CHAPTER 3: A lingering shadow
The house felt eerily quiet as Benji and his father went through the necessary packing for their sudden trip to Greece. The subtle summer breeze broke through the curtains of the living room, when Benji found himself staring at the window with a thoughtless gaze. It was as if his mind needed a break.
“Benji,” his father called from upstairs, abruptly shattering his phasing out.
What are we even gonna do there?, he thought while dragging himself to the stairs.
“Did you get your underwear and your toothbrush?” Frank asked, his face stretched and red from the pressure.
“Of course, Dad,” Benji replied slightly unsure, and at the same time he began walking towards the bathroom to get his toothbrush.
“Did you, by any chance, call Mum again?”
“More than once. Her phone is dead, still,” his father replied angrily, sending a shiver down his spine. Benji felt something break inside him with the word “dead”. He didn’t even want to think of such an outcome.
He sighed and grabbed his toothbrush. “What about the authorities? Did they have any updates?”
Frank grunted. “No, Benjamin. If I get to know anything, I’ll share it with you.”
His father was understandably upset, but Benji couldn’t help but think that people didn’t just vanish.
Benji blinked, realizing that he once again was phasing out. He had been holding the toothbrush tightly for several long seconds. His thoughts began drifting back to the Crown, and his heart raced with profound anxiety. At times, it had felt insignificant but once again, his mind made it seem like an omen; a sign connected to his mother’s disappearance.
As he turned back and out of the bathroom, he tried to shake off the feeling, but it clung to him like a shadow.
He was midway downstairs, when a strong wind swept through the house, so intense that Benji’s heart skipped a beat. The light on the wall flickered and the living room seemed to darken momentarily before returning to its former condition.
Benji shook his head and tried to steady himself. The trick of light made his vision blur, or so he thought. For a split second he thought he heard a whisper in the wind, but quickly dismissed it as just a creation of his self-submission; his longing to hear from his mother.
Even so, his breath got caught in his throat, and he stumbled forward into the living room, where the contents of his open suitcase were blown away by the wind.
With a few trembling steps, he walked toward the messy living room, knocking over a stack of books.
“Benji? What’s wrong?”, his father’s voice heard sharply from upstairs.
Benji rubbed his face, trying to remove the lingering chill. “Nothing… I forgot to close the window.”
His father didn’t respond, but Benji couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
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Outside the airplane window, the world was painted in a midnight indigo hue, dotted with countless lights that sparkled like stars against the vast darkness. Benji pressed his forehead to the cool glass, his gaze wandering over the twinkling constellations below. The sight was mesmerizing, yet it did little to calm the unease churning in his gut.
“How long till we get there, Dad?” Benji asked.
His father stifled a yawn and glanced at his wristwatch. “About two hours or so, I guess. We’re probably over Italy by now.”
Benji nodded, a sigh escaping his lips as he reached for his book; a familiar comfort in these uncertain times. The worn cover of The Hobbit greeted him like an old friend. It was his escape, his refuge. Every time he opened its pages, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a little while.
He soon lost himself in the tale, imagining himself riding alongside Bilbo and the dwarves through forests and along mountainsides. The story pulled him deeper; each page dragged him a step further away from his worries. As they journeyed through an evergreen glade, Benji’s eyes grew heavy, and his heart settled into a steady rhythm. Warmth spread through him, as if the magic of Middle-earth was seeping into his veins.
But the peace didn’t last.
A sudden jolt wrenched him from the dreamlike state, his eyes snapping open in alarm. The plane shook again, this time more violently, and Benji’s heart leapt into his throat. Disoriented, he blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of his fantasy.
“Good morning, bud!” his father’s voice cut through the haze as he unbuckled his seatbelt with a grin.
Benji rubbed his eyes and looked outside. They had landed. The runway lights zipped by as the plane taxied to a stop, but it was something else that caught his attention. He lifted his hand to touch the window, only to freeze in horror. Where his hand should have been, there was nothing but emptiness. His sleeve hung limply, as if his hand had vanished into thin air.
He turned to his father, panic gripping his chest. “Dad… My hands!” He managed to choke out, his voice trembling.
Frank looked at him, confused. “What about your hands? Why are you making such a ruckus?”
“They’re gone!”
Frank frowned, taking Benji’s wrists and holding them up in front of his face. “They’re right here, Benji. See?”
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To Benji’s relief, his hands were back, gradually materializing before his eyes. He blinked, rubbing his eyes as if to clear away the lingering traces of sleep.
Am I losing my mind?
“You must have been still dreaming,” Frank said; his voice held a hint of concern that didn’t go unnoticed.
Benji tried to shake off the bizarre incident as they went through the motions of disembarking and collecting their luggage. Yet, his mind kept circling back to the strange occurrences- starting with the unsettling experience at the Crown, the flickering lights at home, and now, the vanishing hands. A deep-seated fear gnawed at him, growing with every inexplicable event.
As they ascended the escalator, the airport opened up into a cavernous space bustling with life. Hundreds, if not thousands, of travelers swarmed around the luggage carousels, each person lost in their own little world. It was the perfect moment to speak up.
“Dad,” Benji began, forcing his father to turn towards him.
“What is it, Benji?”
Benji hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts. “Before I tell you, just know that I’m not crazy.”
Frank’s frown deepened. He turned fully to face his son, giving him his undivided attention.
“I’ve had more incidents like the one on the plane.”
“What do you mean? More disappearing hands?”
“No, not exactly. Everything started when I last visited the Crown. That day, I felt something strange, like a deep unease, as if my insides were being twisted. It was quick, but since then, other strange things have been happening. I felt nauseous, the lights at home flickered, and then, there was this wind- this cold wind that blew my clothes out of the suitcase, even though I’m sure I’d closed the window.”
Frank raised a finger, signaling for Benji to hold that thought as their suitcases approached. “Grab yours,” he instructed.
Benji pulled his suitcase off the conveyor belt with a grunt, the weight grounding him momentarily. As they began to walk toward the exit, his father finally spoke.
“Benji, sometimes, when we’re under a lot of stress, our minds can play tricks on us. I know you’re worried about your mother, but try not to let it get to you. We’ll figure this out, okay?”
Benji’s heart raced as he considered his father’s words. Could it really be just stress? Was I so caught up in mum’s disappearance that my mind was inventing these strange experiences?
As he pondered this, his father glanced toward the exit, where a short man with a mustache and tanned complexion held up a sign with “Thorn” scrawled on it in bold letters. The man’s blue shirt, visibly sweaty, clung to his frame, and his jeans were cinched tightly with a brown belt. He reminded Benji of his grandfather back home.
Frank waved at the man, who squinted in their direction. “You Mr. Thorn?” the man called out in broken English.
“Yes, yes. I’m Frank Thorn, and this is my son, Benji,” Frank responded.
Benji couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, good, good. My name is John. Come with me,” the man said, his accent thick as he gestured for them to follow. Benji exchanged a glance with his father as they trailed after John, who led them out of the airport to a white, somewhat battered van.
John opened the trunk and helped them load their luggage. “Mr. Karras is waiting for you,” he explained, a bit more serious.
Benji’s father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t we go to the hotel first? We had a long trip, and we’re not exactly up for much more right now.”
Benji nodded in agreement, feeling the weariness settle into his bones. The warm Mediterranean air, even at this early hour, wrapped around him like a blanket, making him long for a few hours of sleep.
John hesitated, then sighed heavily. “I have orders, mister,” he said, suggesting there was no room for negotiation.
Frank’s shoulders slumped in resignation. If they were being summoned so urgently, it was likely for a serious reason- either very good or very bad. They climbed into the van, and the engine rumbled to life, taking them down the narrow, winding roads of the town.
Benji’s thoughts raced as they drove. What if they had found my mother?
He looked out the window, watching as the town passed by, its narrow streets lined with three-story buildings and ground-floor shops that bustled with early morning activity. The town had a different vibe than back home, more colorful, more alive.
Despite the early hour, the small cafés were already buzzing with life, and the aroma of fresh pastries and strong coffee wafted through the air. Benji’s stomach growled, and he spotted a pedestrian biting into a mouth-watering sandwich. “Dad, can we get something to eat?” he asked.
Frank looked at John. “Could we make a quick stop?”
John chuckled and, without a word, pulled over, flicking on the hazard lights. He hopped out of the van and hurried into a small shop with an orange sign that Benji couldn’t decipher.
“It’s in Greek,” Frank said, as if reading Benji’s mind.
After what felt like an eternity- and several impatient honks from other drivers- John emerged from the shop, juggling two large cups and two round breads, each hand precariously balanced. Benji’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Take, take,” John urged, thrusting the items towards Frank. “Koulouri, good,” he said, pointing at the sesame-covered bread.
Benji took the koulouri, marveling at its simple yet enticing appearance. It was like a bagel, but thinner, with a golden crust and a fragrant scent.
“And this?” Frank asked, holding up the iced drink with a generous dollop of whipped cream.
“Freddo cappuccino,” John replied proudly. “And cold cocoa for the boy.”
Benji eagerly took the chocolatey drink, his fingers tingling with anticipation. “How much are these?” Frank asked, reaching for his wallet.
John’s face darkened, and he pounded his chest in indignation. “Gift,” he declared, as if the very question was an insult.
Frank chuckled, accepting the drinks with a nod of thanks. He sipped from the straw, his eyes closing in satisfaction as the rich, cold brew hit his taste buds.
Encouraged, Benji took a sip of his own drink, the sweetness and chill spreading through him in a wave of delight. But as the flavors melted on his tongue, a pang of guilt twisted in his gut. How can I enjoy this when my mother is missing? When everything is so uncertain?
Lost in thought, Benji barely noticed as the van rolled to a stop in front of a large, imposing building. Its multi-storied facade loomed over them, the front framed by tall, archaic-looking columns and delicate marble carvings. Above the massive wooden doors, a sign in Greek proclaimed the building’s purpose, but Benji could only make out the word “Archaeology.”
Whatever awaited them inside, Benji knew it would bring him closer to the truth. And that truth, whatever it was, filled him with both dread and hope.