Dark Days (Written Pictures #2) (25 page)

CHAPTER LVI – Timeless Arrival

Enclosed spaces had freaked Mela out ever since what she was now calling her first accident. It was no different now, sitting in a metal tube thousands of feet in the air. The turbulence on approach wasn’t helping either.

She loved the idea of flying but the process? No, not at all. Ever since the first accident, before every flight she wouldn’t sleep properly for days and when she did she had nightmares of being stuck in a metal tube.

Tightening her belt, Mela gripped an armrest. What a bitch of a flight it had been. As if being bounced around like being on some cheap rollercoaster wasn’t bad enough, she was stuck by the toilets. The constant procession of people up and down the aisle, knocking her seat or standing right next to her and talking as if they were in some flying fucking coffee shop meant she hadn’t slept much.

She knew the reason for hating it all of course, there wasn’t a day she didn’t think about it, even now. Being trapped in a car beside your dying brother would do that to you, and even counselling hadn’t helped.

“It’s ok, we’ll be on the ground soon,” offered a friendly steward, lightly touching her arm and fixing a plastic smile. Forcing a smile of her own and giving him a nod of appreciation at least for the gesture, Mela screwed her eyes tightly shut and willed it all to end.

Morally, she really was torn about doing this but it was what she needed to do. Kat hadn’t really put up much of an objection in the end anyway. For once there had been an assertiveness in Mela’s voice. That was good. When the plane had pushed back from the gate, she was still in two minds, such was her dilemma. Even now, she wasn’t sure whether to just turn around and get back on the plane.

Once she emerged from the terminal, there would be no going back. Someone had to come to Raven’s aid and fate had decided it would be Mela. She slid a hand into the side pocket of her bag and the feel of the collar inside reassured her. She would carry on.

== ~ ==

Finally, the plane touched down - or in Mela’s opinion, slammed – then hurtled too fast along the runway before slowing to taxi to a gate and nudging at last to a halt. After what seemed an age, the seatbelt lights pinged off and the passengers sprung up to retrieve their baggage. All except one.

Mela stayed in her seat as the hand luggage melee erupted around her, breathing deeply to try to prepare for what she knew lie ahead. Her head throbbed from a mix of lack of sleep, dehydration and the bruising that was still fresh from her accident – she would have to take something for that.

“Miss, you need to disembark now,” smiled the friendly steward, touching her shoulder. Looking up, Mela saw the last of the other passengers turn at the end of the aisle and file out of the exit door.

Nodding, she quickly scooped up her things, stuffing them into her bag before throwing it over her shoulder.

Hurrying down the aisle, she passed through the door and onto the sky bridge. She was the last of the passengers and tagged onto the back of the line as it concertinaed, waiting to clear immigration. Shuffling forward, Mela was lost in her thoughts but once safely through passport control, she retrieved the last bag left on the carousel.

This was it. There would be no turning back once she made those last few steps through the one way door. An image of Jade flashed in her head. In a way, this was for her. She shouldn’t be subjected to the curse that was Mela anymore. Come too close? Fate would find a way to fuck you. Just as it had cost her brother his life, now Jade lay in hospital too. That was her, fucking cursed and people should just steer clear but she wasn’t strong enough to be alone. Only Raven had been tough enough and taking a first step forward, Mela knew she was doing the right thing.

She headed out through the green lane toward the throng of meeters and greeters who milled around the airport arrivals hall. No turning back, stride forward, one foot in front of the other. Atta girl.

It was easy to spot who she was looking for. A swarthy, black-suited man in impenetrable sunglasses, he sported a growth of stubble out of step with the cost of his suit. She caught his eye immediately, a woman travelling alone, little luggage, but after glancing at the picture in his hand, the man dismissed her.

Different face. She was irrelevant and he looked over and past her, straining to see into the now empty baggage hall.

Mela knew though. While she wasn’t the one expected by the man, she approached and stood resolutely in front of him until he finally deigned to look down. A sardonic grin greeted his gaze. “Hi there, glad you could make it,” Mela chirped, tilting her head to the side. She was met by a grunt and a strong hand on her shoulder to push her aside.

“Hey! Don’t touch unless you want to buy,” she shot, stepping back into his eyeline.

“Move, girl!” snapped the imposing man in heavily accented English, face turned squarely toward her now, his eyes still hidden.

“After you, big boy.” Mela’s falsely confident retort was instant as she pushed her bags toward him. “The name’s Mela, Jade couldn’t make it.”

The large man hesitated, something clearly clicking in recognition. Looking at the picture again, the note scrawled in Arabic on the side gave him the flight number and the name of the lady to collect as Jade.

“Shall we go or stand here all day flirting?” Mela bounced her bags up and down as a hint.

With a grunt, he turned and strode off at pace, a single word drifting after him, “Follow.”

“Guess I’ll carry my own bags then.” Dropping them back to her side she hurried after the man whose stride seemed to eat up the ground to an elevator. “No tip for you then, fuck face,” she added under her breath, not sure whether she wanted him to hear or not.

When the doors slid open, the two stepped inside the dirty compartment and turned to look blankly at the door. Mela started to hum, contorting her face to tease her reflection in the brushed steel. “Hi Mela, nice to meet you. How are you? How was your flight? Welcome to Hellhole-istan,” she mocked. “Nice sunglasses by the way, if a bit Miami Vice. Were you expecting sun this year or next?”

The man remained unmoved, staring straight ahead until the doors opened again. He strode out, with Mela close behind. “You know, a little common courtesy wouldn’t go amiss,” she called after him, struggling to keep up.

Threading between rows of parked cars, the man eventually stopped beside a large black sedan, a Mercedes Benz. Mela was glad it hadn’t been far. The bags were awkward and her body buzzed through lack of sleep. Flying always left her parched and whatever she drank never seemed quite enough, but she never took on too much in case it meant using the vertical coffin they called an aeroplane toilet. That thought reminded her how much she needed to pee. She hoped it wouldn’t be a long drive; the conversation would probably kill her.

Mela’s lethargic mind wandered. She had never been to this part of the world before, probably couldn’t even find it on a map and going through the airport she could see why it never featured in Lonely Planet’s ‘must see’ places. Shabby would’ve been a compliment, functional an aspiration and the crush of people in the arrivals hall made it all the worse for the absence of air conditioning. Still, the car would at least have a/c. She couldn’t wait to sit down again but as Mela stepped toward the now open door a sudden, a powerful grip threw her sideways and a hand on her back pushed her over the rear wing.

Winded, she couldn’t protest as she felt her ankles kicked apart and large hands run along her jeans. She was being patted down and while it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, she wondered whether it was a standard form of welcome in this part of hell.

Slowly the man’s hands moved up her leg, clenching every so often to check for concealed weapons, or at least she hoped that was what he was doing.

“I’ve just got off a fucking plane you dick, what do you expect to find?” Her question was met with a grip on the back of her neck which held her cheek harder against the cold metal of the car.

His hand edged up her thigh, rotating from out to in until it reached the apex of her legs where it rubbed along her crotch.

“In my part of the world we make do with a handshake, perhaps a peck on the cheek if we’re really feeling bohemian.” Mela twisted her head around and flashed a smile. “Nice to meet you too by the way.” She was attempting a confidence she didn’t feel.

Silence. The hand passed over her buttock, fingers pressing through her skinny jeans to run up the crack of her ass. Objections spiced with one liners ran through her head but as his hand moved further up and slipped under her leather jacket, for once she kept quiet.

Reaching her breast, his strong, clammy hand first cupped it then ran underneath her bra, pushing at the cotton of her white vest top as he explored her body fully. Trying to disconnect, Mela thought of a couple of exes who could learn a thing or two from him.

The hand went under her armpit then crossed her back and repeated the process on the other side, running slowly and comprehensively down her body. It was demeaning to be so completely explored in public and she blushed as a woman walked by, but the woman didn’t so much as glance their way – did that mean this was
normal
?

At her ankle now, he fished under her jeans and tugged down the zip on her black ankle boot, probing around her foot with a finger before zipping it back up. He moved to her other leg and mirrored the process.

Mela felt the pressure on her neck finally ease and then end. “Inside,” instructed the man, standing by the rear door of the car now, ready to shut it behind her.

Mela straightened. She was more than a foot shorter than he was but she felt the need to demonstrate she wasn’t fazed by what was happening so, nodding to her left she pointed. “You’ve got a face print on your paintwork, you’ll need to buff that out.” And with a smile, she dived into the backseat to have the door slammed heavily behind her.

== ~ ==

The journey was as short as Mela hoped it would be, the car threading quickly through the traffic to an expensive looking suburb no more than fifteen minutes away on the very edge of the city. The car turned into a driveway at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac, barely slowing as large steel gates swung silently open.

The airport certainly didn’t hint toward this and Mela craned her neck to look out the tinted glass at the magnificent house in the distance. Even hell had its better districts apparently.

The car moved slowly up a sweeping driveway to eventually pull up at the front entrance. The large man uncoiled himself from the driver’s seat and swung open the back door. Mela emerged with her bags. “Why thank you, Jeeves,” she said with a wink. “Take the rest of the day off why don’t you.” She wasn’t quite bold enough to add, “You dick”.

The door to the house swung inward and Mela strode inside. Peering round it she spied the otherwise unseen doorman. “Need to pee. Now!” Directed toward a nearby door, Mela dropped her bags and hurried to it.

== ~ ==

Washing her hands, Mela paused to scoop a handful of water from the basin and smooth it over her face before leaning to look in the mirror. “What the hell are you doing, girl?” she muttered, then stretched her jaw and widened her eyes to try to wake up. She had to do this - that was all she needed to know. Discussion over. She allowed the water to drain.

The doorman led the way. The house’s decorations and furnishings just screamed of money, if not entirely of good taste. It was an easier pace than at the airport and she was glad of that. This time her bags were carried for her – things were looking up.

The doorman paused to knock lightly at a deeply varnished oak door, tilting his head to listen for the allowance to enter before taking the handle and sweeping the door open with a bow. With a deep, composing breath, Mela took her bags from him and stepped inside.

It was a smaller room than she expected, made to seem smaller still by endless volumes of books running floor to ceiling behind glass in tall oak cases. A man was sitting at a desk and looked up over half glasses as Mela strode inside and dumped her bags in the middle of a deeply piled rug.

“What is the meaning of this? Who are you?” The man rose from his chair.