CHAPTER 4
“Find us!”
With a gasp, she sat up in her bed. Her chest was heaving, and despite the coolness of the morning, sweat was dripping from her forehead. What were those things she saw? She knew she wasn’t dreaming, but she couldn’t remember how she got into bed or fell asleep. She pushed the quilt aside and dangled her legs from the bunk bed. Looking at her feet hovering above the floor, she was like, “Why am I even in a bunk bed?” While thinking this, she glanced around her room. In front of her was the bunk bed, the concrete floor, and the door that had been wood just yesterday was now steel...
“I must still be dreaming, there’s no way I'm awake. This can’t be real!” she found herself thinking. Her face was pale as plaster, her throat felt like she’d swallowed a raw quince that was stuck. As the door creaked open, she reluctantly turned her head to see who it might be. As the door opened slowly, a boy with sallow skin and dark features entered. He flashed a bright, full-toothed smile at Tarık.
“Aren’t you still sleeping? Get up quick! The headmistress is doing a roll call. Hurry up, let’s go,” he said, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived. Tarık, wide-eyed, stared after him in a frozen gaze. This boy felt so familiar, yet he was sure he had never seen him before in his life. Jumping from the bunk bed, his feet met the ground. As he planned to sit on the lower bed, the body under the blanket made his heart skip a beat.
“Buğra,” he said as he pulled the blanket off. The body, turned away from him, woke up in a panic. The body sat up in bed, looked at Tarık’s face, and smiled. “I got scared thinking it was him, bro.”
Tarık managed to say, “Who is he?” as he looked teary-eyed at the boy who looked almost like a copy of Buğra. “The guard,” the boy shrugged.
“The guard?”
Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap tap... The door was pounded as if to break it down, startling her awake. For a moment, she struggled to grasp where she was as the familiar shape of her room brought her back to reality. The pounding on the door continued.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she said as she got out of bed and staggered to the door. She turned the key in the lock and opened it to find Ayhan looking at her anxiously.
“Did you die, bro? What kind of sleep is this, for heaven's sake? I’ve been knocking for half an hour.”
Ayhan spoke in a tone that was half angry, half worried, as he entered. “I must have dozed off, bro, sorry I didn’t hear.”
Following Ayhan, she closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen. Ayhan had already settled on the couch. “Any news?” he asked as if seeing the kitchen for the first time. She also sat next to him, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. “Must have fallen asleep without changing,” she thought, looking at Tarık’s pale face.
“Nothing new,” she said, putting an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Hopefully we'll find him, bro!”
“I don’t know, Ayhan, such weird things are happening, I don’t even know what to think.”
She pulled away from him to look at his face. “Weird how, bro?”
The expression on Ayhan’s face made Tarık uneasy. It seemed like he knew something.
“In the house, there’s something odd,” she said, hesitating whether to mention the shadows or not.
“Like your bloody t-shirt weird?”
Tarık just stared at him, open-mouthed. Blood and t-shirt were mentioned. “What blood, what t-shirt, bro?”
The explanation of the event that had kept her awake all day and night was finally forthcoming, Ayhan, as surprised as Tarık, “You mean you’re not aware?”
“Seriously, right now I don’t even understand what you’re talking about.”
Yesterday, when you opened the door for Commissioner Adnan, I saw a stain on your back. From a distance, I couldn't tell what it was, but as I got closer, I realized it was blood. I touched your back to be sure, and yup, it was blood. I didn't want to mention it in front of the police. I mean, imagine, your brother is missing, and your t-shirt is stained with blood.
"Why didn't you mention it then?"
"Was there even time, dude? Plus, there was something even weirder than the blood."
Tarık's throat was dry from excitement. "What?" he said.
I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. While washing, I saw a shadow behind me in the mirror."
Tarık didn't know whether to be happy or sad. Happy because he wasn’t the only one seeing shadows—which kinda meant he was sane. Sad because if the shadows were real, then what happened last night and this morning was real too. He was speechless with the reality he realized.
"Those shadows have been there since we arrived," he managed to say.
"Are they, like, ghosts or something creepy?"
Ayhan felt a bit relieved. He was sure Tarık would think he was crazy and mock him before he even told him.
"I dunno about ghosts, but I guess they're not that creepy stuff. They seem harmless."
"My grandma used to say there are good and bad ones. Maybe these are the good ones?"
While Tarık gave his friend a "Are you kidding me, dude?" look, he realized once again just how naive he really was.
"I think they belong to the taif."
"Huh?" Ayhan was stumped. It was the first time he'd heard the word taif, and it felt totally alien.
"Not much is known about the people of taif. The only known taif is from the Prophet's journey to Taif and the events that happened there. It's also mentioned in the Qur’an."
"Yeah, I know about that. The people of Taif insulted the Prophet, even stoned him. A slave helped him, his name was... What was it? I can't remember," Ayhan said, but he couldn't recall the name. "Hz. Addas," Tarık said, and Ayhan suddenly remembered. "Yeah, that guy," he said.
The Prophet made a prayer there: "Oh Allah! As long as I do not incur Your wrath, I will endure whatever comes my way. Your pardon and forgiveness are wide enough not to let these hardships befall me." This isn’t the whole prayer, but this part is the origin of the story I’m telling you."
"What a beautiful prayer," said Ayhan, and added, "I’m really curious how you’re gonna connect this to what's going on, bro."
Tarık smiled slightly. "According to legend, whenever an oppressed person is in trouble, they would recite this prayer. Those who die oppressed and unable to escape misfortune in life go to a place between two worlds, named taif. People there exist in a state halfway between spirit and human. According to this legend, no one from taif can move to the afterlife until the person causing their misfortune is punished."
Ayhan listened intently and was making his own deductions.
"So, you’re saying these shadows are from taif and they want the person who brought the misfortune to be punished."
"Exactly, bro, my guess is leaning that way, and what happened this morning almost proves it."
"What happened?" Ayhan’s voice was full of curiosity and excitement.
"I thought I woke up, and they took me to a place, looked like a dormitory. They mentioned a director and all. It felt so real, I literally thought I was there. There was this little kid who looked so much like Buğra, talking about some guard."
"Could that be the troublemaker?"
"Ninety percent yes. You know what I'm thinking?"
Ayhan tried to lighten the mood, "How would I know, I haven't developed mind-reading skills yet," he said and laughed. Tarık laughed too, showing his friend's effort wasn’t in vain.
"I'm saying, could the one who abducted Buğra be the same person?"
"No way, dude!" Tarık laughed at Ayhan’s reaction, but his laughter caught in his throat. How could he laugh when Buğra was missing? What kind of brother was he that his lips parted to smile? Unaware of the emotional turmoil Tarık was experiencing, Ayhan said, "Those shadows, who knows how long they’ve been dead. Plus, we’re not even sure about this. Let’s assume your guess is right, how are we going to find this guard? What will we say to Commissioner Adnan?"
Tarık buried his face in his hands and pulled his legs up onto the couch.
"If only I knew, dude, if only I
knew."
Ayhan was about to say, "Let's tell Figen," when the doorbell rang. "They say a good person arrives when mentioned. Figen is coming over, and we haven’t even said her name yet," he said as he got up to open the door. When he turned the door handle and cracked open the door, the man he saw surprised him. A burly man, with thick eyebrows and a mustache, his skin so dark it was nearly black, appearing no older than fifty, and with cheeks hollowed from thinness, gave Ayhan a stern look. Before Ayhan could say anything, the man asked, "Is Tarık not here, nephew?" Pulling his hands out of his trouser pockets and adjusting his jacket, Ayhan stammered, "He’s inside, uncle," turning his head to call Tarık just as the man pushed past him into the house. With a voice as thick as his eyebrows, the man called out, "Tarık!" At the sound of his voice, Tarık stood up and said, "Welcome uncle," offering him a seat.
"Please, uncle, have a seat."
As the man settled into the chair, he gave Ayhan a suspicious look. Tarık, caught in the moment, forgot to introduce the two; "Uncle, this is my friend Ayhan, Ayhan, this is my Uncle Süleyman. He’s the only relative I know on my mom’s side," he introduced them.
"Your friend seems to know the situation," Süleyman hinted at something important as Tarık put his hand on Ayhan’s shoulder and said, "Don’t worry uncle, Ayhan is like a brother to me," recalling Buğra. Who knew where he was now and how he was?
"Son," Süleyman paused, his troubled demeanor a harbinger of bad news. "Yes, uncle," Tarık said, his eyes locked onto his uncle’s dark irises.
"The man who is supposed to be your father has escaped from the hospital."
Tarık’s heart skipped a beat. "How did he escape?" he asked, but his expression was one of horror more than inquiry. The possibility that crept into his mind gnawed at him like a drill. "Uncle," he said. "Buğra is missing."
Süleyman furrowed his brows, trying to comprehend what he heard. His gaze drilled into Tarık like a hawk. "When did he go missing?"
"Yesterday, after he came home from school."
Süleyman stood up angrily. "What were you doing, nephew! How could you lose a child that small?"
Ayhan was certain the shouting man would grab him by the collar and start beating him next. His hands and feet were tied in knots. As Süleyman approached Tarık, Ayhan stepped in front of him, ready to say, "It's because of me, uncle," when Tarık blurted out, "I had gone out to buy bread, he disappeared from home," taking the blame to avoid implicating Ayhan. "Why would he say that to his uncle," Ayhan thought. Süleyman pushed Ayhan aside, held his right hand clenched from anger, and delivered a hefty slap to Tarık's cheek. Tarık's face turned to the left under the impact. He wasn't mad or hurt by his uncle. He had failed to look after his brother, to protect his mother’s trust.
"If I had known it would come to this, I would have taken my nephew and found something to tell people."
As Süleyman spoke, Tarık shrank, diminished, and felt utterly humiliated.
"Could that man have abducted him, uncle?"
Despite his embarrassment, Buğra was what mattered now. "I don't know, but it's not impossible. It's been two days since he escaped. If he knows where you are, he could come right here and take him."
"There's no sign of a struggle at home, no forced entry, does Buğra know this man that he would go with him without resisting? Think logically," Figen said as she entered, making the trio aware that they had left the door open. "Unless Ayhan left the door open when he went out like you just did," she added while Süleyman gave Tarık and Ayhan deadly looks.
Tarik gave Figen a look that screamed, "What did you do?" while Ayhan, thinking his job was done, bit his lips. Süleyman's gaze drifted between Tarik, Ayhan, and Figen.
"Who are you, my girl?" Süleyman's deep, authoritative voice startled Figen. As she sent a pleading look to Tarik for help, he said, "She's practically your niece, uncle," easing the tension in the room. "How come you never introduced me to such a beautiful bride before, my nephew?" Süleyman's frown turned into a smile, making Figen blush with embarrassment.
"There was never a right moment, uncle," said Tarik.
"Better late than never, uncle," Figen added, walking up to Süleyman to take his big hands in hers, kissing them, then resting her forehead against them.
"Be happy, my girl," Süleyman said, kissing Figen's cheeks.
"Uncle hugged and kissed her at the word 'bride'; I almost thought he was going to hit me," Ayhan said, drawing the glances of Süleyman, Tarik, and Figen. They were all silent as they tried to figure out if Ayhan was serious, but his remark, "Am I right, uncle?" made everyone burst into laughter. Süleyman hugged the big-hearted, burly young man. When Ayhan hugged him back, Süleyman was sure this boy meant no harm. Suddenly, they heard knocking at the door. "Has this place turned into a roadside inn?" Tarik joked as he opened the door. Police Inspector Adnan stood there with an unreadable look.
"Is there news, brother?"
Adnan held his breath, puffing his cheeks before exhaling, "Unfortunately, son, a child's body has been found in the lake. I've come to get you." Tarik's face turned pale, his lips parted, but before he could speak, he collapsed to the floor. "Tarik!" Figen cried out, running to him with Süleyman and Ayhan close behind. Figen lifted Tarik's head onto her lap.
"Wake up, brother, what's happened to you?" said Ayhan, while Süleyman demanded from Adnan, "What did you say to make the boy like this?"
"He fainted when I told him about the child's body in the lake."
Adnan's frustration grew. He needed to take Tarik to the scene as soon as possible. Before heading to the forensic center, he wanted Tarik to see the body. "You should have eased into it, Inspector. You police can be so thoughtless sometimes," Süleyman retorted.
Adnan felt ashamed in front of the man who clearly was older than him. "There's no time for easing into it, sir. The body needs to be identified. Another family with a missing child is also on their way there."
Tarik, lying on Figen's lap, slowly opened his eyes, regaining consciousness. "I don't understand the rush, Inspector. It could have been identified after being taken to the hospital," Süleyman said as Adnan wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"We have our reasons, sir, which I can't explain right now. And who are you to these children?"
Adnan, like a soccer player reversing a corner kick, crossed his arms. Süleyman wasn't about to give in to this aggressive cop.
"I'm their uncle," he said, puffing up as if he were the president's uncle.
Ayhan and Figen watched the standoff at the door while a more conscious Tarik intervened. "Both of you stop," he said, standing up. Adnan and Süleyman silenced at the sight of Tarik's pale, pained face. "Let's go, Inspector," Tarik continued, stepping outside followed by Adnan, Süleyman, Ayhan, and Figen. Figen, tasked with closing the door, thought she saw a shadow peering through the crack.
As Adnan sat in the driver's seat of the police car with Süleyman beside him, and the others in the back, the car rolled away from the apartment, all overwhelmed with fear. Was the child they were about to see Buğra? Ayhan felt guilty for hoping it was another family's child. As they silently drove through the steppe to the grim site, Figen struggled with regret. If only she hadn't gone to the market, Buğra might still be safe. Ayhan, careless, might cause harm, and she would feel just as guilty as he would. Meanwhile, she felt like she had lost a brother she never had. Tears filled her eyes as she pictured Buğra's dimpled cheeks, loving eyes, and soft, blond hair.
Tarik leaned his head against the window, trying to console himself. "It can't be my brother!" his
mind argued. "Why would he go to the lake alone?" He thought, "It must be the other family's child," as tears traced his face. A traitorous sob escaped, revealing his grief to the others. The wheels turned, Adnan gripped the steering wheel tightly, focusing on the road. Süleyman watched the road signs intently. As they passed a sign that read "Lake," a heavy weight settled in his heart, fearing he had failed to protect his brother's legacy.
After nearly two hours of traveling, the murky waters of the lake appeared. They all watched the crowd gathered by the lakeshore. Search and rescue teams, divers standing by the shore, locals, and journalists filled the area. When Adnan turned off the engine and got out of the car, the others followed, their knees trembling. Tarik looked like he could collapse and die at any moment. His face was pale, his hands clenched into fists. His heart, mind, and soul; all of him stood praying fervently.
"Please God, let it not be my brother, not Buğra, please, please, please!"
"Come on, let's go," Adnan said, and they obediently followed him. As they made their way through the crowd, they heard a woman's scream.
"Is that my child? Is it Ozan, tell me?"
They moved past the crowd and stepped inside the yellow tape. The woman on the shore was beating her knees in grief, her scarf had slipped from her head, and her floral pants were smeared with sand and mud. She was exhausted, unable to go any further to see the body bagged a hundred meters ahead.
Figen, covering her mouth with her hand, cried silently with the woman, while Tarik stopped, his feet buried in the sand. It couldn't be Buğra; it shouldn't be. Although the woman’s desperate cries tore at his heart, he couldn’t help feeling selfishly relieved; better anyone else than Buğra. Ayhan stood right behind Tarik, unsure where to put his hands or what to do next. Another scream added to the first.
"Is it my brother, is it Ozan, mom?"
A young man about Tarik's age knelt beside the woman and hugged her. A police officer came over and placed his hands on their shoulders. Süleyman couldn’t hear their conversation but could guess.
"You won't know whether it’s him without seeing," he must have been saying.
The young officer helped the woman to her feet. They stumbled through the sand and pebbles towards the body bag. One hand over her heart, the other covering her mouth, her knees buckled, and she nearly fell, but the officer held her up. It seemed like ages before the young man reached the body bag. When the officials unzipped it, his voice reached them.
"No, no, no, it's not my brother! Not, not, it's not my brother..."
"Buğra," Tarik collapsed to the ground, now certain. If it wasn't their child, it had to be Buğra.
Adnan placed his hands on Tarik's shoulders with brotherly compassion. Waiting only delayed things, and uncertainty caused more pain.
"Tarik, come and see. Is it Buğra?"
Ayhan helped Tarik to his feet. Was it really he who was walking? Was the heart still fluttering in his chest really his? Whose lungs were still breathing? How was Tarik still alive? How hadn’t he died from the pain? He dragged himself toward the black bag, his fear growing with every step. He wasn't ready to see a corpse, especially not Buğra’s. He stopped, just a few meters away. "Come on," someone said in a tone he couldn’t place. Adnan had seen many corpses in his career and dealt with all kinds of crimes, but this was different. He didn't know how Tarik would cope.
Hoping it wasn't his brother, Tarik dragged his unwilling feet forward. His soul seemed to have left his body; he was tired, wrecked, finished. When he finally reached the black bag, he paused. Did he have the heart to look at the face? Did such courage exist, and if so, where? Tarik couldn't feel his heart. The sound of the zipper being opened pierced his brain. He shut his eyes tight and then opened them. Tears streamed down as the blonde hair scorched his heart. Was it Buğra? "No," he said. He leaned in to make sure, needing to be certain. Every movement was heavy. He gently looked at the ravaged face. He covered his mouth, his sobs escaping into the ears of others. The tiny lips on the small face had been stitched up, the stitches surrounded by bruised, scabbed skin. If the water hadn’t cleaned his face, who knew what state it would be in? The bruises on his cheeks had darkened, almost healing.
"It's not Buğra," he said, still covering his mouth. He stood up, trying to keep his stomach in place as he stepped back. Adnan immediately stood by Tarik.
"Are you sure? The other family says it's not their child either."
"I'm sure, brother. Buğra had a birthmark on his right earlobe; this child doesn’t."
Ayhan, Süleyman, and
Figen hurried to Tarik's side. Ayhan took his arm, Süleyman squeezed his shoulder. Figen, too shy to hug him in front of all those people, embraced him with her eyes. They all found shelter under a nearby tree. This time it was the mother approaching the black bag. Tarik watched her without blinking. Her floral pants reminded him of his mother, her displaced scarf, her distraught face, her knees barely holding her up as she walked. She looked like she might fall at any moment, then gathered strength and continued walking.
~~~~~