Probably someone from Sehion or one of the neighbours she thought before opening the door to see a tall, slim, black man in his late 20s, early 30s. He was about 5'9 dressed in cargo pants, a t-shirt, jacket and trainers. The whole outfit with the exception of the trainers was coal black. The trainers white. "Sorry to bother you," he was apprehensive, his voice gentle, "I worked with Amani for the last year and I have some of her stuff. I thought I'd wait to return it." He had gestured to the car parked behind him on the side of the road. Sara didn't know what to say. She had never heard of him, Amani never mentioned him, and while he seemed nice enough why had he popped up now? She and Amma still felt drained from the interview two days ago and the last thing she wanted was to talk to a stranger and feign politeness while indulging their hero complex. Not that everyone was like that. "I'm sorry but where did you work with her?" Sara asked.

"Oh my bad, I'm James- we worked at The People's Weekly- she and I were doing the investigative report on religious organisations within the UK that prey on immigrant and minority communit-." Suddenly he stopped like he had just remembered something and Sara could guess exactly what. "I'll take that box then if you could give it to me." Sara said coldly. James looked like panic- stricken "I'm really very sorry I didn't mean to offend you- I just didn't think-"

"I'd like that box please. I have some stuff I have to get back to."

James' shoulders dropped and he nodded, heading towards his car with Sara behind him.

* * * *

Back inside her room, Sara lightly slammed the door, sat on the bed with the box on her lap and took a deep breath. It was a a5 moleskin with a label on the side reading, 'A. Varghese' in Ammu's own writing. She had known that Ammu had found part-time work in some small journal or magazine company but she'd never payed attention to it as her sister never talked about it other than to say she was leaving in the morning and back in the evening. Even when Amma or Sara asked about it- all she'd say was 'it's going fine' or 'the work's chill'. Amma said she thought too much of herself now that she was a big journalist and she was probably just covering a story about something small like traffic on weekdays and laugh.

Sara picked up the black moleskin and ran her finger over the letters. It felt so strange. Amani's fingers had moved over the very same letters that her own hand was moving over now. Both alone, at different times. Sara wondered if that space just above the letters knew her sister's hand and if they did, would they recognise her blood now hovering over it in a different hand. Sara blinked thickly at the notebook and moved the elastic aside to open it. She let it open onto a page on its own and was surprised to see Father Elias' face, alongside sisters Mariam and Jancy and several others she had never seen before. She recognised Jomin Uncle, Mathew also known as Math-i-e Uncle. They were all the people she worked with at Sehion she realised. And yet Sara's photo wasn't there. Neither was Amma's. Confused, Sara turned the pages back to look for an explanation. The pages were all about Sehion. There was one solely dedicated to Sehions status as a registered charity, its board members, their details, dates and adresses. Why Amani would have this in her work notebook she didn't know. Amani had joined Sehion in her last 6 months so why would she ever... Amani's job was Sehion? To write about Sehion? Why would she have needed 6 months to write one article in a journal people didn't even read that much? Sara rushed to the window and looked out. Damn. He had left. Was she an idiot? 'We were doing an investigative report on religious organisations' he had said. Sara palled, 'religious organisations that prey on immigrant and minority communities'. 'Oh Christ Amani.'