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I sank deeper into the surrender where it was soft and suffocating, enveloping and numbing.
Just like the scalpel had been nullified by anaesthetic, my breaking was hidden by my abdication of everything that I knew and loved and ever was.
I’m nothing.
And it was liberating.
“I’m whatever you want me to be.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“Who is Nerida Taylor?”
“Who would you like her to be, baba?”
“Are you in love with Nerida Taylor?”
“Do you want me to be in love with her?”
“Good boy.” He kissed my cheeks. “Good boy. I’m so proud of you.”
I didn’t react.
There was no need.
I was gone.
I was reprogrammed.
Fixed.
Free.
Standing, Cem said, “Tonight, on the phone to Neri, I gave her my absolute word that Aslan Avci was dead. I told her I’d made damn sure of it. Was I right to tell her that?”
Slowly, as if someone else pulled my strings and made me move, I answered, “Aslan Avci is dead.”
“And who are you?” He crossed his arms, his eyes searching mine as if still believing a part of me would fight.
“I am yours.”
He groaned as if I couldn’t have given him a better gift.
“Unstrap him,” he snapped.
The guards shot forward, unbuckling the leather and releasing me.
All it had taken was one last electrocution.
And it was done.
Giving me a smile, Cem headed toward the open exit. Disappearing for a moment, he came back in with a long, polished stick. Holding it horizontally in two hands, he presented it to me like a sword to a knight. “This is for you. Today, you deserve it. I’m so happy to finally have you back, Aslan. After almost three decades of searching and hoping, you are finally back where you belong.”
Using the arm rests of the awful chair, I stood and braced my lean belly to balance on one leg. My black track pants hung off narrow hips, tied in a knot below my left knee. My strength had vanished thanks to the darkness and fevers. I would have to build a better core so I could compensate for the lack of a second foot, but I was steady enough as I reached out and took the cane my father offered.
I didn’t speak as I ran my fingers over the dark polished wood before studying the complex carving of a lion roaring and its flowing mane offering the perfect grip for my palm.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Like you,” Cem whispered. “My beautiful boy.”
Slowly, I pressed the metal end against the stone floor of the cave and braced against it.
I hopped forward, relying on the cane more than I normally would after the months of illness.
The new scar on my arm twinged as I balled my hand. The pulled-together flesh tight where once there was a tattoo.
That ink was gone now.
Just like the man who loved a siren was gone.
I was empty.
Silent.
Nothing.
“Shall we go home?” Cem asked with tears in his eyes.
I nodded. “Thank you for the gift, baba.”
He embraced me and kissed my cheek. “Thank you for remembering who you are. I know you’ll feel a little strange and empty right now. You’ll be hungry for new thoughts and longing for truths that you can trust, but all I ask is patience. Those answers will come. You are a clean slate, Aslan. You will learn who you were meant to be with time, and it will be my honour to teach you.”
Looping his arm around my waist, he pulled me forward. “Now, lean on me. I know you haven’t been well and you’re weak. Allow me to take care of you.”
I didn’t say a word.
I merely let him support me as the click of my new cane echoed, and the shuffle of my hop ricocheted around the cave that was no longer my cell.
I let him guide me from the catacombs, turned my back on my pain, and left a trail of submission behind me.
I was his perfectly disciplined pet.
I was his mind-blank son, and finally...I was home.
Chapter Forty-Five
*
Aslan
*
(Heart in Galician: Corazón)
*
Present...
BLOOD, BRAINS, AND CHIPS OF BONE went flying.
The gun kicked hard in my hand, the sharp scent of gunpowder clouding around me.
The thud of his corpse as he fell.
The shatter of his skull as he died.
Who was he?
I didn’t care.
What had he done to deserve this?
It didn’t matter.
My father had told me to shoot him...so I did.
“You did well, Aslan.” Cem grinned, holding out his hand. “Now, give me back the gun.”
Instantly, I spun the handle and passed it to him. Ten guards surrounded us, keeping Cem and me safe from any enemies. The dark warehouse had minimal lighting on, pretending to be a disused factory instead of the sorting and packing headquarters where shipments of pure cocaine came in to be weighed, bagged, then given to mules to carry worldwide or sold to local gangs to distribute.
Ever since my breaking two years ago, I’d been slowly shown behind the curtains of Cem’s operations. For most of my fourth year with him, Cem treated me like the lord he said I was. He flew me overseas in his private plane and smuggled me past border officials thanks to obscene wealth and power. He did what he promised, taking me to his estates and boltholes, revealing every mansion and palace.
