The Red-Light Area

Mission Begin

“What have you done to her?” Raien whispered in my ear as he watched Kiara wobbling behind us on the patio. Her face was pale as if she had seen a ghost and body sweating as if she had run a marathon.

She looked like a woman who had just survived the sank of titanic and was ready to collapse any moment due to exhaustion. The trauma was apparent in her eyes. I stared at her for a bit longer than necessary and only averted my gaze when found her looking at me.

“Nothing!” I replied curtly, indicating that I would not entertain any further inquiries in ‘our’ matter and went inside my apartment. Closing the door with powerful force than was necessary.

I instantaneously went to my room and booted up my laptop as I waited for Raien and Kiara to join me. I was looking at the photographs I had clicked in Juana’s apartment and a couple of pictures stole my attention. The sound of door opening and closing was audible and so were the click-clank of footwears that advanced towards my room.

“Have you started working already, Paige? Come, Kiara! Feel yourself at home. You go join him meanwhile I will bring something to eat. What would you like to have?” Raien grinned bringing Kiara to my room who took in my small bedroom-c*m-study as soon as she stepped in and nodded as if approving it.

I neither obviated their presence nor I took them in for I pretended to think of something that had my absolute attention and continued scrolling through the pictures one after another.

Raien left I and Kiara alone, almost instantly as I heard him going into his room and then into kitchen. I was conscious of every single movement in the house, including Kiara’s. She took tiny steps forward until she reached the edge of my bed and sat quietly, looking at her lap. I could hear her rugged breathing and whimpers, making goosebumps rise on my skin.

“Thank You, Pietro. I would forever be in debt-”

“I am not doing it for you or your brother. Don’t get your hopes high. I am doing it for myself and for those who ever believes in justice. I didn’t touch you because I did not want to spoil my soul by taking advantage over someone’s misery. You don’t worth the revenge.” I snapped at her and went back to glaring at my laptop, liking her on her own.

I tried to come up with every possible excuse—that could justify my rudeness; She was the same woman who had left me; She might be involved in the murder and come here to fool me; she knows the killer but still looking for the right way to put it. There were several of them─ some rationale others weren’t. Another few minute passed, and Kiara sat there watched my face with a hurtful gaze, she shifted uncomfortable on the bed perhaps contemplating over a suitable reply but didn’t say anything for a while and I felt triumphant, bearing pride at rendering speechless.

Silence hung in the air for a while as no one uttered a single syllabus. Only clicks of mouse and heavy breaths could be heard as we worked our way out with those pictures and I engrossed myself completely in the work, before Kiara spoke again.

She tried to tell me how sorry she was for my agony and sufferings, but I didn’t let her finish as I spoke cutting her off.

“Push past our personal differences and act professional. Did you apply for bail? There are numerous grounds to challenge the arrest. Did you ask for procedural meeting with Atri since you are his lawyer?” I articulated, looking at Kiara who stared at me with mixture of emotions floating in her eyes. I cleared my throat when didn’t get a reply after waiting for a minute and that perhaps had broken through her state of daze.

“I…ahem…I applied for bail, but the jury rejected my application. I didn’t have sufficient evidences for justifying it. The police didn’t let me meet him, citing he was being interrogated. I don’t know what kind of torture he had been put through since he had signed the confessions.” Kiara replied wiping sweat off her face as she made herself a bit more comfortable beside me. “You are my last resort.” She said sheepishly, that made me doubt her existence as a lawyer in the first place.

“You must be f*****g kidding me. Stupid woman! How did you manage to win those criminal trials? You know nothing about law, Kiara. Why didn’t you make a complaint to the superintended or magistrate if the police didn’t let you meet your client? It is your legal right as his pleader. Go meet him and listen to his side of the story, till then I will see what I can do and find from these pictures. We only have two days left to catch the criminal before the trail begins and the Arab delegates leave the town.” I told her and she nodded, standing up.

She asked me if I had any lead in the case and I told her that I was going to search for the Arab first. Kiara requested me to check the evidences collected by the police officials and I told I was planning on doing it soon.

Afterwards, Raien served us hot-chocolate and cookies as we discussed our plans for two days.

“Ask Atri to spill out whatever he knows. He might have observed something.” I told Kiara before bidding her adieu.

“What’s next?” Raien asked and I smirked.

~~~

We decided not to waste anymore time sitting idle at home and stare at the pictures for nothing. “Let’s head to Hotel Elysees. We may find our first clue there.” I had said and started towards it.  

It took us twenty minutes to reach there. All throughout the drive, I checked and rechecked every photograph keenly and knew a visit to the Red-light area was essential.

I went over to that reception, asked for a room, a pair of scissors, and some calligraphy paper from the receptionist. The hotel was full, the girl said, shaking head but insisted saying that we were a tourist and had nowhere else to go to─ after much insistence, the manager fixed things for us: we ended up with a lovely suite looking out at the Tower of pleasure located in Red-light area, a terrace, the rooftops of the city, the lights coming on one by one, the families getting together to have Sunday supper. And the feeling I had in the Champs-Elysées returns: the more beautiful everything is around me, the more wretched I feel

“It’s not going to work. Those Arabs are intelligent if one among them has don't it then no body would accept that. You will have to take the risk.”

“But you love me and I love you, isn’t that right? How can you endanger my life like that, Paige.”

“I don’t know. If you’re asking me if I like your company, the answer is yes. If, on the

other hand, you’re asking me if I could live without you, the answer is also yes.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t born a man. I’m very content with my female condition. All you

expect of us women are that we can cook well. Men, on the other hand, are expected to be

able to do everything—they’ve got to be able to keep a home afloat, make love, take care

of the children, bring in the money, and be successful.”

“That’s not it either: I’m very happy with myself. I enjoy your company, but I just don’t

think it’s going to work.”

“You enjoy my company, but hate being by yourself. You’re always looking for

adventure in order to forget more important things. You always want to feel the

adrenaline flowing in your veins and you forget that the only thing that should be flowing

through them is blood.”

“I’m not running away from important things. Give me an example of something

important.”

“Writing a book.”

“I can do that any time.”

“Go on then, do it. Then, if you like, we can go our separate ways.”

“Enough,” she says. “Stop pretending that you’re busy, that you’re weighed down by

responsibilities, that the world needs you to do what you’re doing, and just go traveling

for a while.” I can always become the editor of the newspaper where I publish a few

articles, I can always become the president of the recording company for which I write

lyrics, and where I work simply because they don’t want me to write lyrics for their

competitors. I can always come back to do what I’m doing now, but my dream can’t wait.

Either I accept it or I forget it.

Where is the ticket for?

Spain.

I’m shocked. Air tickets are expensive; besides, I can’t go away now, I’ve got a career

ahead of me, and I need to look after it. I’ll lose out on a lot of potential music

partnerships; the problem isn’t me, it’s our marriage. If I really wanted to write a book,

no one would be able to stop me.

“You can, you want to, but you don’t,” she says. “Your problem isn’t me, but you, so it

would be best if you spent some time alone.”

She shows me a map. I must go to Madrid, where I’ll catch a bus up to the Pyrenees, on

the border with France. That’s where a medieval pilgrimage route begins: the road to

Santiago. I have to walk the whole way. She’ll be waiting for me at the other end and

then she’ll accept anything I say: that I don’t love her anymore, that I still haven’t lived

enough to create a literary work, that I don’t even want to think about being a writer, that

it was nothing but an adolescent dream.

This is madness! The woman I’ve been living with for two long years—a real eternity in

relationship terms—is making decisions about my life, forcing me to give up my work

and expecting me to walk across an entire country! It’s so crazy that I decide to take it

seriously. I get drunk several nights running, with her beside me getting equally drunk—

even though she hates drinking. I get aggressive; I say she’s jealous of my independence,

that the only reason this whole mad idea was born is because I said I wanted to leave her.

She says that it all started when I was still at school and dreaming of becoming a writer—

no more putting things off; if I don’t confront myself now, I’ll spend the rest of my life

getting married and divorced, telling cute anecdotes about my past and going steadily

downhill.