SHADOW ANGEL

Beginnings

 Beginnings are always the hardest, like the beginning of life in labor, and the beginning of death in pain . 

The beginning is terrifying; it makes you plan and plan and plan, and when the crucial moment comes, you go back to planning and procrastinating. You must remember that time when you were frozen in front of the water trying to jump into it, and how you hesitated then as you stood like a child watching your face on the sparkling surface and the soles of your feet burning in the sand, so you fidgeted with your half-naked body, begging for the moment when you would have the courage to jump and the cold water would hit you... It is the beginning, no matter how simple and easy the period that follows is.

It is the horror of beginnings that will always be gripping.

The problem is not in this poor man you see now chained, this pale, screaming, sweating face that has reached its peak of signs of panic, that was not the beginning of it, nor is the problem in the vast square of Ra’nan that extends for more than forty acres of wasteland filled with scrap cars or the train track that cuts the square in two, shaking the entity of silence every few minutes.

So where is the problem?

Let's describe the scene in detail:

A thin man in his forties, tightly handcuffed to a car seat, blood oozing around his wrists and feet from the handcuffs that were tied with absolute sadism, the heat of the sun from above is merciless, and the train track from below radiates its heat like the breath of a dragon, and this hellish scene is only completed, in addition to his continuous screaming, by the train approaching on the horizon, wailing in determination as if the angel of death had come to whisper in his ear.

The terrified man tries with all his might to break free, to no avail. The monster approaches, a few meters away and the iron wheels will make dough out of human flesh, and the victim... Adam Wagih.

Yes, his name is Adam Wagih.

Remember this name well, we may need it soon.

Now, let me tell you the story from the beginning.

I introduce myself:

My name is Adam, Adam Wagih.

Yes, exactly as you heard.

That idiot wasn't actually me.

How did I fail? Why did I fail? I honestly don't know, and I also don't know why one should have such winding paths in life?

A stubborn and unbalanced destiny since the beginning of creation.

I see him as a sadistic emperor sitting on his throne on a high mountain, his eyes lighting up with enjoyment whenever he inhales the dust rising from the bottom of the slope, the dust resulting from the marathon of crowding and cohesion of human beings. There is no drawn path, but rather crooked paths and waves that crash one after the other to destroy spheres and spheres as if they were lines on a blank page made by the pen of a five-year-old child suffering from insanity.

I will tell you what happened to me in the last twenty days of my life until the appointed day, the day I spent my life.

Handcuffs

My head hurts, my eyes are heavy, the pain is unforgiving to my head, numbness in my extremities, fog fills this place on the threshold of unconsciousness, I close my eyes and open them.

fog..

I'd do it again.

There the fog slowly melted from the center of my vision, creeping out to the edges, allowing a distant star to send a dim light into my eyes. I nodded to the side and saw it: Who is that? A ghost? A ghost sitting in the corner of the room?

My head is heavy as a stone.

The star is gradually approaching, or perhaps it is increasing in size to become the sun! Gradually the vapor melts from the wall of vision like snow on the horizon of which the sun appears, the dark colors become oily, then tinged with reality. The sun shrinks so that I see it as a shining lamp on the ceiling of the room.

The room! The place! Where am I? This isn’t my room?! Medical devices connected by wires like an octopus hunting its prey amidst a loud noise that found its way to my ears.

The ghost's features are now clearer, someone leaning on his elbows on his knees with intertwined fingers and looking at me intently.

I said some words that I didn't understand, and they fell delirium from my mouth onto the pillow.

This is a hospital then?! I've regained consciousness now .. It's time to get up.

I tried, but I was pulled back by the handcuffs that bound my hands to the bed.

Handcuffs! Why?

The ghost moves towards me and mumbles:

- Thank God you are safe.

His voice sounds like a knife stabbing my eardrum.

The light still hurts my eyes. I squint to see this bald, gray-haired man with a large face, sharp, heavy features, a nose, and thick lips, topped by sharp eyes. He put his hand in his coat pocket to pull out a small tape recorder. He settled down next to my bed, then said:

- Relax, don't try to move . 

My consciousness is present, but my memory is still lost in the depths of obscurity.

I mumbled in a weak voice:

- Who are you? And why the chains? 

The reply came in a tone that suggested interest, the cold features of which revealed its falseness to me:

 I will tell you everything, but don’t stress yourself out .

I mustered my energy as if I were extracting oil from the bottom of the ocean? saying:

- Who are you? .

 My name is Nasr, an investigations officer. 

-  Investigations! Why? What happened? Why am I here? 

He raised his hand and there was a nurse next to me - my consciousness had not yet detected her - she left a tube she was treating him with and ran out.

 Dr. Adam, you don’t remember anything? 

I looked at my handcuffs, then looked at his sharp face in confusion, Remember what?

This guy wants me to remember something, and judging by the handcuffs, it looks like it's something major.

I searched my closed mind like a city under siege, trying to dig.

Birds of prey digging through the corpse of my motionless memory, leaving a luminous hole at the end of a long, dark tunnel, like the light a fetus sees at the end of the womb, struggling to emerge for birth. I hold on to this hole, trying to break into it, burying my head inside. The dim light seeping in from behind this hole suggests the sun of truth. I want to go there, but the darkness attracts me. I turn my head until my eyes fall on the window glass, to see my pale features.

This face, this damn face.

I didn't look at my face long enough to remember everything.

Oh my god!

Everything suddenly fills my mind like a balloon about to burst.

Fire..

The big fall..

Corpses everywhere..

My mind can't take it.

I tried to get out of the restraints, so he came closer to me and tried to calm me down. I jumped up and screamed, saying:

 I want to go now, get those chains off me .

He tried to calm me down, but he failed as I tried to break free, so he shouted like a ghoul, saying:

 You’re not going anywhere, and if you don’t calm down now I won’t care about the press or anyone else. Maybe my words are clear.

The conversation stopped me for a moment, and I narrowed my eyes to understand. Ah, I understand, I understand, but he won't understand, and there's no time to explain. I looked into his eyes and said:

 Let me go; there is a massacre, a massacre .

Here he approached me with interest and murmured, saying:

-  Massacre? 

Yes , a massacre is about to happen. So, I beg you to release me .

He replied, saying:

- Release you?! What nonsense are you talking about?

Here the begging began:

 let me go for GOD sake .

As if he had not heard anything, he added in the same calm, provocative tone:

 What massacre are you talking about? How will you prevent it? 

 No one will be able to stop her, these people are dead for sure . 

 What do you mean you can’t stop it and at the same time you want me to let you go ? You mean you’re going to kill those too ? 

- Kill them! What are you talking about? 

He replied impatiently:

 Well, where will this massacre take place and how will it happen? 

Dozens, maybe hundreds , will die because of me. I don’t know where or how, but they will die just like those people before , who also died because of me . 

-  There you go . 

I shouted nervously:

 They died because of me, I didn’t kill them. There’s a fucking gap between the two sentences.

He paused for a moment, then put his hand to his face. Before he could open his mouth, I said to him:

 Before you make any assumptions, I haven’t killed a bug since I was born. I’m tied up here like a sheep. How in the world am I supposed to kill all of these ? 

He didn't digest a word from I said. Policemen often fall into this fallacy, the fallacy of searching for the truth backwards. As soon as they see someone walk past, they say, Well, that's a criminal, now let's find out what he did. They don't realize that there is a basic principle of any successful logical thinking, and it is summed up in two words: Don't assume. Accordingly, he said coldly:

 Okay, I'll let you rest now and come back in an hour .

I shouted at him, saying:

- Damn you !  .

But he did not care, but his response came as a harsh silence, turning his back to me and leaving, closing the door of the room in my face.

A heavy hour passed like an eternity, and then he returned carrying a cup of black coffee.

My eyes narrowed as I saw him talking to someone outside the room. I could only see the tip of his shoulder, and he had some rank. I don't know why I was so slow to comprehend, but the bottom line was that there was some sort of guard on my room, so even if I somehow got free and ran out, I might find a bullet lodged in the back of my head.

My God!! These people allowed themselves to think they had caught a hardened criminal.

The bald man broke into this scene and pulled me out of my reverie. He started looking around for a seat while mumbling words, most of which were insults to hospitals that do not provide enough seats to sit on.

Finally, he found a seat, pulled it over to sit next to me, took a sip from the cup, then closed his eyes in ecstasy.

Then he looked at me calmly, then leaned over and grabbed my free wrist, then placed the hot cup on my forehead. I denounced, saying:

- What is the hill-? .

He replied coldly, grabbing my wrist:

- "The coffee is very hot. Please don’t shake and keep calm so that it doesn’t fall on your face.

Let's start over, you didn't kill anyone, there is murder."

I interrupted him nervously, saying:

- Massacre .

He accepted the amendment and continued:

 Well, massacre, and you're not the one who did it this time either .

I blinked nervously, my neck muscles stiffening. The heat was unbearable, and the bastard was intoxicated. He continued:

- And you want to stop this massacre? 

You’re not listening carefully to what I’m saying, it’s already too late, I want to prevent what might happen next . 

He came close to my face until the smell of coffee filled his breath hit me, then he said:

 Let’s assume that I believe what you’re saying and want to help. What then? Should I call you a cap and let you go? And my bosses, what should I tell them? If I want to help you, you have to help me back. Give me something, any evidence to support what you’re saying, so that I can make them believe you.

I wasn't listening, my focus was on the hot cup on my forehead and my neck, which was starting to twitch.

He continued, saying:

 You leave me alone in the rain without an umbrella. Come on, you are innocent and I believe you, but you have to give me something .. As a gesture of goodwill from me.. .. .

He said it while lifting the cup from above my head, and my limbs relaxed.

What a predicament! It is like the predicament of someone who woke up from a nap in a speeding car to find the driver sleeping next to him and the car heading towards the abyss and he did not have time to wake him up so they both died, or like the predicament of a plane that crashed for some reason with a technician on board who was not lucky enough to reach the cockpit, so he burned with those who burned in the wreckage.

These people we never heard of and no one will ever know they existed, but what they felt in their last moments is what is stirring in my soul now.

In my eyes is the look of a boy whose car flew off the top of a mountain, the look of a man staring out the window of a plane falling from the sky, in their hands the key to salvation, but they did not have the chance to use it.

 You won't make me beg you, time is running out, please. 

He calmly returned to sit on his chair, and after hundreds of years had passed, he muttered, saying:

I will be clear with you , so listen carefully to these words. I am not the type you think I am . 

 What kind? 

He turned back, his eyes not leaving mine:

The kind you see in movies, these ridiculous clichés about the officer who spends his whole life chasing criminals and doesn’t return home until dawn, or who stays up for days without sleep, feeding on cigarettes and coffee until he catches a gang leader . 

He leaned towards me again and said:

I am one of those people who like to come home early every day. Yes, to see my wife and have dinner with my children. Not out of laziness, because if I were lazy and careless, I would not have taken over the case of the famous billionaire Adam Wagih, but because I am good at completing any task in the shortest time. This is my law that I pant after, and woe to whoever prolongs or delays, and blessed is he who comforts me and comforts himself.

Oh, how eloquent that bastard was! I wanted to tear off my chains and smash his teeth.

 Enough of that noise you’re making. Whoever made those handcuffs must have known for sure that this trivial movement you’re making won’t help.

Here a familiar face entered the room. It was Imad, the old doctor with his peninsula-like baldness and his round, full face, preceded by his belly, which he leaned against next to the bed.

Nasr stood up until he was behind him, and Imad said to me while examining the devices with expert eyes:

- Dr. Adam, thank God you are safe.

Here, Nasr leaned on the doctor and said:

- Let's talk outside .

The doctor nodded, then smiled at me, patted me on the shoulder, and said:

 I’m around. Call me and I’ll be there .

Nasr glanced at the papers that Imad had hung on my bed, then went out and closed the door.

A few minutes passed before the door opened and a person I knew well entered the room.

It is Safwat, the ascetic, someone who has witnessed the horrors of the story since its beginning.

He was carrying a bouquet of delicate roses behind which he was hiding a syringe with a tube containing a deadly black liquid.

After making sure that no one was watching, he threw the flowers to the ground, raised the syringe to my face, and prepared to inject the deadly liquid into my neck.

****

After Imad flipped through some papers related to the medical tests, he looked at the impatient officer with half an eye and muttered:

" His vitals look good. I'd be happy to question him