"Do you remember what happened when I caught you smoking?" Zaheer asked, casually inspecting the four burn marks along Farhana's spine.

"Yes." Riaz's eyes were drawn to his sister. Her breaths were ragged and pained and her white vest was already soaked through from her sweat. He was hurting her more than he had ever hurt her before and Riaz knew that this would be the one to break her.

"What happened?"

"You lit my cigarette," he swiped his tongue over his dried lips, trying desperately to contain the bile rising up from his stomach, "And I ate it." His voice wavered as he recalled the feeling of the ash falling down his throat and the way it burnt his skin from the inside out. He could barely keep it down, his body rejecting the toxic substance but he couldn't spit it out. His body was terrified of the object he was ingesting but his mind was far more terrified of his father to listen.

"Do you think it worked?" Zaheer asked, taking a puff of his own cigarette before he brought it down on his daughter's spine once again, ignoring her hoarse shouts as the stub burnt through hr skin.

"No sir."

"Good." He nodded, acknowledging Riaz's answer. "I think we need to reinforce that lesson, don't you?"

Riaz couldn't reply.

"Answer me." He shut his eyes as his sister's piercing cry echoed throughout the room.

"Yes."

"How many cigarettes are in those boxes?"

Riaz opened the boxes in his hand with shaky fingers,unable to concentrate on the white circles looking up at him.

"Count them properly."

He counted them, his fingers grazing the tips of each cigarette as he struggled to focus. "There's 14."

"Take one out."

He lifted the thin, delicate stick gingerly out of the box, holding it up for his father to see.

"Now eat it."

They stood before his parent's bedroom door, frozen to their spot on the ground. This room held too many memories for him.

He died in this room.

His heart stopped beating in this room, only a few steps away from where he stood. It was in that moment that Zaheer had truly broken him. Like Zaheer had broken Claire and Farhana, he had completely obliterated Riaz. There was nothing left of him after that day. He had tried so often to hide it. He had hidden it from his mother and his sister. He had even hidden it from Tasneem but she knew him too well. She knew nothing of the details but she knew him...

He could never truly hide from her even if he really wanted to.

But for every painful memory imprinted in the walls around them, there was a beautiful one too.

There were the rare days when his mother had returned back to them only to tell him that she loved him. There were ghosts of him as a toddler running through the hallway in nothing but his vest and underwear trying to escape a bath. There were high pitched squeals and merry laughter as his mother ran after him, try to catch him as she chased him around the house. The halls around him were filled with her voice as she hummed the same tune, unaware that she had been humming at all. The tiles were marked with her canvassed footsteps as she walked to his room night after night, cuddling him to her as his fears dwindled away. She was still in this house.

She walked these hallways.

She sang and spoke and lived here.

She smiled and she laughed, every sound captured for all eternity in the crevices of the walls...

For her, he would go back. Only for her, because she needed to be with him one last time.

His mouth drowned in its bitter fumes. It was strong, putrid and rancid and his gums and cheeks were set aflame in its toxic glory. He didn't want to chew it. Chewing it would only release more and more of its poison down his throat but his body couldn't accept his offering as a whole. He had to chew it or it would never go down.

So he chewed it. He could feel his teeth grind against the loosened grains as it was set free of its white wrapping. It only served to make him feel even more nauseous than before. He swallowed it heavily, imagining it as a ball of fire falling steadily down his food pipe into his stomach because that was what it truly was. He was dousing himself in flame from the inside out.

"Now eat another."

He shook his head. The action so slight that were Zaheer not watching carefully, he would have missed it entirely.

"I said," Farhana's screams sounded throughout their house, casting everything in shame. No one would come to her aid as her father marred her back once again, "Eat another one." Riaz's eyes burned and his head felt heavy but he couldn't stop. The strong odour of urine hit his nose and he only had to look forward to see the tell-tale patch along the seams of his sister's jeans to know where that smell had come from.

Riaz pulled the cigarette from the box with trembling fingers, sliding it between his lips in a comfortable gesture. But there was nothing comfortable about this. His body screamed in protest- his hands shook and his lips clamped down in its effort to bar all access but he had to carry on.

He pushed the tip of the second cigarette further into his mouth until it had disappeared entirely...

Every inch of that room cried his mother's name in mourning. It was as if she was still there. Every trinket that she adored, even through her haziness, was still there. From her beaded necklace on the pedestal to her slippers beside the bed. It was as if she had never left and he didn't like it.

What was Zaheer holding on to and why couldn't he let go?

His mother was dead yet Zaheer still kept her spirit hostage. What did he truly want from her? Was it not enough that he had tortured her that he still couldn't let her go?

"I don't like this."

His voice startled her.

"Why?"

"It's as if he believes she's still alive and it's not right." He shook his head, fervently ignoring that one specific spot in the room. "He should have let her go."

His mind was swarmed with images of his mother. His could see her walking barefoot over crushed glass as she shouted for him to leave. He could see her curled up into a ball, calling herself stupid and dumb. He could see her surrounded by her own blood as she killed her child to save him from her husband. How many times had he heard her begging for his father to stop what he was doing, their voices muted by the wooden door. How many times had he heard her screaming and groaning and crying from his room. And every time he heard it, he wished he was brave enough to save her but his father had beaten his courage out of him. Courage no longer formed a part of his soul. It was destroyed and torn away only to be replaced by fear of getting hurt once again.

He hated his father.

He hated Zaheer so much and for the first time in his life, his hatred had surpassed his fear. It has surpassed it by bounds and leaps and he couldn't reign in it.

 And truthfully, he didn't want to.

He walked up to the massive wooden cupboard on the far side of the room. He had never dared to go through his father's things. Never dared to be curious because curiosity in his house was never a good thing. He opened the cupboard, the key rattling against the metal keyhole as he tried to turn it in the lock. It was stiff and no matter how many times he tried to twist it, it refused to refused to budge.

"Let me try." Tasneem asked, nudging him gently out of the way. She was scared he would break the key in its lock with the way he was handling it. She took the key in her hand, pushing it gently in before she gave it a slight lift and turn, feeling it click into place.

"I've never looked through his things before." He admitted, unable to shake off the feeling that he was doing something wrong.

"There's a first time for everything."

"I guess so." He said, opening the door at last.

He couldn't shake his head nor could he refuse his father's command to eat another one. He was feeling dizzy and lightheaded and his stomach felt as if it were filled with molten lava. His eye-sight became blurry and he could feel his mind slowly detach itself from his body, only to be called back by his father's voice and his sister's cries.

Her back was dripping with sweat and she was twitching madly beneath her father's hold. She could barely fathom the pain of his punishment, only screaming in reflex every time she felt the burning stub upon her skin. Her muscles were strained and tight and her legs shook beneath her body. Her metal grip on the handles were the only thing keeping her up as her fists tightened and the cold steel bit into her arms every time he burnt her.

Riaz didn't know what number he was on, only that his mouth was numb and his throat was raw.

"Eat the next one."

"Dad, please," he begged, his voice a hoarse whisper, "I can't."

Riaz could only close his eyes as he heard his sister cry out once again, her voice cracked and broken in stress. He took the cigarette out of the box, holding it up to his lips with shaky fingers. He could barely even see the white stick as he brought it to his lips, struggling to bring his hand to hand to his mouth at all. He felt the tip of it against his lips before he opened his mouth...

He couldn't do it. It was too much.

But her cries rang louder and louder as Zaheer kept the stub to her back, forcing him to push the cigarette into his mouth and chew it. The muscles in his arms and legs contracted and expanded and his skin broke out into painful itches along his whole body. He could feel his entire body shake as he chewed on the little white stick, gagging as he swallowed the tenth one. He couldn't stop blinking his eyes, trying to focus on even the hand in front of him but it was too far away. He couldn't see his hand nor the carpet nor the box on the ground that had slipped from his grip. He could see only darkness edging along the corners of his vision as if it were ink spilling along a canvas, covering up all the colour before him. He didn't feel the ground as he fell nor the hard wooden floor against his skull as his head banged against its hard surface. He could feel his body shivering...

No, not shivering.

Convulsing.

He was shaking so badly that his teeth rattled against each other and his cries sounded as if there were a swarm of bees escaping his lips as it tunneled through his teeth. He tried, he tried so badly, to stop himself from shaking but he couldn't. Every muscle and joint and tendon in his body felt as if it would explode from it place and his skin felt as if it were stretched too tight for him to hold on to.

He heard someone shouting his name before he heard his voice right by his ear.

Don't die.

A command. Not a request.

And finally, it stopped.

All was dark and his body just...

Stopped.

His hand brushed over the delicate dresses still hanging up on the rail.

It was as if they were loud bursts of colour, shouting his name in warm greeting. It had been too long since he had seen those dresses but still he would dream of his mother wearing them. She only ever wore it in one style. The sleeves would be long with a v-collar and a flared skirt that stopped below her knees. 

Zaheer would buy them for her. He was the only one who bought her clothes. She liked what he bought and she was given no choice in the matter. There was not a single thing in her life that he did not control and over time she had forgotten how think or do for herself, seeking his permission for every step and breath that she took.

Riaz always thought she looked beautiful in them though. He hated them because he knew his father bought them but she looked beautiful in anything she wore. She was the most beautiful woman in the world and he had loved her so, so much.

And she was gone.

The doctor on the phone told him that she had died of a heart attack. That was his story but he didn't for one second believe it. Deep down inside, he knew his father killed his mother. And he knew that Zaheer paid many, many people to lie for him.

Though what did it matter if he killed her body?

He had killed her a long, long time ago. He had killed the Claire he had married only for her to be replaced by a phantom.

A ghost.

"I didn't even go to her funeral." Tasneem wondered if he knew that he was crying. They were silent tears that had dripped down his face as he spoke. They were tears that were shed by his soul and not by his body. "I didn't want to come back and face him again."

He hated himself for that. He blamed himself for leaving his mother behind and nothing would ever erase that guilt. He had left her behind and she had died. She would never lay eyes on his wife, never celebrate his success nor see the man he was destined to be. He would never talk to her on the phone, never hear her hushed conversations in Afrikaans nor he would he hear her tell him that she loved him.

He would never hug her or hold her again.

She was gone and he would never see her again.

He closed the door gently, blocking his view of her dresses before he bent down to open the last drawer near the floor. He didn't look at Zaheer's things. He didn't want to look at them. He was poison and he killed everything he touched and he wanted no part of him any longer.

He opened the draw, rifling through the various books stacked neatly above each other. He didn't know what he was looking for nor did he know who he was looking for. He didn't even know his grandmother's name.

And never before this moment, did that strike him as odd.

He lifted the fourth ledger before he noticed the telephone book hidden near the corner of the draw. He picked it out, flipping the pages uselessly. It was near empty with only a handful of numbers written throughout. He flipped through it again, slower this time as he actually read through the names.

He shook his head, berating himself for his stupidity. His grandmother was an Adams and her number could only possibly be listed as such.

He went back to the first page, using his finger to scroll through each name. He was surprised that his father had so many names stored under Adams. He didn't know if they were his brothers or his cousins. They were still useless names to him...

Saara Adams (home)

He stopped over that name, mulling over it in his head.

"Do you think this is the one?" He asked.

"Maybe." She was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, reading over his shoulder- a habit she knew he detested.

He took out his cellphone, brushing his fingers over the numbers...

Do it.

He dialled the number before he had a chance to think about backing out.

Don't pick up

Don't pick up

Don't pick up

Don't pic-

"Hello?" The man on the other end had a smoker's voice. "Hello?"

What was he supposed to say?

He looked to Tasneem, holding her close to his side so that she could hear what was being said.

"Hello?" He sounded impatient this time.

Riaz closed his eyes, biting onto his knuckle as he heard the man call out again.

"Hello, may I please speak to Saara Adams?" Tasneem had craned her neck, her ear right against his cellphone as she heard the man on the other end.

"She's sleeping. Can I help you with anything?"

"No. I need to speak to her."

"Okay," his voice was irritable but Riaz's urgency was undeniable. "I'll have to check."

"That's fine."

They waited anxiously, though neither could understand why as they heard the light thuds of his footsteps from the opposite end. They heard hushed voices before a light creak of springs...

"Hello." Her voice was old and tired. "Hello?"

"Hello." His heart was beating at a thousand beats per minute as he tried to gather his wits about him. "Is this Saara Adams?"

"Yes." She was unsure of his voice. "And who are you?"

He didn't want to tell her who he was just yet. "Do you know a man named Zaheer Adams?"

He heard her gasp at the name, "Yes, he's my son." He could hear tears prickle at her voice as she spoke. It had been so long since she heard her son's name that she had thought she would die without seeing him at all. "Who are you?"

"I'm your grandson."

...

He was stuck in limbo. There was nothing but the dark quiet that surrounded him.

He felt a shock to his chest as his body jolted off the ground.

But all was dark once again.

He felt the same shock once again.

And darkness surrounded him once more.

His body jolted one last time and light began to seep in through the darkness.

His eyes opened, lights and shapes and colours blurred.

He felt his body being lifted and he saw navy blue and red before him. He heard voices but they were far away. It sounded as if he was below the ocean and the voices came from the shore.

And he closed his eyes and darkness surrounded him once again.

He led her to his room.

 His room felt safe once more. 

"Can we sit here for a while?" He sat down on the foot of his bed, closing his eyes as he felt the dip in the mattress besides him. He was tired. He was so, so tired and all he wanted to do was just close his eyes and sleep. He rubbed his hand over his face, wincing at the firm ache between his shoulder blades.

He laid back, his body unfamiliar with the mattress below him. He saw her lay back, joining him in his restlessness. He didn't need to touch her or hold her- he just needed her to be there.

"Can I tell you something that I'll never repeat again?" He didn't look at her, choosing instead to fix his gaze to his white ceiling.

"Yeah."

"When I was four years old, my mother killed her baby. My father had her..."

He told her everything that night. He told her about the day his father raped his mother. He told her about the day his father beat his head so hard that he lost his clear vision. He told her about Farhana and the day she broke a kitten's spine. He told her about every beating, every punishment and burn mark that dotted his body. He told her everything...

He even told her about the day he died.

And as the night wore on and the moon came out, he was comforted by its bright full light that shone upon them through his window. And as he spoke, every memory in his mind was captured by the moonlight, freeing him of the prison he had trapped himself in.

And as he spoke, she did nothing but listen

And what he said that night belonged only to him and her. And those words were never, ever spoken again.