The Prophets and the Executioners: The Darkness

By Frank Franco

Previously in Book 1 of the Prophets and the ExecutionerThe AwakeningIt was December 2011 when Steven Di Carlo suffered a horrific accident that put him in a coma for sixteen days. During those sixteen days, he was awakened to his purpose on earth by being shown several of his past lives, spanning thousands of years and a vision of a future time.His story began on his home planet amid a devastating war, a planet destroyed by greed, a home they chose to abandon in search of another. Arriving on Earth ten thousand years ago, they found a planet in dire need of cleansing and not much safer than the one they had left behind. Too tired to search for another and too eager for their long journey to end, they decided that Earth would become their new home.In 949, Plati, Greece, living his life as Thaddeus, son of Constantine, his two uncles were executed, and his father was the one who ordered the execution.In 1789, Lockerbie, Scotland, living his life as Francis Mackenzie, he was awakened to the evil forces of Daniel Macleod, the brutal murder of his two children, and the loss of his wife, who died of a broken heart a year later!In 1958, living his life as Giuseppe D'Amato, he was awakened to the wickedness of Luciano Lo Sciavo at an epic battle in the small Italian village of Amato. His only son was shot dead, and his wife died trying to save him!In 2011, Riverdale, New York, living his present-day life as Steven Di Carlo, he was awakened to a vision of a future where his wife and children would be brutally murdered and the world would be brought to the brink of darkness. To save his ninth family and all of humankind, he would need the help of others like him and the guidance of the path to defeat the darkness.Will the executioner be able to save them, or will evil prevail? Find out in The Darkness, book 2 of the trilogy The Prophets and the Executioner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646288878

Book preview

Chapter 1

Awakened

While comatose, Steven’s condition, although worrisome, could only be described as intriguing; so much so, that it had captured the attention of many curious doctors, including one from as far away as Poland. He was in the midst of an intricate dream state, they all concluded. During his well-documented stupor, Steven was observed speaking in many languages; and although some languages were recognizable, it was the one that wasn’t that had them all fascinated.

Steven was airlifted from the Albany Medical Center to Mercy Hospital on December 8. If not for the trauma team who worked tirelessly to save him, he may not have survived. Since then, his medical team included cardiologists, neurosurgeons, psychoanalysts, and even a linguistic expert. The only constant has been his resident neurologist, Dr. Thomas Brunstrom, who personally witnessed and documented his many bouts of very strange episodes.

Concerned about his odd behavior and violent mood swings, the medical team recommended that Steven be medicated; but with so many incidents, they decided to let his strange behavior run its course. Throughout his comatose ordeal, they were amazed at the amount of time they charted, where he appeared to be in an active dream state. Through constant observation—both human and electronic—and using numerous monitors, they studied him. The conclusion was that he was experiencing an elaborate comatose dream. Dr. Brunstrom surmised that Steven’s dreams were intertwined. Dreams within dreams, he stated confidently, while his audience nodded in agreement.

Inside Steven’s web of dreams, his primary dialogue was in either fluent Italian, Gaelic, or Greek; what had them in disbelief was that those who knew Steven told the doctors he had never spoken in Greek or Gaelic and as far as Italian goes, he spoke the language very poorly. What had them completely baffled was the unknown language in most of Steven’s dreams. This prompted Brunstrom to invite a linguistic expert to translate those strange conversations he was having. But not even the linguist could recognize what was being spoken. However, he did concede in his report that he felt that the origins of the language might have been rooted in Sumerian, the oldest known dialect on earth. Still, and more fascinating was that he couldn’t confidently say which came first—if what they were listening to was a language derived from Sumerian, or if the Sumerian language was a product of the tongue that Steven was speaking.

*****

It’s snowing! cried Tommy.

Cathy ran to his side to peer out the window. A light swirling wind was playing havoc with the snowflakes as they made their way toward the ground, creating a portrait of white and masking the dirty streets of one of the world’s largest cities.

We’re having a white Christmas, she whispered under her breath afraid to feel joy as her father’s hospital room was a parade of doctors coming and going.

He’s gonna be okay, Cathy, I promise. Tommy was trying to reassure his little sister. He’s awake now. He’s not going to die. This time, he was mostly reassuring himself as the young boy hid his teary eyes from his sister.

*****

Flashes of a snowy highway filled with screams had Steven pressing on his temples to ease the pressure that was threatening to burst through his head. Instinctively and very lightly, he traced the scars on his face. He could feel himself crashing through the windshield and then sliding face first in the ice and snow. Looking out of his hospital room window, he shuddered as he watched the snowflakes streaming by. It was as though he was looking at the snow through the windshield of his SUV when suddenly the bright lights of the semi bearing down on them had Steven re-living the moments just before the crash.

With the memories of the accident now a vivid reality and confirmed by the scars on his face and the brace around his neck, Steven’s thoughts were turned to all the other visions invading his mind and making him oblivious to the goings-on in the hospital room, where Dr. Brunstrom had now taken charge, ordering visitors out and nurses and doctors in.

Steven’s mother, Maria, refused to comply with the doctor’s orders and continued to hover very close to where her son lay wide-eyed, confused, and scared. The old priest sitting in the corner was not about to move either as he pondered the goings-on in an excited, fulfilling silence. With him, young Samuel was unsure as to whether they should stay or heed the doctor’s orders and leave. Looking at his older mentor, he knew the answer almost as quickly as he thought of the question.

Steven caught sight of the old man sitting in the corner of his room. The almost-surreal sight filled him with curiosity as he tried to see his face, which was hidden in the shadows of his robe. The old priest wore a hood that hung below his eyes. The only evidence of his age was the way he breathed. The raspy sounds that came from his lungs could only be the sounds of a very old man or someone who had smoked for many years. Then Steven noticed his waxy, transparent hands covered with ugly liver spots and discolored fingernails, hands that had seen better days and that age had all but rendered useless. He noticed earlier how they had been trembling and that now for some reason the old man’s hands had stopped shaking. If it wasn’t for the sounds of his breathing, he might have thought that the old man was dead.

The ancient one suddenly lifted his bony hand, and holding his long crooked finger straight up, he spoke in a very old language, words that only Samuel understood.

Annitu mur sarrim! [Behold our prince!] the ancient one proclaimed. Semu Zagmi, annitu nabu sistu [Obey me, priest, for I am the prophet and summon you to replace me], he commanded to his young protégé. Ina nadauu igisum nusku daku asar [Now give the gift of incantation to our executioner]. Father Michael pointed at Steven with his boney finger. Ahu negeltu wasu etutu etern ki [My brother, awaken now, rid us of this darkness, and save our Earth]. When he finished saying what he had to, the old priest once again fell silent, hiding beneath his hooded robe.

Samuel, obeying the old priest, went to Steven despite the protestations of Dr. Brunstrom. Drawing a blessing on Steven’s forehead, he began the droning chant. Maria Di Carlo, smiling at the young priest, bowed her head and, with her right thumb, repeated the same symbol on her own forehead. The symbol appeared to be circles, many of them traced over and over until the incantation ended. Dr. Brunstrom stared in awe as the words being spoken reminded him of the unrecognizable language that Steven spoke while he’d been comatose.

Steven, immediately recognizing Samuel, who was in many of his visions but whom he had never met in real life, was dumbfounded. And then with no time for him to put two and two together, the monotonous sounds of the incantation suddenly ended, and Steven was hit with another image. It was the face of a man whose hands were bound with rope. He was sitting on a dirt floor and looking up at him. Steven was holding a gun. He could feel the hatred that flowed through him. Then he could hear himself say, There is no hope to save your pathetic soul, asshole. The next time, you won’t be so lucky, because the next time, we won’t be sending you back.

The screams that followed had Steven shocked at what he was seeing; but as an understanding of the horrific scene crept through him, a smile of satisfaction creased his face. Completely intrigued, Steven closed his eyes and let the rest of his memories flood back, uninterrupted.

Chapter 2

Rahim

Anzaq Rahim Jamul was screaming as he woke from his nightmare. Still holding his head, he could see the barrel of the gun explode in his face. He could feel the bullet ripping a hole into his skull and smell the gunpowder as it burned through his nostrils, searing his eyes.

In his dream, he was in an old building, sitting on a dirt floor. There were others that were there with him, and like him, they were also tied up. He could hear whimpering coming from the man sitting beside him and felt disgusted at his cowardice.

In his dream, a man walked up to him. His eyes were as hateful as anyone could imagine. His expression was that of man so evil he appeared to be the devil himself. This devil would say the same thing night after night, dream after dream, for as long as Rahim could remember. These same words that had been etched in his memory would echo in his mind over and over. Even during the day when he was awake, he would hear the timeless threat: There is no hope to save your pathetic soul, asshole. The next time, you won’t be so lucky, because the next time, we won’t be sending you back. And then came the terror of knowing what was to follow those evil words, the horror of the gun exploding in his face.

*****

Rahim Jamul lived a lonely life in a small apartment that overlooked Boylston Street in an area of Boston that had long since lost its luster but still maintained its history. His only companion, besides his laptop and a Persian cat, was Amir Al Sabah, a Canadian-born Kuwaiti. Rahim and Amir had met at the University of Maine, where they both studied political science and, over the past four years, had become very close friends, sharing in their similar beliefs and hobbies. Although both had been born in North America, they shared very strong ties to their Islamic roots.

Rahim Jamul was born in Boston. Abandoned as a baby on the steps of the Old State House, he was made the responsibility of family services and placed in foster care with Tom and Joanna Palmer. The Palmers, who were Irish immigrants, raised him as their own and provided him with all the love and support a child needed. They were good parents who taught him the values of community and of being a good citizen. They named him Richard, and although the adoption wasn’t official until Ritchie’s fifth birthday, he was always referred to as a Palmer.

Growing up just minutes away from Fenway Park, Ritchie Palmer was a Red Sox fan through and through, a pretty good ball player himself whose dream it was to one day play shortstop for the Red Sox. He was popular with his friends, went to church on Sundays, loved to listen to rock, and loved to eat at MacDonald’s. Basically, he had a life not much different than most kids growing up in the late eighties. That was until the day everything changed and his whole life was viciously ripped away from him. It was a day he would never forget or forgive, the day his awakening began.

February 7, 2008, was a very cold day in Maine; an ice storm had just hit the New England coast and carried with it a wind chill of minus forty. Twenty-four-year-old Ritchie Palmer was in his dorm, studying for his midterms. He was in what he called the home stretch. In five short months, he would have his master’s in political science and a bachelor of arts in languages. His parents would have been so proud.

The phone call came at just after seven in the evening. It was his uncle Liam telling him that he needed to come home and, through choked back tears, had said that something terrible had just happened, that he had to hurry.

A short story on the front page of The Boston Chronicle read: Two die as local police raid Eastside home.

The story went on to recount the SWAT-like attack in a middle-class neighborhood that killed Tom and Joanna Palmer. A raid on suspected terrorists, they called it. The result of a six-month investigation into gun smuggling was what they claimed.

The story died along with the Palmers. That was until six weeks later, when another very short story of a police apology for a mistake in identity came out. And that was it. His parents were dead, and despite the short-lived uproar from the community, the investigation was simply considered ongoing.

When the apology came, it was with the promise of discipline for those involved and the assurance that the department would get to the bottom of it. It had been more than two years since the apology. Still no one had been charged, no blame had been attached, and no one cared.

It was Amir who drove him home that day and stood by him as a team of surgeons unsuccessfully tried to save his mother. She died from a single gunshot wound to the head, while his father lay dead in the morgue of the same hospital, his body riddled with bullets.

It was Amir who had been with him through his hateful anger and the predictable depression that almost cost him his life. He was a source of strength throughout Ritchie’s despair and his feeling of worthlessness; he was a true friend that saved him and had now become his brother.

Amir Al Sabah was born in Vancouver, Canada. His father, Salim Al Sabah, worked at the Kuwaiti embassy in political affairs. His mother, Mina, ran the household. Amir’s destiny had been charted out from an early age; outstanding grades along with his hunger for knowledge paved the way for his scholarship to the University of Maine.

His admiration of his father and his fascination of the Middle East—in particular, Kuwait—attracted him to political science. With his ability to excel at his studies and his dedication to his chosen path, he was regularly at the top of his class; his only competition for top honors was Ritchie, thus the bond.

*****

She entered their lives six months after the tragic deaths of Richard Palmer’s parents. Her time with them was short, but after meeting her, their lives would never be the same. She knew things that only a very special person would know. She revealed Ritchie’s roots, something neither he nor his adopted parents knew anything about.

His birth name was Anzaq Rahim Jamul; his mother was from Jordan, and his father was from Iraq. They had perished in a fire shortly after his birth. Their deaths were caused by an evil cult, an executioner said to be from another dimension, a world beyond our world.

She talked to him about his awakening and about his memories, those memories he called nightmares, and about the man who haunted him while he slept.

He is an evil man, she said. He is one of those they call an executioner.

She told him of his purpose and of the battles that they had fought side by side, over the centuries. She explained to him the ways of their path, the hopes for their future and the role they would play in it. Cherishing her words, he thought of them every day. They were so clear that he could remember each word as she said them.

Rahim, we are all brought onto this earth to serve a special purpose, and we return back here many times to continue that quest. Both your birth parents and the ones who raised you are watching over us and will be our guides in our battle with the oppressors. They are with Sebastian, who as always teaches and nurtures us. When we return, he is the one who leads us through these troubled times and has been our inspiration since the day I conceived him almost a thousand years ago.

Rahim would sit and smile as he thought of her; she was like a goddess. Her long dark hair, her mesmerizing eyes, and her beautiful dark skin… Her face was the most beautiful face he had ever seen; she was slender and athletic with finely toned muscles. He thought of her flat belly as one morning, by accident or perhaps by design, he got a short glimpse of her in the shower. He remembered how her washboard tummy would ripple with every movement, her amazing definition carried from head to toe. From a well-defined behind to her small firm breasts, she was as perfect as one could be, and she would be his. Oh, how he longed for her.

They would be married soon; it had been written long ago that they had been chosen by the elders as the ones to birth the earthly return of Sebastian.

Rahim was absorbed with the knowledge of his calling and was comforted in knowing that death was merely a rebirth. He was proud that his role over the centuries had been an important one and excited that when the time came to rule this beautiful place, he would be ranked higher than most and would enjoy a life so splendid that he would be the envy of all. The best thought was of spending eternity with Samna and that his best friend, Amir, would be with them. Together, they would make this paradise happen. Together, they would rid this world of the executioners.

He also remembered and was mystified by her words to Amir when she told him that his past lives were not documented and that therefore he was a mystery.

This will be a special time for you as well, Amir. Sebastian will be honored to have you join our path.

They would first help Amir become an American citizen. Others from the path would arrange for him to work for the foreign affairs department at the Pentagon. From there, he would fulfill his purpose, a purpose that would be disclosed to him when the time was right. In confidence, Samna told Rahim that Amir was a soul that they wished to capture and that they needed to do this before his awakening. She told him that she believed Amir must have been in the service of the other realm, and soon it would be time for the executioners to bring him home. It would be up to them to prevent this as they had been ordered to capture Amir’s soul for Sebastian.

Chapter 3

Lockerbie, Scotland. November 15, 1785

Rahim was no more amazed than he was oblivious to the ceiling; still he stared at it as he lay in his bed, absorbing all that had happened to him since the death of his parents. Lying there with his hands cupped behind his head, he wondered about his mission and how he would accomplish it. Then almost as if it were a revelation, he decided that he would call Amir to discuss it.

Together they had purchased all the weapons that they would need and had five very ruthless men in New Jersey, waiting for their orders. With this, he thought of the power he held and how amazing it was that someone as young as he was in command of such an important mission.

She will be so proud of me and my victories against the executioners, he said out loud. I can’t wait to hold her in my arms and watch her smile as I tell her about the battles. He smiled at the thought of her, and then closing his eyes, he let his mind run wild with all the fantasies.

Unfortunately, instead of the wild fantasies he hoped for, a sudden darkness threatened to consume him. His body began to shake as though it were being attacked by tremors. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and seeped through his closed eyelids, burning his eyes. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and a sudden ache tore at his wrists and ankles. As the wave of panic washed over him like a riptide, he desperately struggled to open his eyes. His distress deepened as his attempts to do so were to no avail. He began to feel disoriented as the fantasy he had hoped for became a nightmare that was more terrifying with each passing second. He could hear himself wheezing as his throat began to close.

Terrified, he struggled to free himself. Still his lungs cried for relief as his inability to breathe had fully engulfed him in fear. It felt as though a paralysis that had begun with his eyes and then his throat was now consuming the rest of his body, and then as the paralysis was complete, the horror of what was happening to him gripped his mind and crushed his soul. He stared helplessly at the swirling colors that surrounded the spots beneath his eyelids as they changed from white to black and then white again.

Then a face suddenly appeared. Go easy, my son. The face spoke with the elegance of a god. His features were of a young man with a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes. His blond hair was long and flowing with ringlets. Do not struggle, Rahim. I am here with you, and I will protect you. So fear not, and your mind will awaken. Your lungs will once again flow with the air of life.

Heeding the advice, Rahim was finally able to open his eyes, and when he gasped for air, his lungs greedily accepted it. Still he was in complete darkness but no longer lying down. His awareness was confused as his senses filled with the foul odor of sweat and the stench of an open sewer. He could feel a dampness that went right through his bones. Voices were shouting all around him, but they were unfamiliar, and he could see no faces. He could sense the chaos but could not see it. He could hear a man calling to him, but it wasn’t his name, yet he knew that it was. Another man barked orders, and suddenly, someone had hold of his shoulders and was guiding him. He tried to move his hands, but they were tied tight behind his back and stung with infection.

Panic again struck him. This time, it was like a bolt of lightning. He tried to run, but his legs were chained tightly around the ankles. Then the familiar voice returned. Daniel, fear not. We have not abandoned you. The man guiding him, who was still barking orders, placed what could only be a rope around his neck. Horrified, Rahim could feel the rope being jerked tight to his throat. Then and very suddenly he could hear the clash of metal and the screams of agony all around him, while at the same time someone began tugging at him. He heard a bone-crushing thud followed by a voiceless whimper as a massive human fell into him, knocking him over onto a hard platform. Then the dead weight of the man fell on top of him.

He felt something ooze through the hood that covered his face and recognized the unmistakable metallic smell of blood. He began to see stars and then realized that once again he was unable to breath. The rope had cut off his air when the man fell on him, tightening the noose. It was then that he understood that he was about to be hanged and that someone was trying to save him.

Another familiar voice called to him, but he had trouble recognizing it as he was beginning to lose consciousness. Mercifully, he could feel the rope release and the air as he sucked it up through his sore windpipe. The hood was removed, and it was Samna who was kneeling over him, kissing his forehead, and weeping for him. Yes, it was Samna, but she was different. She called him Daniel McLeod, and when he looked into her eyes, he called her Clair. And then his mind confirmed that, in fact, she was Clair MacTavish. Confused and frightened, he was unable to comprehend what his mind was trying to tell him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a heavy boot crushed the side of his head, his world went completely black, and his mind had at last quieted.

When he awoke, he was back in his dingy little apartment in Boston, still alone and very confused. He decided that he needed to break the silence and call Samna; perhaps she could enlighten him about this new dream.

Then as if it were on cue, there was a knock at the door. It was Amir.

You look like shit, man, said Amir. Did you have that nightmare again?

Shaking his head in resignation, perhaps in despair, he looked desperately at his friend. No, Amir, it was different this time. But, man, it was just as real and even more frightening.

Rahim then recounted his latest dream to Amir. They both agreed that they should contact Samna.

Besides, Amir said, I have the information that she wanted about the Russian Malenkanov. We need to tell her about him.

Be strong, my love. I’ll be there in the morning. Excitement exuded from Samna’s voice when they called her, and she reassured Rahim that in order to be fully awakened to his purpose, he needed to suffer through the dreams of his past lives and that very soon now, it would all make sense to him.

After Amir filled Rahim in on Malenkanov, the two began discussing an attack on the Russians home. Once they were satisfied with their plan, they decided to celebrate, and so Rahim and Amir went to their favorite hangout for Christmas Eve dinner. They both had filet of fish combos and large Cokes and supersized them. After that, they headed to a local theater for a rock concert, where the mosh pit in front of the stage was wild. There was a continuous flow of kids running up onto the stage and diving into the crowd, where they would be caught and sent surfing through the pit.

On their way home, Rahim thought of Samna and sang to himself one of the catchy tunes he heard that night. I hear you calling, calling me from out of the night. As he sang to himself, he felt butterflies at the thought of seeing her in a few short hours, and so he called out her name. Samna, I love you.

Chapter 4

Christmas Day

Samna

Morning seemed to take forever to come. Rahim watched impatiently as each minute and then each hour went by on his Sony clock radio. Unable to sleep, he paced his tiny apartment for what seemed most of the night until finally he settled on the couch as being the most comfortable spot to rest. When at last a sound sleep absorbed his anxiety and vivid dreams were about to take over his subconscious, he was awakened by a sound at the door. Adjusting his tired brain as to where he was and that this wasn’t a dream playing tricks on him, he sprang up from his stupor and listened, hoping for another sound at the door.

Recognizing the tiny knock, his heart was sent right up into his throat, causing his body to tremble with the excitement of seeing her. Getting up off the couch, he quickly straightened his clothes, and then spitting on his hands, he smoothed down is hair.

When finally he opened the door, a jealous pang shot up his spine, as Samna and Amir were standing there, arm in arm and both grinning from ear to ear. Seeing some of Samna’s lipstick on Amir’s cheek had Rahim forcing his jealousy in check. Then smiling back at them, he asked how they met up.

Teasingly, Samna said, I don’t kiss and tell.

Then Amir quickly added, Relax, buddy, we just met downstairs two minutes ago. Honest.

Samna, giggling at Rahim’s jealousy, grabbed him around his waist and then snuggled her head into his chest. Merry Christmas, baby! Then she spoke the words he longed to hear. I love you so much. She then planted a long moist kiss on his mouth, while Amir stood there smiling at the love that had developed between his two friends.

*****

Samna Hussein was born and raised in Southern California. She was the daughter of Mohamed Jamul Hussein, a rich industrialist from Jordan. Never knowing her mother, she was raised by the numerous nannies and servants that tended to all her needs. Growing up in Carmel, she accepted a scholarship at the neighboring Stanford University, where she was majoring in psychology and languages.

For Samna, her awakening came at an early age. By the time she was fourteen, she had already had her first experience with the path. Sebastian, whom she had birthed during three separate lifetimes, was and had always been her spirit guide. With his guidance, Samna had relived the past countless times and had seen the future once, all happening by the tender age of sixteen. With this being only her fourth existence, to all accounts, she remained a very young soul.

After all the formalities of bringing each other up to date on their lives, Rahim attempted to explain his latest journey into the twilight zone. When he looked over at Samna for some sort of understanding, he knew by the confident look on her face that she had the answers for him.

Sit your skinny asses down, boys. It’s time to tell you a little more of some of the challenges we’re up against. She began by explaining the exact dream Rahim had just experienced. "In 1785 the ancient ones led us to two very old souls who were entrusted to serve a very important purpose for the other side. These two souls were the children of Francis and Rachael Mackenzie. Francis was an executioner not yet awakened to his purpose! Although the children were very young, they were prophets and had already experienced their full awakening and were completely aware of their purpose. Unfortunately, they were totally prepared for our attack.

We took the children to try to save them and bring their souls into Sebastian’s care, but we failed, and regrettably the children had to be killed and sent back to their path. Our carelessness awakened the evil bastard, the second son of Constantine. The deaths of his children filled the executioner with a hate and anger so intense that he was truly frightening. Francis Mackenzie went on a vicious attack against us, murdering and eliminating twenty of our oldest souls. The evil path that was led by my onetime husband, Constantine, set us up with Mackenzie’s children, knowing that we would go after them and knowing that they needed something incredibly horrible to awaken their most trusted executioner, who incidentally, my dear Rahim, happened to be my onetime son Thaddeus.

The tears filling Samna’s eyes were sudden and unexpected; Her body began trembling as her throat filled with emotion. Turning away from her two friends, she masked the grief that was threatening to erupt from deep inside her. Then, swallowing the lump that was lodged in her throat she continued, almost as though she were talking to herself. My son Thaddeus, whose purpose it was to destroy me.

Painfully, her thoughts went back to that cruel time. Her words hung heavy in a room filled with bewilderment. Both Rahim and Amir looked at each other as they tried to understand Samna as she spoke of husbands and children of a past life, of Rahim as a different person who was about to be hanged for the murder of two children, of an executioner who sounded like he at one time was Samna’s son and, for some reason, wanted her dead. Then as Rahim looked at Amir, his face white as a ghost, his mouth gaped open in a quizzical stare, he knew he wasn’t alone in the bewilderment. Amir, catching Rahim’s stare, brought his finger to his mouth to hush Rahim before he spoke, as the intriguing story they were listening to was not to be interrupted.

"In his search