The Scribe

Chapter Four

Ava looked up from her tea when she heard the clanging streetcar moving down İstiklal Avenue. She leaned back and watched it. Pedestrians in the crowded Beyoğlu neighborhood moved around the car. Tourists. Locals. Merchants. She was in the heart of Istanbul, but for the first time in her life, the city was… peaceful. The hum of voices had become quieter, easier to ignore. The manic energy that seemed to envelope her most days was absent. Ava felt grounded.

She took a deep breath and had to admit that, for the first time in her life, a doctor’s treatment seemed to be working.

Dr. Sadik’s methods were unusual, to say the least. Holistic in practice, the psychologist had prescribed her a diet of mostly Mediterranean foods and was using a kind of pressure-point massage in addition to talk therapy. She’d been skeptical. But one of his nurses assisted with the massage, and when she’d left the office after the first treatment, Ava had to admit the voices were slightly muffled. She’d felt more focused and relaxed. After a few days, the effects had worn off, but the next appointment showed even more relief. She was going in every three days and was starting to wonder whether she’d ever be able to leave.

Glancing over her shoulder at the man sitting a few tables away, she wondered what her mother would do if she decided to stay. Would she and Carl continue to pay her shadow? Malachi had started following her more closely since the cruise but still kept his distance. He was both the least and the most annoying bodyguard she’d ever had. He was more than discreet and carried himself with a quiet confidence that put her at ease. At the same time, Ava sensed he wanted to come closer—to talk to her, to know her more—but he didn’t. She supposed that was her own fault. It wasn’t his job to keep her company.

Still…

She glanced over her shoulder again. He was sipping tea two tables away from her, lounging in a low chair and pretending to read a paper. Behind his sunglasses, she could see him scanning the street, still vigilant despite the peaceful morning.

Keeping her eyes on him, she spoke in a low voice. “Malachi.”

His eyes zipped immediately to her.

“Yes?”

“You have good hearing.”

“Among other talents.”

She grinned. “Why are you sitting two tables away in an empty café?”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “I believe I was told to keep my distance by a certain prickly photographer.”

“Well, that was before we got to be friends.”

“We’re friends?” There was an amused smile on his lips, and Ava saw the hint of a dimple on his slightly stubbled cheek. He had thick dark hair and would likely have a full beard within days if he didn’t keep clean-shaven. Handsome? Not classically. But the man had definite appeal.

“Of course we’re friends. Do you think I habitually strike up conversations with random men in foreign countries?”

“I wouldn’t even try to guess the answer to that.” He had set the newspaper down and leaned back in the plush chair, bringing the glass of tea to his full lips as she watched him, watching her.

“I don’t. Strike up random conversations, I mean.”

“Is there something you want, Ava?”

She let her eyes wander over him, not caring that he noticed her perusal. “You said you’re from Turkey?”

“Yes.”

“So why don’t you stop following me and just show me around?” She surprised herself with the question. Usually she never asked for company. Prolonged contact of any kind could become maddening. But the treatments had calmed her mind, making the soothing resonance he exuded even more appealing. For the first time in her life, the thought of spending the day with a man was attractive, not overwhelming. “I’m bored by myself.”

He put down his glass of tea, almost scowling. “I’m not paid to be your tour guide.”

The disappointment was quick and sharp. “Fine.”

She spun around and turned her back to him, resisting the urge to get up and flee. It would be humiliating for him to see how his rejection had affected her. Besides, he’d just follow her anyway. She picked up her tea with tense fingers and sipped, grabbing a book out of her bag. She briefly debated taking out her small camera and capturing pedestrian traffic, but she’d been trying to take a day off from work and enjoy her newfound calm.

After a few minutes, Ava heard him rise and approach. She gritted her teeth and kept her eyes on her guidebook.

Damn, damn, damn. He’d rebuffed her. The least he could do was pretend to ignore her existence.

No, instead he was sitting down across from her, all six feet and something; his long legs slid under the table, unavoidably brushing against her own. She refused to move.

“Ava.”

“What?”

“My apologies. That was rude.”

“Yes, it was.”

She was still staring at her book. He continued to sit across from her silently. His inner voice took on an amused tone that made her scowl.

“Ava?”

“I’m reading.”

“That’s impressive.”

She rolled her eyes and finally looked up. “What? Reading?”

He tried to control the smile, but the dimple gave him away. “Reading upside down. I can do it as well, but it took many years of study.”

Her cheeks burning, she set down the book. “What do you want?”

Malachi was still wearing sunglasses, but she caught the quick glance he gave her. It wasn’t clinical.

So, not indifferent, after all.

Feeling slightly smug, she said, “Well?”

“You asked me to show you around the city. I would be happy to do that.”

“Maybe I should just hire someone.”

Oh, he didn’t like that. She could tell by the tightening in his jaw and the way his voice changed. “You could. But, as you pointed out, I am local, and I know the city well. I am already guarding you. It would make the job more…”

“Friendly?”

The dimple was back. “Yes.”

“Fine.” She picked up her book, flipping it right side up. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” His eyebrows furrowed together. “That’s not very friendly. Didn’t you just say we were friends?”

“Well, that was before you pissed me off, Mal.”

“Mal?” He sneered. “My name is not Mal.”

Ava cheered internally, pleased to have found something so convenient to annoy him with. “Oh, it can be.”

“When I piss you off?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you always like this? I think I should be warned ahead of time if we’re going to be… friends.”

“Like what?”

“Irritable and moody.”

She looked up in mock indignation. “This is me in a good mood, Mal.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, but the telltale dimple gave away his amusement, and his inner voice was practically laughing.

“Fine. Put down the guidebook. You don’t need it anymore.”

“It’s a good one, though. And I like learning about the history of the places I visit.”

“Trust me, I know the history.” She looked up, skeptical, but his voice was confident, bordering on smug.

“So you’re a historian as well as a bodyguard?”

“Something like that.”

The way his lip curled made her want to bite it. He must have caught her look, because the corner of his mouth turned up even more.

“Trust me, Ava.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “With me, no guidebook is necessary. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

It was cool and quiet; the echoes of people in the cistern melded together with the whispering voices, creating a mesh of quiet noise Ava glided on in the darkness. Beneath the bustle of the streets above, the Basilica Cistern stretched hundreds of yards into the black underground. Held up by endless marble pillars and dotted by gold lights, the shallow water rested, and Ava watched shadow fish dart over the flash of coins visitors had thrown in its depths.

Malachi followed her, letting her take in the grandeur of the vast room before he spoke in a quiet voice.

“Some people call it the Underground Palace. It’s the largest of the ancient cisterns in Constantinople, originally built by Constantine, then rebuilt by the Emperor Justinian in the sixth century. There are hundreds of cisterns beneath the city, but this one…” His voice held a note of awe. “It is the largest. It fed the palace itself.”

Ava was at a loss. “It’s…”

Stunning.

Eerie.

Otherworldly.

“It’s beautiful,” she finally said.

“It is that,” Malachi said softly. “The city cisterns were fed from aqueducts the Romans built. Some still lead back to their water source or have tunnels leading between them. During its use, the water would have been far higher. Over our heads.” They strolled along the raised platform, damp with water dripping from the domed ceiling above. “Modern Istanbul holds pieces of Greece, Rome, the Byzantines, the Ottomans. New conquerors, new rulers, new buildings. Still the same city, just with a different face. The bones remain the same.”

“Archaeologists must have a field day here.”

He nodded. “There’s much to discover still. Istanbul is a puzzle, and I doubt all her secrets will ever be revealed.”

“I don’t think I want them to be,” she whispered. “I like the mystery. I love this place, this Underground Palace.”

Malachi’s eyes took on a distant stare. “It’s set apart. Another world, almost.” He walked to the edge of the platform, looking out over the dark water. “There are many places like this in the city. Places where the present and the past seem to coexist at once. As if they live next to each other, only a ripple away.”

She watched him as he turned back to her, eyes still scanning the darkness. Who was this man?

He caught her glance. “What?”

“Who are you?” she asked. “You don’t sound like any bodyguard I’ve ever had.”

Malachi smiled. “I’m not so unusual. Perhaps you keep too much distance.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Why?”

Was it the darkness? In the quiet underworld, she felt as if she was talking to a shadow. “I just can’t be around many people. They make me uncomfortable. It’s exhausting.”

“Why?”

Ava turned away. “Find a new question, Mal.”

Silence fell between them, filled with the echoes of voices in the dark. Ava could feel him—actually feel him—approach from behind. She tried not to tense.

“You have been more at ease than when we first met.” He kept the question light. “Is your doctor helping?”

“Yes, he is.”

“That’s good.”

She forced herself to turn and smiled. “I’m optimistic. Istanbul might just become my favorite city.”

“Because of the doctor?”

They kept walking, strolling farther through the cisterns. Ava paused at the edge of a tour group, but the guide was speaking German.

“Partly. But I think the attraction was here even before I met him. There’s just something about this place, you know?”

“I don’t know, I—”

She interrupted him with a laugh. “You’re from here, so you probably don’t really get that. I mean, I know people love L.A. Love Hollywood, but it never seemed all that special to me because I grew up there. Istanbul is probably that way for you.”

“No.”

He had stopped behind her. Ava turned to him. “No?”

“I understand. It’s part of the reason I came back. This city… It feeds the soul.”

A strange fluttering started in her chest. “I didn’t know my soul was hungry.”

“Didn’t you?” He smiled. “Hmm.”

“Oh, Malachi…” Ava turned and pretended to read a sign. “The things you say in a single ‘hmm.’”

She felt him step closer. Could feel her body react. His lips were sealed, but his voice whispered to her. Taunting, teasing whispers that begged her to come closer. She turned her head, and her heart raced as his eyes dropped to her mouth. He leaned down, parting his lips as if to speak, but before he could say anything, a child bumped into Ava from behind, giggling as she sent Ava stumbling into Malachi’s chest.

He caught her elbows, and she heard him suck in a breath.

There was a flash of awareness. A sense and a silence. In that second, his pure voice was the only thing she heard, and the sense of harmony threatened to overwhelm her. Ava gasped.

She needed.

Wanted.

Needed.

Utter and complete peace enveloped her for a brief moment, then it was gone when Malachi dropped his hands. Eyes blinking, he backed away, and she let out the breath she held. Once again, the voices wrapped around her, muffled—like a distant chorus they circled and taunted her.

For a second, they had been gone. Completely gone.

And his voice was the only thing she’d heard.

“Malachi?”

“Hmm?” His face was an impenetrable mask, half-cloaked in darkness.

“I…” What was she going to say?

Touch me.

Hold my hand.

Can you make them go away?

“I… don’t feel very well,” she breathed out. “I’d like to go back to my hotel now.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, immediately ushering her toward the exit.

Did he know? Could he feel it, too? Ava shook her head to try to shake some sense into it. Of course he hadn’t felt it. He wasn’t nuts. The odd feeling was probably a result of the strange mood in the underground cistern combined with dehydration and an unexpected—and entirely impractical—attraction to the man.

It had snuck up on her, but she was honest enough to acknowledge it, even as she recognized the futility of the attraction.

What man would want a relationship with her? Her lovers were fleeting. They had to be. Prolonged contact only made her condition worse. Her longest relationship had been during college. It was only three months before he’d been overwhelmed by her, and she by him. She’d flooded him with her energy, her moods, her manic bursts of activity.

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“Too much, Ava. You’re just… too much.”

Too much.

It was all too much. She and Malachi walked through a tour group coming down the stairs. Dozens of people brushed past her, almost causing her to stumble. For a second, tears welled in her eyes. She saw Malachi reach for her hand instinctively, then he stopped, drawing his fingers back like a child not allowed to touch. She stayed close behind him, letting his broad shoulders clear a path through the crowd. When they finally reached the outdoors, the sound of traffic overwhelmed the wash of voices. The honks and shouts of the drivers were an unexpected relief.

Ava slipped on her sunglasses and, without waiting for her shadow, started back to the hotel.

Her appointment with Dr. Sadik couldn’t come early enough the next day. She left Malachi drinking tea at a café across the street and walked up to the office, opening the door on the third floor landing before she made her way down the hall and into the office. The pleasant receptionist greeted her with a smile.

“May I get you some tea, Ms. Matheson? You are a few minutes early. Dr. Sadik should be ready for you shortly.” She rose before Ava even answered, moving to the corner where a pot of the tea sat in a clear carafe. Taking one of the modern armchairs, Ava held out her hand when the young woman brought her the drink.

“Thank you. And please, call me Ava.”

“Such a beautiful name,” the receptionist said with a smile. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can get you, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She settled in, sipping the tea and listening to the quiet hum of the woman’s mind drift over the meditative music that filled the room. In a few minutes, she heard the door on the other side of Dr. Sadik’s office close, signaling that his other client had left. A few moments later, his smiling face poked through the door.

“Ava! How are you this morning?”

Immediately put at ease by his presence, she rose. “Doing fine, thank you.”

The look in his eyes told Ava that he knew there was more to the story, but he didn’t prod in front of the receptionist. She walked to the office and quickly took a seat on the chaise. “Is Rana here yet?”

The nurse who helped with the massage was usually there when Ava came in the office.

“She is running just a bit behind today. I apologize. Why don’t we talk for a few moments?”

She took a deep breath. “Sure.”

“How have the voices been?” He cut straight to the chase.

“Um… good.” She smiled tentatively. “Well, better.”

Dr. Sadik nodded, his gold-rimmed glasses flashing in the light from the window. He was sneaking up on middle age, but something about his expression and manner seemed far older. It was probably just a cultural difference.

The doctor said, “I believe I told you to expect that, did I not? We are not attempting to cure you of anything, because it is my belief, and yours as well, that there is no mental illness to cure. What we are doing is learning to manage the unique circumstances—an unusual perception, shall we say—under which your mind works.”

“Yes.” She let out a breath and tried to relax. “I like it. I feel better. And I’m glad you don’t think I’m crazy. You’re probably the first person to treat me who doesn’t think so.”

He smiled. “I told you, you are not my first patient with this condition. And the others saw relief with the treatments, as well.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Did Rana say how long she’d be?”

“Just ten minutes or so.”

Most of the pressure-point massage happened in the head, neck and shoulders, but Dr. Sadik seemed to be very cautious about contact with Ava unless his nurse was present. He’d insisted on it from the beginning, which had put her at ease. Ava was eager to end the small talk and get on with her appointment.

“How are you enjoying Istanbul?” he asked. “You are traveling alone, am I correct?”

“I am. But everyone here is so friendly, I almost feel like I’ve been here before and they recognize me.”

He smiled. “Turks take hospitality very seriously. It is a wonderful part of their culture.”

Their culture? She frowned. Ava had assumed the doctor was Turkish. “Yes, well… I’m enjoying it. I’ll definitely come back. Someone I met told me that Istanbul feeds the soul. I think he may be right.”

She caught a flash in his eyes, as if he recognized the saying. Was it a common proverb in Turkey? The expression fled, and polite interest took its place again.

“Istanbul has been important to many world religions, particularly Islam and Christianity. But even before that, it has always been rich with enlightenment and culture. One could definitely say it is good for the soul.”

“Maybe that’s why the voices aren’t as loud,” she joked. “My soul isn’t as hungry here.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t seem to take it as a joke. “There are many beliefs about the soul. Ancient Persians were one of the first to classify the soul as something distinct and eternal. They believed the soul survived death, as do Jews, Christians, and Muslims. The Egyptians believed the soul existed with five distinct parts, one of which was the heart.” He smiled and patted his chest. “Others believe the soul is what gives a person their personality and creativity, though we know those are functions of the brain, of course.”

“Of course.” Why was he on this tangent? And when was the nurse going to get there? She didn’t have all day.

Well, actually she did.

“But the mind is where my interest lies, of course.” Dr. Sadik was still talking. “The mind… such a complicated, wonderful organ. So many mysteries to solve. Perhaps the mind is the seat of the soul. After all, it is the seat of creativity, which many world religions consider a reflection of the divine.”

“What is? The mind?”

“Creativity,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “Surely, as an artist, you have experienced this. The flash of insight that seems to come from outside yourself. Some would say creativity is the voice of the soul.”

His inner voice was muffled, but she could still sense his excitement. “I’m… I’m just a photographer, Dr. Sadik. I don’t really create like that. I’m not a painter or anything.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps that is not where your true creativity lies.”

At that moment, Ava heard the door open and Rana walked in.

“Dr. Sadik, I am so sorry! Ms. Matheson, forgive me. My father is unwell, and—”

“Not to worry, my dear.” Dr. Sadik rose from his chair. “Ava and I have just been chatting. But we should begin.” He turned to her and held out a hand. “Ava, are you ready?”

She heaved a sigh of relief that the odd philosophical conversation was over. “Absolutely.”