Feed her Appetite

Soraya and Volkan stood with Zayn near the back white wall of the large empty space of the living room. It seemed all of the guests transferred over to the same place. A congregation of families either from the military or from politics. Zayn began noticing how get togethers like the one he was in were more like updates on how the other families were doing, a place to create gossip or catch new gossip. Clicks had been formed and the people who stood together in the backyard were still together once inside the house, the same colored dresses and suits grouped by each other.

All the lights inside the home dimmed. Silence controlled the room until footsteps echoed from somewhere. Volkan, who stood to Zayn's left, nudged his shoulder then pointed up at the second floor walkway, where the black railings were, where Zayn had been about ten or fifteen minutes ago.

Clapping from upstairs. The sound of dress shoes echoed. Whispers from the party guests. "Thank you all for coming tonight."

Zayn focused his attention up at the railings until he he saw curly hair with a wide stripe of silver highlighted at the bangs, then a light blue suit with a white dress shirt beneath it. Zayn didn't recognize the man above, so he listened and paid attention to every spoken word. "As you know, things have happened that have put a bad spotlight on us and our political or military families. Whether it's your parents or your uncles, don't allow the media or the public to damage you. We lost an experienced and loyal captain in our ranks," the man said, closing his eyes for a moment and nodding.

"Regardless of his actions, he served Algeria with pride and loyalty for years, more than many of you ever will. So, your words, watch them. Your insults, stop them. Thank you."

"You think he means what he's saying?" Volkan asked Zayn.

"Hard to say right now. If he's acting, he's doing a perfect job."

"And if he's not," Soraya added, "then he might have some information that we can force us outta him." Soraya pointed at the second floor.

The crowd of party attendants clapped and whistled. Roqaya rose her hand near the front. Zayn knew it was her when he saw the gold watch on her wrist which he had noticed earlier in the backyard. It took a few seconds for conversations to lessen, whispers to stop and all around people to shut their mouths.

"Thank you for that. We have some new people here, so if you could introduce yourself, that would help them," Roqaya said.

"They don't need to know!" someone yelled, and his friends laughed. Zayn deduced it was the same group of guys from the backyard who wanted to fight but couldn't pull through. They stood somewhere on the right side of the crowd across from Zayn.

"We're going to treat our new guests the way we would want to be treated," the man said. He placed both hands on the railings. He had pale fingers and wore a ring with a large green gemstone as the center piece, a turkish design. "My name is Alfonso Terrio. I somehow ended up being the spokesperson for our group even though I believe Roqaya should be the one leading this."

"You're older!" Roqaya shouted with a laugh.

Zayn raised an eyebrow and was now more interested in how Roqaya knew Alfonso and how close their friendship was. He paid more attention to Alfsono as he continued speaking.

"All of us here either are or have family associated to political and/or military ties. We created this group to meet up once a month to talk and see what's happening and how to plan for our future. I'll say this now . . ." Alfonso smiled at everyone. "None of us want to serve in politics or the military for anymore than maybe five or ten years. So knowing what's happening in our country helps us make decisions for our future."

"Three years for me!" a girl shouted.

"Two! another yelled.

People laughed. People smiled. Zayn watched and patiently waited.

"So who are the new guests, if I may ask?" Alfsonso glanced around from the second floor.

"They'd rather say private for now," Roqaya answered.

"I see. I respect that." Alfonso nodded.

Soraya snapped her fingers. "He seems chill."

"The relaxed people tend to know the most," Volkan said.

"Is that a fact?" Soraya asked.

"No, but in our field, the more relaxed you are, the more likely you know a lot about everyone. Which means he might have connections and know something about Captain Salem's death."

"In the back!" the same guys from the backyard yelled, keen on being a nuisance, dogs off their leash.

"Oh," Alfonso said.

Silence followed. People glanced back at Zayn, Soraya and Volkan. That same silence continued for what felt like fifteen seconds. Zayn let out a deep breath and stayed leaned against the white back wall. He watched Alfonso watch him. Whatever ran through his head was enough to pause his fluent speech.

"I'm about to break their teeth into the cement," Volkan said. "Watch me catch them outside."

"Catch me outside," Soraya repeated, with a grin and a glance at Volkan.

"Watch," Volkan repeated. "I ain't Zayn. Patience isn't a skill I have."

"Zayn, correct?" Alfonso asked. "You're Captain Salem's son."

Additional whispers followed about why Zayn was there at the party, how he was there and if it really was him. The entire time everyone placed their attention on Zayn, Soraya and Volkan, they never said a word between them. They met eye contact with insulted or irritated party guests who couldn't hold their gaze for more than a couple of seconds.

"My condolences for your father. I mentioned him earlier, but I'm glad I can say it to you directly."

Zayn nodded.

A few people who were still staring raised their eyebrows and seemed to be offended that Zayn didn't reply with words. Not that Zayn gave them any attention. He simply stared at the second floor and watched as Alfonso hadn't changed his position. He still stood with both hands on the black railing, leaned forward, with a blank expression and a dimmed background with the balcony's light to his right, shining an orange hue.

"As I was saying—"

"What do you know about my father's murder?" Zayn asked, a loud voice spreading his words through the living room and to the second floor.

What seemed like half of the party guests turned to Zayn with glares.

"We may need to run out of here," Volkan suggested, with a chuckle. "You've offended the sheep."

"Sheep are hard to control when there's a lot. Ask a farmer," Soraya said.

"Your father's murder? Wasn't it suicide?" Alfonso asked. "That's what was on the news."

"Like you said. A captain in the military who served over twenty years was loyal. He wouldn't suicide without being threatened. What's the threat?" Zayn let his words sink in as he held eye contact with Alfonso, who hadn't budged until he bit his upper lip.

Whether known or unknown, Alfonso seemed anxious at the question, as he pushed himself off the black railing, stood straight, slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, then nodded. With his hands hidden and no fidgeting visible, Zayn didn't have much to analyze beside the spoken word.

But Zayn already made the decision. Striking. No hesitation. The opportunity snatched.

"There's nothing I—" Alfonso spoke before an interruption.

"Hands up!" a man ordered. His voice bounced off the walls. Nobody knew where it came from. Nobody except Zayn. Everyone looked around until they saw Alfonso with his hands straight in the air, as if stretching to touch the stars through the roof.

"He's got a gun!" Alfonso warned, with a high pitched voice.

Volkan and Soraya bumped into Zayn as they leaned closer for a better view at the second floor.

The man with the gun walked across the hallway behind Alfonso. His dress shoes clicked with each step, and each step summoned panic into not only the house but the guests, too. The same party attendees who were glaring at Zayn a few minutes ago were grabbing each other's arms and telling everyone to stay close and to stay calm while other people screamed for the police.

How amusing, thought Zayn.

"Jump up and down!" the man with the gun ordered, his voice familiar to Zayn.

Alfonso complied with jumping jacks.

"Get on the floor! Ten push ups!" another order beckoned.

Zayn smiled.

Volkan and Soraya relaxed their shoulders then raised their eyebrows in bewilderment.

"Is this theft or an emergency workout session?" Volkan asked.

"To be fair, Alfonso doesn't seem fat, unless he's hiding all that stomach fat," Soraya added.

The gun holder fired his pistol, the sound echoing throughout the house, followed by screams and shrieks, the party guests hugging each other in their circular crowd. "Now tell everyone you're a liar and know something about the murder of Captain Salem!"

More than simple silence overtook the room.

All the fright and hysteria dwindled to zero. Some people turned to each other, some shook their heads in perhaps confusion, while others glanced back at Zayn, as the son of the alleged murdered Captain Salem. And let us not forget Roqaya, who Zayn had been fixated on earlier in the party. She didn't catch his attention. She stood in the same place at the front of the crowd, taller than most of the guests, and she continued to stare at Zayn with a look that only could be described as with care, concern.

"I—I—" Alfonso tried to speak.

"Now!" the gun holder repeated. "Tell them the truth! Tell them what you know before it gets a lot worse for you!"

The crowd in the middle of the house started conversing amongst each other. Whispers and talk about what the truth was, what truly happened to Captain Salem, and why had Alfonso lied to everyone.

While mayhem unfolded, Zayn stood with a smile and both arms crossed in front of his chest. His composure led Volkan and Soraya to nudge him.

"Why're you smiling?" Soraya asked.

"Weird time to be enjoying something, Zayn. That guy's lying and someone has a gun." Volkan clicked his tongue. "I say we dip after he says what he's got to say. With all of these people here, someone's going to rat us out if we do something. Police."

"It's all good," Zayn answered, still watching Alfonso with his arms in the air. "We won't be doing anything. Trust me."

But Volkan didn't have the same vibe. He stepped in front of Zayn and grabbed his shirt with both hands, and if he wanted, he could have lifted Zayn off the ground because he was two-three inches taller and physically stronger. "That's not enough for me, Zayn. Explain why you're so calm when someone has a gun up there. I told you that I don't blindly follow." He locked eyes with Zayn. Neither would look away. "Never have and never will."

Soraya raised an arm to try and diffuse the situation but admittedly felt the same way.

Zayn then kneed Volkan in the chest and simultaneously slid both of his hands in between Volkan's arms to break the hold. Within that moment, Zayn freed himself and instantly straightened his posture. Self-defense had been standard training while in his required military service, and since then, Zayn had always practiced two to three times a week for muscle memory.

"The guy with the gun, I told him to do that," Zayn explained. "So relax. We're not doing anything except watching and leaving in the middle of the night like assassins." Zayn grinned. "Enjoy the show. Alfonso is part of the politics and the lies. A snake in the grass."

"He knows who killed your father?" Volkan asked, one eyebrow raised.

"He definitely knows something about it," Zayn answered.

Volkan nodded. "Okay. We're good here." He smiled. "You can keep everyone else in the dark, but not us." He pointed at himself and Soraya. "Don't forget that."

"I don't." Zayn nodded at Soraya, who returned the gesture with relief as her two friends didn't start fighting each other in public.

"There he is!" someone shouted.

"You can see him!"

"We're going to call the police!"

The one with the gun upstairs showed himself. The man with the addiction and a crowd for his introduction, Client 47. He pressed the barrel of the pistol into the back of Alfonso's head, forcing him to lean forward over the railings, almost a ninety degree angle. He laughed. He scanned the room. Then he pushed against Alfonso's head. "Talk!"

"Okay! Okay!" Alfonso kept his hands straight extended away from him. "My cousin, Sabrina, works under the person who was involved in Captain Salem's death. All I heard was that the Captain had something that someone wanted. I don't know who that someone is or what they wanted. That's the truth!" Alfonso burst into tears. "I swear!"

"Thanks for being honest," Client 47 said. He stepped to the side and let Alfonso lean back and away from the second floor railings, nearly out of sight, likely wiping the tears off his own face. "You see, if you're honest from the start, you won't be labeled a liar." Client 47 spoke to the crowd below. No smile. No grin. No emotion in his eyes. "A liar must always keep track of their next lie or they'll stumble when speaking. Don't be like him, petty humans."

Client 47 turned and faced Alfonso. Whispers about being called humans arose from the crowd. People asking why he spoke in a weird way. Questions about what would happen next.

"As for you," Client 47 continued, back towards everyone on the first floor. "A liar would get their hand cut off in the times of old. In your day and age, if you have money, you can buy yourself out of punishment." An eerie laugh and cold breeze swept through the house, as if a storm was happening outside and as if the doors were open. But no doors were open. The backyard's sliding entrance was closed. The front door locked. "Yet the bloodhounds cannot be shaked. Your time has come, human. Feast I shall." That same gentle wind turned violent and ripped through everyone in the house, hats flew, dresses and jackets flung up and nearly lifted people off of the ground.

A gun shot ended it all.

A body hit the ground. Screams and shouts followed.

Zayn and friends watched.

Client 47 then turned and faced the crowd. "Time to cover your eyes, humans. I know you all have a weak stomach." He raised the pistol up and pressed it against the side of his skill. He stood a foot or two away from the railings.

Zayn focused his attention on Roqaya, who had glanced at him and heeded Client 47's advice. Zayn pointed at his eyes and then at hers. He hoped she wouldn't look away, wouldn't see what was about to happen, a sight some people would never be able to forget. The pistol fired. What sounded like everyone in the house yelled. Shoes stomped in all directions. Shoving ensued. Chaos unfolded under the pool of blood from the second floor which dripped like a stream of red water.

Zayn and Roqaya continued to hold eye contact as Client 47 fell and crashed into the marble floor.

A guest of wind hit Zay. Frigid cold spreading across his chest. Then it vanished. "The wicked are watching . . ." Omayra's voice trailed. "Keep your actions calculated, young Zayn. Decisions swift. Motive unclear. And my appetite sated."

Her laughed filled the room for only one person to hear, for only Zayn to heed her thirst.