The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I grasp with consternation that the day has passed at breakneck speed in the premises where we have been held. With one arm under Imane's shoulder, I want to speed up the pace so that we can quickly reach the small streets leading to Freetown, using the path which my brother uses most frequently. I feel that my sister does not desire to be near me; this closeness, she hates it. However, she clings with all her strength to my wrist when the sound of footsteps behind us seems to reach us, aware of a paranoid danger. At every street corner, every time we take a new avenue, I look up for the presence of hunters, for the slightest trace of Ho-Jin.

"We need to get to Freetown as soon as possible," I say, forgetting about Rachel's advice not to come close to that street. "If I still had my phone, I could have told Mohamed, and he could send someone to also look for him. Maybe he is already there. We do not really know; we cannot yet be sure that Inspector Nguyen was telling the truth."

"I am afraid that it is too late, Kanoa," my little sister bursts between sobs.

"If he is not in Freetown..."

"Ho-Jin must be dead."

I do not want to hear it; I do not want to hear that word. I do not stop, walking even faster, pushing her to force herself on her sore leg.

"Kanoa... The Masters-Avengers..." she sniffs. "The police did not look like..."

"How can you say that with so much... You cannot give up hope so easily! He is our brother! I do not recognize you; I do not understand you anymore. Really."

I keep quiet. She no longer tries to contain her anxiety and cries bitterly. I swallow back a nauseous wave and squint my eyes to hide my tears. I rub a sorry, somewhat comforting hand across her wrist.

Near the intersection that we must take next, Imane suddenly crouches down behind a dumpster, pulling my arm to her. A small group of Masters-Avengers, some armed with hammers and adjustable wrenches for others, cross the street to reach the main avenue. There are like little red circles on the sidewalk that they left. When the smell of blood hits me, I can no longer hold back the bile squeezed behind my teeth and dump it on the floor. As I get up, in the half-light, I have trouble distinguishing the tears running down my sister's cheeks, her forehead, and her nose. I blink and put my hand to my scalp, a sharp pain preventing me from speaking. I look at my hand; there is some blood that I am hiding from Imane. This must have been the aftermath of my covidic crisis at the police station. I make the decision that very morning not to betray my true feelings anymore, so a crisis of this magnitude had to happen. It is not for nothing that the slaves lie to themselves. It is less risky, less painful.

"Ho-Jin... certainly, they took it out on him... Those are the Masters-Avengers whom Inspector Nguyen told about and..."

"Imane, listen to me," I say, lifting her gently. "We are going to Freetown; we are going to get help. We will go around town a hundred times if we have to, in order to find him, do you hear me?"

I am not waiting for her response. We start walking again, gripped by an absurd sense of hope, fueled by the thought that we had not found my brother's body in the hands of the Masters-Avengers. Ho-Jin surely fled, he managed to avoid the traps which were set for him, and he will soon welcome us in Freetown... But maybe he was also forced to go by another path where the Masters-Avengers attacked him. Maybe he was found and then brought to Freetown... lifeless. Maybe they hold him back and send us his remains...

I drive away these dark ideas, so much more rational than our hope, as the entrance to Freetown presents itself to us. Cautiously, we reach the first buildings. There is a special atmosphere, light and more gloomy than usual. Something fundamental is missing, disturbing me.