What could possibly have motivated him to act with such brutality? Surely he could not be doing it for the power and the money. He had more than enough of both. He could not be craving more. Aristo never saw him as being the selfish and ruthlessly ambitious kind.
Could a person change so much or even hide his true nature so well for so long? After all this years of being like a father to him, how could he now have become this cold-blooded machine? How could he have fallen so low, if he ever was the person Aristo thought he was? He no longer knew him.
What reason could he possibly have to hate this family so much as to resort to this? Full-blown anger took him over completely and had to be expelled or it would consume him. With his next outburst Aristo gave full vocal vent to the fury coursing through his veins.
‘Iraklios, you are insane. That’s your sister you are holding a gun to. Your sister. Stop this madness and let her go. Why are you doing this Iraklios? Why? What, the hell, do you have to gain from this?’
Iraklios ignored Aristo. His stare hardened. He tightened his grip on Elli. His resolve was immune to Aristo’s pathetic attempt at persuasion. He was in no mood to allow Elli the right of appeal.
Andrew, meanwhile, picked up the gun Iraklios threw in his direction. With Elli firmly in his grip, loath to relinquish her, knowing he had the upper hand, Iraklios gave Aristo a sardonic smile that rushed to blacken and disfigure his lips and colour his face and his cheeks, a colour that, sadly, clashed with his complexion and attire.
Aristo had to fight the urge to laugh that was rapidly rising like bile inside him looking for an outlet into the fresh air, an irresistible urge to laugh in the face of adversity, of this unfolding tragedy, this travesty that he could not stop, the deadly spell that he felt powerless to break.
Iraklios’ face was transformed into a grotesque mask of hatred, fiery sparks shooting out of his eyes. He became a man possessed, a man those present could no longer recognise, a man obsessed with his twisted principles and ideas which he would not allow anyone to question.
A madness, so far hidden deep inside, took over. Aristo didn’t know Iraklios had it in him to be so ruthless, so brutal, and, yes, so mad.
Andrew who had so far kept everybody at bay with his gun suddenly turned and shot Iraklios in the head. Death came instantly. Iraklios’ arm holding Elli fell limp and she was released.
Iraklios collapsed to the floor. Iraklios had caught the shift in Andrew’s stance, the change in his demeanour. He suddenly knew what Andrew was about to do and he fired a shot at him just before Andrew’s bullet smashed into his brain.
Andrew had no time to react, because he was not expecting Iraklios’ bullet. As Iraklios was collapsing to the floor, his bullet tore through Andrew’s heart. He was dead before he touched the floor.
Elli and Katerina, Vasilis and Giorgos and John… they were all waiting for Aristo. They called to him. But the tunnel was calling to him too. He turned away from the tunnel, but he kept looking back at it and its openings bursting with goodies and promises of other worlds and great adventures, the tunnel pulsating like a living organism, drawing Aristo in and making his head vibrate with the excitement and the temptation of it.
Aristo was tempted by that tunnel. Suddenly he ran for it, as if driven by an invisible force, like an addict at the mercy of a drug, a desperate need he could not fight, because he felt he had no hope of winning that losing battle.
Aristo had to try again, one more opening, and then another and another, until there were none left. He was ready to take the plunge into a vicious, probably without end or escape, round of exploration and new self-discovery. But then he came to his senses. Further exploration would have to wait for another time.
Aristo’s adventures were only just beginning, or so he thought that was what he wanted. Reality and responsibility and his forthcoming marriage to Katerina and the prospect of family life was another matter and were all mistresses that beckoned him over with not exactly the most subtle of guiles. Aristo had to make a choice. He could not be a child anymore. He had made his decision.
They all went closer to Andrew’s body. Elli bent down and lowered his eyelids. Andrew’s last-minute intervention and change of heart absolved him in Elli’s eyes. Leaning over him she whispered ‘I forgive you, my love. Goodbye.’
She stood up to her full height and looked at Aristo and Vasilis.
‘Aristo and Vasilis, Andrew was your father.’ Aristo and Vasilis stared in disbelief at their mother, at Andrew’s body and back at their mother. They were trying to process this information, but the shock had not been properly digested and was not allowing them to do so.
CHAPTER 65
Limassol, Cyprus
Present day
On their way out Aristo and Katerina decided to explore where the stairs they saw earlier halfway through the Castle-side tunnel led. Climbing the flight of stairs they found themselves in the courtyard of the Church of Ayia Napa.
Then they went back down and tried the other staircase. That led to the Holiest of Holies, the Ieron or sanctuary, behind the ikonostasis or templon, the marble screen that held icons and that separated the Ieron from the rest of the church. But enough games for one day. It was time to get out into the fresh air and a healthy dose of reality.
Aristo and Katerina left the Church of Ayia Napa behind. They stopped when around a corner they saw the most idyllic spectacle being enacted before them. It was a little park, next to a rock, with the sea calmly spreading away from them, comfortably flowing from land to a newly- painted landscape.
The park was not deserted. There was a mother there with a child. The child was trying to climb the ancient olive tree and the father was indulging him, giving him a slight push and a shove, encouraging his child to entertain the idea that he was a monkey or an adventurer like the ones the child had seen on television.
Aristo and Katerina entered the park and sat on a bench looking out to sea. Aristo had the vague sense of deja vu at the scene before his eyes. And then he remembered. It seemed so long ago now. The deformed freak of a dream entangled with a night-mare that he had a few months ago.
A sudden fear gripped him. The memory of the dark dream that ended that magical moment came back to him. Little did he know that this had been a recurring dream for a number of his ancestors going back to the time of Michael Symitzis in the 15 ^th century A.D.
Suddenly the child came to Katerina and wanted her to pick him up and sit him on her lap. She obliged at the same time that the child’s mother was calling him to her and apologising to Katerina.
The child seemed very content in Katerina’s arms and started to fall asleep sucking his thumb. Katerina smiled. The mother came close and she and Katerina shared a rare moment of the magic that is motherhood.
However much Aristo tried to conjure up that dream he had long ago, before he had met Katerina, he found, though, that he could only manage to remember the good part of it; he failed to do the same with its dark counterpart that thankfully eluded him. And then he understood: the foreboding he felt back then of a possible dark future for him and the woman in his life had now left him for good, because it now meant nothing.
Aristo with the help of his select group of good people had removed the threat and changed things, changed his life. He and Katerina would no doubt have lots of challenges ahead to test them, but at least they would face them together.
The foreboding was replaced by a sense of peace and tranquillity. For a brief precious moment it was just the two of them, in each other’s both comfortable and, at the same time, electrifying company, a one but dual-strand presence with its own distinct character, speaking with one voice. The outside world was left out in the cold, small and forgotten. Time had stopped for them.