Dark Faïz ( Book 1 ) [ COMPLETED]

Chapters 3-5

Faïz's loft was refined. Large, realistic, and abstract paintings decorated the white walls. The open kitchen in the middle of the dining room made it accessible from all sides. In addition, the exterior seemed to invite itself inside the loft, thanks to the panoramic view through the large bay window. The industrial decorations gave it a look that was perfectly suited to Faïz's personality. The floor, dark and raw in color, reflected the image of an atypical place, full of charm. The exposed stones and wooden beams optimized the depth of this incredible volume. I thought of Rachelle in spite of myself with a pinch of jealousy. She knew every inch of this place. Ray, incredulous, had his head on his forearm against the window. We were on the top floor of the building, which had a view of all of Los Angeles.

I had the impression that I was suspended above this city with its chaotic view that night. Outside, the sirens of fire and police trucks were ringing everywhere. Traffic was completely blocked for several kilometers, and lightning strikes tore through a black sky of ink. Victoria had just fallen asleep on the huge sofa in the living room, probably exhausted by all these emotions.

My watch indicated that it was two in the morning and Faïz had still not called back. I moved away from my contemplation of the view to speak to Ray.

— "Thank you," I whispered to him, sincere.

I had the impression that this annoying man could have given his life for us tonight. He stared at me as if he was trying to decipher something impossible in me.

— "The Mattew family is my family," he confided in me in a gloomy voice as he looked outside again.

— "Is Faïz always like this? I mean...in perpetual restraint with the others?"

A little smile escaped. He sighed deeply before answering.

— "Yeah, you'll always have to guess what he's thinking, because he won't tell you anything. He has absolute control over everything around him, but his life is not easy, which is understandable."

His features became tense. I understood that the secrets surrounding Faïz and his family had taken over. Ray seemed to know them, and I felt like I was being sidelined once again.

— "Where did you learn to dance?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

— "With my friends. In the working-class district where I come from, music takes a very important place. It allows us to escape from an often difficult daily life. Studies give us a chance to succeed in life and to get by."

— "What about English? Did you learn to speak it in school?"

— "No, from Hitchcock!"

I smiled at that moment, thinking tenderly about my father.

— "My father," I continued, "is a big Alfred Hitchcock fan. I must admit that he is the master of suspense in his field. Each film we watched together had to be watched in its original version. My father made it a point of honor that this should be respected for each of his films."

— "Rear Window, To Catch a Thief, or Vertigo? Which one is your favorite?"

I was surprised that Ray knew some of the famous director's work. He was not at all contemporary, and his first films were made in black and white. I began to appreciate it as we talked.

— "North by Northwest and The Birds are my favorites," I admitted, "but they are all breathtaking."

— "And what does your father do for a living?"

— "He is a professional soldier. He's very often on the move, hence his sense of discipline and his passion for combat sports. When I was four, he taught me the basics of self-defense and many other techniques, but I don't like violence and far prefer dance and music, to his great despair."

I was surprised to confide so easily in someone I knew nothing about, probably because of the current situation we were in. Ray reduced the distance between us by one step. He gently curled a hair that had escaped behind my ear. This gesture seemed natural to him. He had no ulterior motives.

— "Is your work in the cafeteria part of your emergency plan?"

I was amazed to find that he knew much more about me than I'd thought. I then wondered who had informed him of this. I took a step back in order to put a little distance between us, and to avoid misleading him about this situation. He shook his head with a mischievous smile. I conclude that he was not used to being turned down.

— "Excuse me, Zoe, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I know very well that I can't get close to you. It would bother me to quarrel with some people," he justified himself in a voice full of innuendo.

I was about to ask him for an explanation, but I held back, understanding by his attitude that the subject was closed. Ray preferred to change the conversation again and we stayed for a long time telling each other about our respective lives. That was how he told me of his difficult childhood, foster homes, and his friendship with Faïz. Both had met at the age of eight, when Faïz's class corresponded with another class from a school in a disadvantaged area of Los Angeles. They exchanged letters for a whole school year, and after many written and sent letters, the classes from both schools decided to organize a day of meetings. Faïz and Ray then became inseparable and their friendship had lasted all this time. I listened to Ray, hanging onto every word as he told me anecdotes, each one funnier than the last, until the early morning. Lily and Charles had almost adopted him and considered him their son, who had lived with the family until very recently.