Shooting Stars [ENG]

VII - Winds of change (I)

  Night sky was full of stars, he had never seen so much of them before. He was standing alone in the backyard, but there was something in that solitude that smoothed him and made him smile as he looked at the dark mantle. But a little later, light breeze caressing his face grew stronger and he began to feel cold. Suddenly, an abyss opened up beneath his feet, taking his breath away for an endless time and a shiver of terror ran through his spine. He wanted to run away, but his feet seemed to be stuck to the ground. The last thing he remembered was a familiar voice saying: "It's time." At that, a hand grabbed him and pulled him away from danger. Zhao woke up with gasping breathing, his eyes were burning and an invisible weight was pressing against his chest. It took him a couple of minutes to recover. He wiped his wet eyes and holding them closed, he tried to slowly resume regular breathing. He sat on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands. In the semi-dark room, lit only by some feeble ray of morning sunshine filtering through the window blinds, if eyes were closed or open it didn't matter, because the darkness was the same. When he was little, Zhao loved waking up in the morning, because it made him think about how many possibilities new day could bring and he always wondered if he would do something big that day. But now, what he wanted he could never have it and those little trails of hope entering the room didn't give him that joy anymore: now, morning was made only to go to do a job he didn't particularly enjoyed and meeting people he didn't want to see, then going back to the start and starting over the same. Zhao let out a sigh. It was useless to think about it, nothing would have changed, so he got up from bed and drummed his hands on his knees, as if to give himself strength and courage. Yawning, he went to the bathroom: cold water on his face was so good. Going downstairs, Zhao found his father still sitting in the kitchen, with newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

- What are you doing here? -

- Good morning to you. -

  Zhao went around the table and get himself a cup of coffee too. That habit was one of the rare things the two had in common. Just, if he was alone in the morning, the young detective would enjoy the bitter drink with great pleasure, but if his father happened to be present, the desire passed. However, he needed coffee, otherwise he would have dragged himself like a zombie all day. Silence filled the large, bright kitchen, broken only by the noise of newspaper being folded, by the steps of old Zhao towards the sink and the tinkling of the cup placed inside it. Young Zhao moved towards the sliding door leding to the garden and turned his back to his father, who finished preparing his briefcase in the meantime. When old Zhao was done, he looked up at his son: seeing him stand next to that door looking out, brought back to mind some unpleasant memories he immediately tried to drive away.

- Any special case today? -

The young man made an ironic grimace.

- Why, you wanna decide if it's suitable for us or not? -

- You know you're not meant to be there. You could take part in our case, a real case. -

  Young Zhao turned around, glaring at his father. A real case? As if cases his team solved were rubbish! Ok, they seemed more like a private investigation agency, but as Guo said once, those were still cases: they could not be of great importance, but Zhao Yunlan's team was helping people anyway and that was the most important thing. The old man knew how his son felt about it, so why was he insisting on that matter?