But the darkness rebelled. Evil went forth and sought more, consuming and corrupting with spiteful fury. The light quivered and waned but did not relinquish to the darkness.
He woke in pain. Touched the throbbing on his forehead and felt the brittle flakes of dried blood. He winced and tried to rise. A new, sharp pain in his ribs forced him to remain on the ground. He raised his shirt. A deep black was blossoming over his ribs.
John searched the room for something that would tell of his situation. Three thin beams of light shone through three holes in the wall opposite the door. All else was dark.
He heard voices shouting down what seemed like a hallway outside his door. They were approaching. Suddenly the door burst open. Three men came in. The first two were yelling and immediately rushed toward him kicking him and screaming at him furiously. The third figure, taller and thinner than the two aggressors, appeared to try and halt their assault with words spoken almost soothingly. The two shorter men ceased their violence with words that did not need translating. The one with the longer beard spit at him landing a glob of amber on John’s cheek. John wiped his face and began to cry softly. The two men began to chuckle then laugh before exiting the room.
The tall man stood in the doorway after the two shorter men had departed. He tilted his head and stared at John. Though he had seemingly ended the violence, John felt fear looking at his dark eyes glinting in the meager light of the room.
“‘tkelam A’arabi?”
John knew enough Arabic to answer ‘no.’
“As I assumed,” the man responded. “Americans.” He approached John slowly. “You know, my father once told me, the mark of a great civilization is a people who have no need to learn a language other than their own.”
John stared back, unsure how or if to respond.
“Why are you in Tunisia?”
“I, uh,” John swallowed. A pain in his throat was exacerbated by an intense thirst. He coughed. The tall man tossed a nearly empty plastic water bottle to him. “I, uh, I am just passing through.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I, uh, I just wanted to visit Tunisia.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
John looked up at him, puzzled.
“Who’s Olivia?”
At the mention of her name, John felt a flush of anger and tried to stand. The pain in his side combined with his new wounds made it nearly impossible.
“Where is it?”
“Your book? It is safe. No one else here speaks or reads English.”
“Give it to me. It’s mine.”
“You are mine, therefore what was yours is now mine.”
“Why am I here? Where’s Kabil? Is he one of you? Who are you?”
“If Kabil was your driver, he is not here. Don’t judge him too harshly. He is poor, and we are not. You fetched a good price.”
John’s face twisted in anger and pain at the betrayal.
“As for who I am, my name is Tariq. And you are John.”
“Are you a terrorist?”
Tariq tilted his head again. He stepped closer to John. Close enough for John to see him narrow his eyes at the question. “A terrorist? Do you even know what that means? To bring terror, to use terror as an instrument of war and conquest. To weaponize fear. Have you not seen the news of the last decades? Iraq? Palestine? Afghanistan? The countless, innocent members of the umma your country have destroyed. Women, children. You think they do not fear? You think your actions have not brought terror into the hearts of my mother, my children. You speak to me of terror?” Tariq’s eyes were incandescent with rage. Like molten onyx they seethed in a slow churning.
“I, uh, I apologize. I’m disoriented and confused. I don’t even know where I am.”
Tariq exhaled slowly and straightened his demeanor.
“You are near the Algerian border. In Jabal Chaambi. There is no escape from here, for were you to slip past our guards and seek the rescue of the Tunisian military, they would likely kill you thinking you are a spy. And if you escaped their tanks, you would be in the middle of the desert for miles where you would die of thirst. There is no one who will rescue you. There is no one who even knows you are here. You will die here.”
“So, why am I here then?”
“To testify.”
“Testify? What does that mean?”
“You will testify to the greatness of Allah.”
“How, what does that mean?”
“I will kill you to expunge from the earth yet another evil aberration and proclaim the greatness of Allah and his people over the vileness and decay that your people have brought to the world.”
John sat back. He sighed. And then, he laughed. A heavy, earnest laugh that pained his ribs.
Tariq’s puzzled brow returned to anger at this response.
“Why do you laugh?”
“I’m sorry, Tariq, it’s just, it’s the irony.” He laughed more, harder, tears spilling from his eyes.
“Irony?”
“Yes, you see, for the last year, I have been running to or from what, I wasn’t sure. My heart has ached with angst, unsure or unwilling to name what I actually sought. But thanks to you, I finally know what it is and what’s more, I think you may be the only one willing to give it to me.”
“And what’s that?”
“My death.”
So good. I need more!
Ooh. Captivating.