The Curse of Pirini Lilapa (GotC #2)

Part I: Chapter 4 - Getting to Safety

Zain returned to a quiet house. Too quiet. Before he even heard the door close behind him he noticed blood on the floor. Oh no! Zain drew the knife on his belt and dashed through the house, following the trail of blood all the way into the dining room. Portraits lay dismantled and strewn about table and floor. That’s when he saw his mom. Face down in a pool of blood.

“Mom!” He knelt beside her and pulled on her hair to raise her face. Red covered it but she blinked and she held her hand to her throat. “I’ll get you something. Hold on!”

Zain rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a towel and held it under her chin. Her eyes held fear and she cowered away from him, almost as if he was some unknown stranger.

“Where were you?” Her voice was raspy.

“On the mountain range.”

“You were here. You were here. You held a knife to my throat.” Her eyes glanced down to his hands.

Zain tensed his neck. He followed her line of vision. He still held the knife.  

She scooted back. “Get away from me.”

“Mom, it’s me. Zain.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head as if trying to blot out her worst nightmare.

What is going on? “I’m letting go of the knife. See me.” Zain set it on the ground next to the blood. She opened one eyelid. “What happened?” Her eyes widened as he crawled closer. ‘Mom, it’s me. It’s Zain. Your son.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Zain?”

"It’s me.”

She sniffled and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“What happened?”

“You…I mean…someone…someone like you…exactly like you…” The wound on her neck made her voice raspy and quiet. She pointed behind to the empty wall which used to sit all the paintings.

How can someone look like me? I’m me. She couldn’t have mistaken me for Zakk, could she have? Sometimes people did, especially at Gazo’s. Their names were familiar and nearly their figure was too except Zakk had braids, brown eyes and a tattoo. He bit his lip and looked at her. What is she talking about?

He looked behind him to the wall. Zain didn’t know a safe existed behind one of the portraits. The door lay slightly ajar. “We were robbed?” He turned back to his mom to see her nodding.

Standing, he moved his way past the strewn portraits to the vault on the wall. With hardly any light to see, he pushed his face against the wall and reached blindly for any leftover remnants that still lay hidden within. What’s this? He grabbed an object and pulled it out.  

“What’s that?” His mom asked.

“I don’t know.” Zain looked at a plastic black box with a three-digit key by where it opened.  

Zain reached back inside the vault. This time he found a different object. It felt like an envelope. Zain pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a card with a black circle in the center—a telecard. Zain pushed the button and a miniature hand-sized version of his dad, Laron, showed.

           

If you are seeing this card than that means I am probably dead and you are looking for my will and testament. I hope this is not the case and that we are here as a family, together, ready to look upon the wonders I have gathered for you all during my travels. Here is my heart as I will spill it to you, hopefully I still have one to spill.