AN: I am SO SORRY that this update is so damn late. Between a much needed vacation in Las Vegas seeing my favorite, "Weird Al" Yankovic, and the keyboard on my old computer crapping out right when I needed it most, I haven't had the ability to work on this story without having to type on my phone.
Thankfully I've got a computer with a working keyboard now and all updates from now through the end of the story should be on time. Might be one or two extra chapters in the coming weeks to make up for all the updates I missed.
Anyway this is getting long, but I also want to say that I apologize for any amount of incoherency in this chapter, I'm really not the best judge of my writing right now and I can't even tell if this chapter makes sense anymore. But it's a chapter.
Hesham couldn't understand why, but upon leaving Persia he'd been struck with an intense urge to return to the city where he was born. It hadn't even been something he'd thought of prior to then, but when Saeed had asked if there was anywhere in particular he might want to go, England had slipped past his lips without any hesitation.
Saeed found himself far more interested in Hesham's response than he'd expected to be, but given the boy's tendency toward angry outbursts at the simplest question, he found it safer to keep his mouth shut. He humored the younger man, and they'd begun a long and strenuous journey across half a continent.
Within the first year after leaving the Shah's palace, countless bounty hunters had attempted to cash in on the hefty reward for the head of the Shah's former executioner, but only one had managed to get close enough to do any damage.
The stump where Hesham's right ring finger had once been served as a constant reminder of how letting his guard down for even a few stolen minutes of sleep could have immeasurable consequences.
They spent that first winter after leaving Persia in Poland, drifting between inns and making camp with what resources they could muster when they couldn't find a friendly innkeeper.
More often than not, they were ejected from whatever inn they'd taken shelter in for the night quite abruptly at daybreak and made to pay far more than others who weren't treated so aggressively, and Hesham began to assume it was because they were aware of what he looked like beneath his mask. It never occurred to him that it was the language they spoke and the color of his traveling companions' skin.
It wasn't until mid-May of 1869 that they finally made it to London, the city where Hesham had been born. He knew it the instant he saw it, but he hadn't been able to remember its name.
Though they had arrived in the city quite late in the day, Hesham insisted on seeking out the flat that had been his mother's so long ago. Though he had only ever seen the building once, he led Saeed and Fautimeh directly to the flat that had once been all he'd known.
The streetlamps had all been lit by the time Saeed could coax the younger man away from the door and down the road. It wasn't until they'd managed to locate and rent a room for the night that Hesham even realized it had been raining all day.
All three of them were soaked straight through, and Saeed was grumbling about having to pay for a meal at the inn because their supplies were soggy.
They laid their things out to dry on every flat surface in their room that wasn't the bed and slowly peeled off their wet clothes, averting their eyes when they found themselves in naught but their skivvies.
Hesham was the last to lose his over-clothes, only dropping his robes once he had squeezed himself into the smallest possible space that blocked the greatest amount of his body from the view of either of his travelling companions. He shivered in his shirt and pants. His scarf and mask remained on his head even though they were as wet as his robes.
"You'll catch your death, you know." Saeed's voice cut through the fog in the younger man's mind. He looked over at him with a pained look in his eyes. "You can feel sorry for your poor, miserable self later, if you leave that mask on another night your face will start to rot. I can smell it starting to already."
"Ever complaining about phantom odors," Hesham sighed with a roll of his eyes. Saeed raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps your lack of a proper nose allows you reprieve from certain odors," he said as he turned his attention back to the items from his pack. "But that doesn't mean those odors are non-existent."
When Hesham still didn't remove the mask, Saeed sighed and turned to face him, staring intently at him until he had the other man's eyes. Hesham was reluctant to meet his gaze, but eventually relented.
"Have I steered you wrong recently?" Saeed asked, his voice quiet and soothing. It was a voice that Hesham had come to associate with the man trying to offer a bit of fatherly advice. He hated that it actually worked.
If there was one thing that he'd come to hate, it was disappointing Saeed, even if he was a great, embarrassing booby much of the time.
With a tremendous sigh, Hesham relented and removed his mask, revealing the raw, blistered skin of his cheeks and chin. The skin protected by the scarf had faired slightly better, but was still raw and painful. As it made contact with the air, Hesham let out a pained hiss.
"See? How long were you wearing it this time without letting your skin breathe?" Saeed scolded. "You need to—"
"I know how to take care of my accursed face," Hesham snapped.
"You certainly do, and that's why it's rotting off your skull," Saeed replied flatly. "I'll speak with the Innkeeper and see about extending our stay. If you try to cover your face again before that scarf is bone dry, I'll cut your other ring finger off."
"Do you honestly think that threatening me with pain will motivate me?"
Saeed noted with a slight smile that the younger man spread his face coverings out at the head of the bed. They could certainly make do with damp pillows if it meant that the younger man would finally be doing something good for himself willingly.
"I think it might finally be time for us to buy ourselves some new clothing," the Persian said as he inspected one of Fautimeh's dresses. It was worn threadbare at the knees and elbows and three of the fasteners no longer caught properly. Indeed his own wardrobe was beginning to come apart at the seams. It was only Hesham that had somehow managed to keep his robes looking younger than they were.
"So buy yourselves some clothing," Hesham said.
"When I say us I mean all of us," Saeed replied.
"I've got all the clothing I need."
"If we want to find jobs—"
"I do not intend on remaining in this city long enough to have to find steady work, Saeed," the deformed man said flatly.
"Then you have not been paying close enough attention to your purse. We have enough yet for a week's stay at an inn, and that's only if the innkeepers are fair in their prices."
"That's an entire week to spend not worrying about my purse," Hesham said. Saeed groaned and had to bite his tongue not to antagonize the petulant child with which he spoke.
"And when none of us are able to find work once the money's run out? I suppose we'll eat the leather in our shoes?" he asked, exasperated. As he expected, Hesham's gaze grew cold.
"By the end of the week we'll be out of England."
"And where are we going to go with such a tiny sum?"
"Wherever. It doesn't matter. Just not here."
"Well that might work for you, but unfortunately you're not the only person that this affects, Hesham."
"If you are so worried, go and find a job. I am concerned with more important things."
"What's more important than survival?"
"It is none of your concern."
"I respectfully beg to differ."
Hesham gave a strangled, frustrated grunt that caused Fautimeh to give a small, frightened gasp. It wasn't often that she reacted to him unless he personally addressed her, but there was something inhuman about that noise.
"You're not getting out of this so easy," Saeed said. "What's so important that you'll willfully come so close to being a beggar on the street?"
"It is none of your concern!" Hesham growled. "My business will be complete within the next two days and we can take our leave of this dreadful place."
"That's hardly time to take up a job."
"Then cease your complaining about how I regard the contents of my purse."
Saeed opened his mouth to say something more, but quickly shut it. He'd seen Hesham react like this only a handful of times before, but he knew there would be no reasoning with him until he calmed down. To continue the conversation would only result in a violent outburst from the younger man.
That night, as Saeed and Fautimeh slept, Hesham pulled on his still-drying robes and slipped his mask and hat on. The damp leather pulled painfully at the raw skin of his cheeks and chin, but he wouldn't leave the inn with his face uncovered.
He slipped out of the room and stole down the hall under the cover of darkness, pausing only at the top of the stairs to glance behind. All was still and silent, save for the light patter of rain on the roof and windows.
The city streets were nearly bare with only the foolish and those who wished not to be seen still dodged puddles as they hurried along to their destinations. Hesham pulled the brim of his hat down as he stepped out into the night.
His shoes hardly touched the street as he made his way back to the flat where he'd been born. He had to know if his mother was still there.
But once he reached the doorstep, he froze. He could knock, but what could he possibly say to the person who answered? There was a decent chance that his mother had long since moved or died.
He took a deep breath and raised an unsteady hand. Three times he knocked, and by the time he was lowering his hand he could hear footsteps from deep inside.
As the footsteps approached, they were accompanied by a sound that made his heart stop.
"I'm comin, hold ya horses," a woman shouted. Her voice was deep and throaty and unmistakable. Through the years he'd never forgotten the sound of her voice.
As the door swung open and he was greeted by the sight of a middle-aged woman in a dingy, ripped dress, he nearly toppled backward into the street.
"Who're you then?" Elissa asked, looking him up and down suspiciously. "You ain't one of my regulars." In broken, heavily accented English, the boy managed to force a few words out in reply.
"No, I'm sure I am not. I know you still."
"I ain't got time for this," the woman exclaimed. "I've got clients popping by all night and I ain't getting paid for answerin' riddles."
As she closed the door, Hesham kicked out his foot, blocking the door from closing all the way. She looked up at him, a touch of fear glistening in her eyes as she really looked at him.
"What kind of man wears a mask like that?" she asked. "You some kind of criminal?"
"That's one word for it," he replied. "It started with my birth."
"What are you going on about? Go on then, if you ain't a client you gotta leave! I'll scream and alert the police!"
"You don't remember your child?" he asked, far more blatantly than he'd intended. He had wanted her to figure it out on her own, but the words had fallen together in his mind and he couldn't go another minute without knowing.
"Child?" The woman gripped her chest and staggered back a step. "How— How do you know of that?"
"You sold me to a man as horrible as my face," Hesham continued, his eyes flashing in the light of the oil lamp just inside Elissa's door. "Do you remember?" He grew more confident as he spoke, finding that he remembered far more of his first language than he had originally thought.
"It— It can't be."
"Perhaps this will help you remember," he hissed as he tore off his hat and mask and forced his way inside. The door slammed shut behind him as Elissa scrambled to get away from him, shrieking in terror as she went.
Hesham tossed his hat beside the lamp but kept his mask in his hand, ready to cover himself again at a moment's notice.
"Come now, you can't think your screaming will do you any good," Hesham said. "I've heard far worse in the time since you left me at that freak show."
"You are a monster!" Elissa spat as she continued to back away, stumbling over various items strewn about the room. The man allowed himself to take in his surroundings and was hit with a wave of emotion unlike any he'd felt in his life. He staggered back a step as crystal clear memories flooded his brain.
It seemed just yesterday he'd played with a ball of string and tattered bit of paper and tried to be as quiet as a mouse while his mother berated him for even existing. She'd seemed so tall back then.
Now it was his turn to loom over the woman and yell. His thoughts were speeding through his mind so fast that he could hardly decide on the first thing he'd say.
When he opened his mouth to speak once more, he let loose a pathetic sob and he fell to his knees.
"I waited for you every day for years. I tried my best to be a good boy so that I could win your favor and come home again. Did you ever even spare me a thought? Did you even consider that your child lived in constant pain?"
"You were no child, you were a demon sent to punish me!" Elissa wailed. "I couldn't bear to keep you in my home!"
"I did my best to please you and you sold me into slavery." There was a pain in his words that brought tears to the woman's eyes. For one brief, beautiful moment, she did not see the twisted, deformed beast that stood just a few short steps away from her but the man that her perfect son should have become.
"I—"
"You didn't even name me." Hot tears stung the raw flesh of his cheeks as he continued his tirade. "I've been treated like an animal. Worse than an animal. And it's all because of you." He raised a trembling hand and pointed a long, bony finger at her.
"How do you name a monster?"
His eyes narrowed and his hand steadied almost the instant the words left her mouth.
"I've heard a few ways men name a monster like me," he said. "Assassin. Murderer. Demon. Death."
"I'm sorry—"
"Your apology means nothing to me!" he snapped. "You stole what hope I could've had for a normal life from me!"
"I didn't!" she insisted.
"You sold me to Firouz. He took my innocence, he put me on display, he beat me mercilessly. You are the reason for these scars that cover my body." With every word he spoke, the anger within him grew until once more it outweighed his sadness and fear.
"And now you've come to kill me, haven't you?" Elissa asked, her voice faltering.
"The thought crossed my mind," Hesham growled.
"You are a demon from hell sent to torment me for my sins."
"No," Hesham said. "I am no demon. I am no monster. I am but a man."
She didn't seem to hear him, but continued to babble semi-coherently. "Angel of death, sent to… child… not my child…"
The old prostitute collapsed then, sprawling awkwardly across the cold stone floor.
Hesham had seen death countless times before, but this was nothing like before. He stared at her, eyes wide and full of shock, for a long moment before asking, "Mother?"
No response. He slowly inched closer to her and prodded her arm with his finger. She didn't react. His hands were trembling again as he carefully rolled her onto her back.
Her eyes were wide and she stared blankly in whatever direction her head lolled. He pressed his ear to her breast and listened for her heartbeat. He heard nothing but the slow wheeze of air escaping her lungs under the weight of his skull.
"Mother?" he asked again in disbelief. Sure, he'd intended on killing her, he wanted to watch the life leave her eyes for abandoning him, but not like this. He'd wanted her to fear him, but he hadn't wanted her to die of fear. He hadn't wanted her to fear a monster.
Fresh tears welled in his eyes as he curled up on the floor beside her, daring even to drape one of his arms across her waist as he cried into her arm.
He slept deeper than he had in years, waking only to bright daylight coupled with a horrified exclamation by a familiar voice.
"By Allah, I didn't think you had it in you," Saeed cried. Hesham's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, trying to figure out his unfamiliar surroundings. It took the sight of the dead woman beside him to remind him of where he'd gone the night before.
"What? No, Saeed—" he said as he processed what the other man had said.
"We must leave this place. Now," the Persian said, cutting the younger man off. "Fetch your mask."
Hesham stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before feeling around the floor for his mask. Once his face was covered, he stood.
"I only came to talk to her," he insisted. "I didn't touch her."
"I suppose using her corpse as a pillow does not count as touching her?"
"I was mourning!" Hesham insisted as he retrieved his hat. Saeed took him roughly by the arm.
"And I'm supposed to believe all of this? You left in the middle of the night to come and converse?"
Though the sky was overcast, the daylight was still bright enough to hurt Hesham's eyes. The way Saeed was nearly dragging him along was almost welcome as he tried to force his eyes to adjust.
"I will help you leave the city, but I cannot associate with a murderer anymore," Saeed said as he dragged the younger man into an alley. "I can't believe you did this."
"I didn't! Saeed, I—"
"You will call me Daroga."