Orphic (#1 in the Hajar series)

fourteen

James had gone off to complete the rest of his duties and Israfil trailed up the stairs of the cells and out into the open. The staircase that dwindled downwards to the prison was hidden by a small stone shelter that was closed off with a heavy iron gate and padlock, along with two guards that stood by the entryway.

Israfil soon found his way back to his car and entered it with a heaved sigh. He stared out through the windshield of his vehicle, his hands drumming against the steering wheel with somewhat impatience. The thick metal rings on his fingers made a clinking sound as he did so, and his eyes shifted to a deep red ruby that was encrusted in the silver band that was on his index.

He was delaying the inevitable. Farah would find out about Noah, whether it was through Israfil or not. Try as he might, he could not prevent the truth from snaking its way through his lips and into the open air for all to see and hear. She had to know, Israfil was fully aware of such, but how would she view him if she knew that he killed Noah?

It was selfish, yes, but he wanted to hold onto Farah's somewhat decent idea of him as long as possible. He didn't want to see her look at him with the same expression that she did with Noah- with fear. Israfil slumped against the driver's seat of his car as he tried to think of an umpteen amount of loopholes.

Perhaps he could just tell her that Noah fled the country?

No, that wouldn't work.

Farah had such a deep-rooted paralyzing unease when it came to Noah, so vivid it bordered PTSD. She often had re-occurrences or small instances where something familiar would take place and bring back all of the terrible events that had previously taken place, Israfil knew that Farah would not believe he was gone for sure unless she was told that he was truly dead.

Israfil let out another sigh, pushing the key into the ignition slot before turning it sharply, hearing the rumble of the car beneath him. He put the conveyance in reverse and began to pull out of where he was parked, before turning the wheel and driving forwards back onto the road. The drive back to his house was a short one, filled with silence and the quiet blurring of city lights as they passed him.

His pack lived on the outskirts of Los Angeles, surrounded by a thick forest and large trees that spread around the community. He also owned a large chunk of Los Angeles and the California itself, land covered in buildings and other man-made structures where contrasting and towering palm trees stood tall.

Soon he was slowing into the driveway of his home, the night soundless and still around him. He hadn't realized how long he had been in the dungeons, teeth tearing at flesh and blood blemishing the cement. But nonetheless, he had to push the remembrances of his past violence behind him to move forward.

And he did just that. He clicked the lock button on his car twice to ensure it was enclosed from any impending intruders and began to make his way up the stone driveway and to the front steps of his house. His hand, still shaking from adrenalin, clinked against the metal of his keys as he pushed them into the slot of the door, turning sharply to unlock it before he pushed it open with caution. Israfil's palm pressed against the crack as he crept inwards as if it would muffle the sound of his entry.

It was just past ten o'clock at night when he kicked off his shoes and placed his keys in the ceramic bowl that sat on the small table by the front door and he stepped further through the front foyer. He could see only one source of light, and it was reigning in from the kitchen. He froze and listened for a sound, a heartbeat, and he found one.

It was Farah's, he guessed. He was proven correct when he walked towards the luminescence and heard her heartbeat rate grow gradually faster. When he turned the corner into the kitchen, Farah stood short and quivering with a rubber spatula raised in the air as if she was ready to attack.

He let out a laugh, "What? Were you going to hit me with a spatula?"

Although Farah's blush was not evident, she could still feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. "I thought you were an intruder."

"Noah?" It slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and instantly he felt regret pooling in his stomach. But Farah remained indifferent, yet still flinched at the sound of his name. "Sorry," Israfil murmured.

"Don't worry about it. But yeah," She sighed, placing her attack weapon on the counter. "I thought you were Noah."

"You don't have to worry about him anymore, Farah." Israfil's eyes were almost white porcelain in the dim lighting of the kitchen, pulling Farah into a trance. "He's gone this time, I mean it."

Farah believed him.

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