Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) (17 page)

Fahri Kaya's assignment was to patrol the streets. Over the six weeks since Sabiha's attack seven more women from high-profile families were targeted. The problem was the RTK did not seem overly concerned about the welfare of the victims.

No more than two months ago, Fahri had been a proud member of the RTK. He had believed the mayor's Reformation of Turkish Kurdistan was a noble endeavor and that he was blessed to be a part of it. Plus, he enjoyed the perks that came along with being a member of the leading class. Now, however, he was not so sure. How many women had been seduced or threatened into submitting their honor? How many men had betrayed their morality for another dollar or a favor? What was the RTK reforming?

The names of the attacked women ran through his mind as he tried to find a link.

Habibeh Warda

Noor Azizi

Aasera Najafi

Baia Jaf

Fatma Serhati

Leyla Khan

Gálay Sahin

The only one who got away without dishonor was his sister: Sabiha Kaya.

Of the other victims, two committed suicide, one ran away, one had been married off to a distant family member overseas and two were missing. Fahri suspected those two were victims of honor killings, but he couldn't find any proof. His questioning of the families was met with severe reprimand from his superiors.

Up until Sabiha's attack she'd been nothing but a burden to Fahri. He had to house her because their parents were dead and it became his duty. He paid for her education because no one would want to marry her if she wasn't educated. His sister had been forced upon him, which he resented. He'd been selfish, holding her responsible for all the problems in his life.

In the end it was the Qu'ran that showed him the error of his ways. The Prophet Muhammad's, allallahu'alaihi wa sallam, said, "Only an honorable man treats women with honor and integrity. And only a mean, deceitful, and dishonest man humiliates and insults women."

When had he strayed so far?

One Saturday since her attack he had offered to take her to the bazaar in Hasankeyf. He offered to buy her some of the colorful fabric she always pined after to make new hijabs, and suggested they could have tea at one of the outdoor stands. Simple things he'd denied her in the past. The ancient fortress of Artuklu Seljucks was only a bus ride from their home but he had never taken her inside or to visit the Ulu Mosque. His new appreciation for Sabiha made him want to do more for her, to understand what it was she longed for instead of focusing on getting her out of his life.

Yet Sabiha had declined, choosing to spend her days doing the school work Aisha brought home for her and her evenings staring out the window, hoping to spot her attacker on the street.

Fahri was frustrated. He had tried to help her but she just sat in the same spot every evening, distance in her eyes. He wanted a simple life where he didn't have to take care of anyone, where he could go to work and enjoy his friends and the liberties being a member of the RTK afforded him. But now when he was invited out to one of the few bars left he couldn't help but think of his sister, alone.

Fahri turned a corner and headed into the commercial section of the city with his thoughts.. Very little activity was to be expected in this area at night. He walked quickly, looking down alleys and listening for anything out of the ordinary. His assignment was to keep the city safe from religious indiscretion, but finding The SandStorm was a higher priority for the RTK.

His visitor from the other night shook him. He didn't want to know about some vigilante in the city. He didn't want to know there were others helping him. At the same time, he hadn't reported the incident. He should have contacted his superior immediately and made a full disclosure of the conversation, but instead Fahri had gone home, leaving his duty mid-shift, to join Sabiha in her Isha prayer, the last of the day. It was the first time in five years that he had prayed outside of mandated RTK prayers.

Tonight his mind was everywhere except where it should have been—on his patrol. Instead he tried to piece together what connected the victims beyond the status of their families. Beyond his frustration at not being able to fix things, he didn't understand why he cared so much.

Fahri passed the closed, gated shops: clothiers, banks, groceries. Unlike the area of the city he lived in, where nothing was open at night, downtown was strictly for those who worked in the vicinity during the day. Even the few bars permitted to operate in Elih were closed; no one around to fill them.

Sudden screams crashed over him, like a typhoon upon the shore. Fahri ran, fear racing through his veins. He pushed himself to go faster.

Up ahead… Off to the right…

A woman's voice tore through the atmosphere in the abandoned city street. Her sobs beat against him with the impact of a fist as he turned the corner and found her sitting in the alley next to a trash bin, alone and unclothed.

"Who did this?" he asked, scanning the alley for the monster hunting his city.

At the sound of his voice her wails increased, and she pulled herself closer against the wall, trying to hide between the concrete and the metal of the dumpster. Fahri ran to the other end of the alley but didn't see anyone down the street. Whoever had been here was either very fast or very good at hiding.

Fahri returned to the woman, walking slowly so as not to frighten her. He put his hands out so if she looked up she would see they were empty and intentionless. Fahri crouched slightly, hoping to make himself appear smaller or less threatening. His instincts told him to hunt, to fight. Everything in him wanted to protect this woman by doing something. Instead he slowed his breathing and focused his eyes on what he could see of her face.

"Sister?" he asked, the word bringing visions of his own sister to mind. It was only by the grace of Allah that this hadn't happened to her.

"He… I don't know… He dragged me here and… and… and then ran off," the woman stammered.

She pulled her knees up against her chest as her shoulders shook with sobs. She wrapped her hands around her legs and pulled herself into a tight ball, as if she could create a black hole to consume everything that had happened to her.

"Sister, I am Fahri Kaya, and I am
not
going to hurt you."

"I need help back here!" Maryam called out as she stepped into the next triage room to find her patient, Bey Qureshi, a local handyman, holding a bloody rag over his hand. She dropped the chart she'd been carrying onto a table and rushed to his side.

"What did you do?"

She pulled the rag off of his hand and inspected the almost severed digit. Quickly she reached for gauze from the drawer next to the bed, wrapped the wound tightly, and held his hand up over her head.

"I'm not feeling right," the man replied as his flesh grew pale and clammy.

"I need help!" She held his hand tightly, keeping the pressure on the wound. "Bey Qureshi, can you tell me who brought you in? Is someone here with you?"

"I drove here my…" the man slurred, slumping back against the hospital bed.

"Come on!" she called.

Doctor Basara opened the door.

"What are you going on about in here?"

"He's nearly cut off his left index finger and has been bleeding for a while. He passed out just now and seems to be—"

Maryam was cut off mid-sentence by the young doctor's bark.

"Ai'sha!" he called to the nurse rushing in behind him, always ready to fall into step behind Doctor Basara. Her
hijab
was loose and a wisp of chocolate-brown hair hung in her face. She met Maryam's eyes and mouthed
sorry
with a shrug, a little too easily.

Doctor Basara strode into the room and took the injured man's arm from where Maryam held it elevated. He was one of the younger residents at Dunya Hastanesi, and he resented Maryam's position among the staff. He saw her as only a nurse, and yet she managed to command more respect than he did.

"Did you get his vitals?"

"I called for help as soon as I saw the extent of his injury."

"So you didn't get his vitals. You have done nothing that would help me evaluate his condition."

"The chart's on the table," Maryam stated before walking out of the room and heading toward the nurse's station to wash her hands. Although she sent up a silent prayer that Bey Qureshi didn't lose his finger completely, she was glad to be away from Basara.

"Dorri, I'm taking my break," she said to the charge nurse.

"Basara?" the woman asked without pause in the click-click-click of her fingers against the computer's keyboard.

"Who else?"

"I'll be glad when he marries Fatma and they both go away," another of the nurses chimed in with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

"You think?"

Dorri stopped typing, eager for new gossip.

"Her hijab has been looser."

"I smelled bleach on her the other day; I think she's been dying her hair
blonde
."

"He does always ask for her help if she's on staff."

"He just likes a sycophant; he's not interested in her," Maryam contributed.

"Sisters, gossip is a sin," a short, heavy set muslimah scolded, stopping their chatter. The nurses bowed their heads to ask Allah's forgiveness for their loose tongues.

Maryam smiled and stepped away, not in the mood for the gossip or the lesson. She walked outside into the thick heat of the city. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, wishing she was basking in the sun on the beach near her childhood home, or that an oasis breeze was wafting over her. Her shift was almost over and she had to shower and change before returning to Osman Estates. She wasn't sure yet what she had gotten herself into by agreeing to meet with Hasad and Recai, but she knew there was no time for second-guessing; something in the city had to change and if anyone could do it, it was Recai.

Once a thing is set into motion, it must be seen through.

"Maryam!" Dorri's voice broke through Maryam's introspection. "Maryam, we need you!"

The frantic sound of Dorri's voice sent a wave of panic down her spine. Her stomach knotted up as she began to run. She knew what that voice meant.

Not another one…