Page 3 of Ride the Whirlwind

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“Sit down, Mr. MacNamara.” The detective gestured to the chair across the small table. “Can you tell me something about these photos?”

“Well,” Ardan answered after a few seconds, avoiding looking at the images, “I suppose they represent my late father Godfrey, or, better said, parts of him. It could be another unfortunate soul, though.”

“How did you know how your father died? Unless, of course, you or someone close to you was the author of the horrible murder. Your husband, maybe? Rumors has it he is a very reputable brain surgeon, so he would have the skills and precision to...But no, you wouldn't have let him do your job. You’re too macho to do that, right?” The detective leaned over the small table, giving Ardan a piercing stare.

“My husband didn't see my father or speak to him in more than two years.” The reply came in a calm voice. “They were not on good terms, but it doesn't mean Alasdair wanted him dead, let alone killed him.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The detective nodded in approval. “Let's get back to you, then. When was the last time you saw your father?”

“Two days before he was killed,” Ardan answered without hesitating.

“And before that?” The officer has a triumphant look in his dark-brown eyes as if he would hit the jackpot.

“More than a year ago. We had a very strained relationship.”

“You can say that again.” The detective let out a low whistle. “May I ask why? The information you provide may help us get to the bottom of this very complicated matter,” he continued in a somewhat softer tone.

“My father didn't approve of my brothers' choices, but I encouraged them to follow their hearts. Because of this, my father accused me of making them rebel against him and ultimately disowned us all.” In spite of Ardan's efforts to sound neutral, sadness crept into his voice.

The detective smiled inwardly as though he finally detected the man's weak spot and, like a predator, was ready to strike. “Quite a character, your father,” he said, shaking his head. “Things must have gone really bad between the two of you a year ago. Why don't you tell me a bit about that meeting?”

Ardan could sense something wasn't quite right with the conversation. He didn't like the direction it was heading in but decided to be totally transparent. It was his only chance to get rid of the murder accusation. “He wanted to get in touch with my twin brother Fergus, who he previously rejected because of a mental health issue, but I refused to help him.”

“Let's do a recap because I'm a little confused here,” the detective said in a slightly ironic voice. “Your father disowned all his sons, then asked you to help him reconnect with one of them, but you refused. I thought the old man had a problem with you, but it seems he was right. You were the one who created a rift between him and his other sons.”

“No, it wasn't like that.” Ardan fought to maintain his composure. “My brother just got out from a very abusive marriage, and Godfrey planned to remarry him without thinking about Fergus' feelings and needs. I couldn't allow him do that, so...”

“Couldn't allow him do what?” The detective cut Ardan short, an evil grin spreading across his face. “The poor guy wanted to help the freak to have a normal life, but you couldn't stand the idea that he was no longer under your control. It took you more than a year, but you came to the conclusion that your father was an obstacle who had to be eliminated.”

”Now listen, mister, detective or not, you have gone too far. Your duty is to find and arrest the one who killed Godfrey, not to harass me and insult my family.” Although his voice remained neutral, anger was bubbling in the pit of Ardan's stomach, threatening to burst out any second.

“My duty is whatever I want it to be,” the detective replied coldly. ”For instance, right now, I'll accuse you of first degree murder and arrest you, as part of my duty.” The detective paused as six bulky men dressed in prison guard uniforms let themselves into the room. “Take him, he's all yours.” The detective grinned coldly, walking away.

CHAPTER 3

No, this is not happening, Ardan thought as he fought to free himself from the hold of the six musclemen who were dragging him down a narrow, poorly lit corridor. Suddenly, a terrifying thought crossed his mind, making his blood freeze: the two men who came to his house, the one who interrogated him and the six beasts taking him gods knew where were part of a parallel structure.

“There is no way they worked for the official, legal police force,” Ardan said to himself while one of the solidly built guards produced a key and unlocked a door which let out a sinister creak while opening. The man stepped inside the pitch-dark room, turned on the light, and the other five followed him, laughing at Ardan's efforts to get out of their vice-like grips.

Once in the middle of the room, the four of them held the prisoner firmly in place while the other two brought his hands above his head, followed by a dry clink and the coldness of metal against his skin, sending cold shivers down the man's spine. Get yourself together, he admonished himself. Don't let them see how affected you are. These bloody sharks can smell your fear, and once they taste it, you're finished.

Another creak and Ardan was brutally yanked upwards, hands stretched, toes barely touching the floor. One of the guards with a bushy beard and mean, beady eyes came so close to him, that he could smell his stale breath. With a pair of huge scissors, the guard started to cut through the fabric of Ardan's clothes, turning them into shreds in a couple of minutes.

The one who unlocked the door and appeared to be the leader of the group went to the farthest, darkest corner of the room, rummaged through a pile of objects, and returned carrying six long leather whips that were passed among the others. Ardan braced himself for what was about to come, but the pain inflicted by his torturers was mind-shattering.

The whips hissed through the air like poisonous snakes, wrapping around the defenseless man, breaking his skin and drawing blood. Wave after wave of pain wrecked his body with every new hit, but he refused to give satisfaction to his tormentors, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth.

At some point, Ardan's vision became blurred, and he sensed the end was near. The faces of Alasdair, Fabian, Lance, and his children appeared before his eyes, and then the darkness enveloped him, bringing peace and serenity. It didn't take long, though, and a hoarse man's voice shredded the thin veil of comfortable silence separating Ardan from the rest of the world.

“Praised be the big guy from the sky. I thought you'd never come around. I don't think he would like the way you look right now, so you better start eating and get on your feet. The rumors are he'll finally be authorized to see you for a whole hour. You must have friends in very high places, my friend,” the voice continued.

“He, who? And where am I?” Ardan tried to raise his head from between the pillows and prop it on an elbow but failed. “And most importantly, who are you?” He looked around the sparsely furnished but clean and aired room.

“He whose name you kept saying every five seconds during the last forty-eight hours, Alasdair. He must be a very special man, and you made me envious for the first time in my life. I'm Brodie, by the way, and this is my humble abode. Don't get false hopes, though. You’re still in that corner of hell they call high level security prison”.

“How...how do you know about the visit? Are you one of the guards? Is this part of the good cop, bad cop game, and you are supposed to be the good cop? Thank you for whatever you did for me, but I didn't ask for any of this.” Ardan let out a hissed breath, the pain rippling through his flesh. “I don't need your sympathy, pity, care, or anything.”

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