"A manifestation of a few ghosts from the old days..." he began, in a tone that was authoritative, yet not abrasive. "That's what we're facing. The same force that killed Remzi, the same one that's been stripping memories from your minds. One day, you'll understand me better. For now—what memories are left with you, Celal? Your military academy days? The brand of cigarette you smoke? Maybe your mother's name? All of it—piece by piece—it will be torn from you. Do you even know who you're facing?"
"The man in front of you..." he said, rising from his chair, "is the very one at the helm of the arms trade in Palawan. You don't know him yet. Everything in due time."
"Wait... what do you mean?"
"Try to remember... at least your weekend. Or the day you first arrived and went missing."
"Even if we set all that aside... can you remember your mother's name? Or your father, the one who left you behind?"
In that moment, my mind felt completely blank. As if... as if something had been ripped away from me. I couldn't recall a single fragment of the things he mentioned. I felt a jolt course through my entire body.
He had risen from his chair and was now standing right in front of me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Celal, you've already been marked by them. Whether you want it or not... I know all this sounds like nonsense to you. But this is the only thing I can offer. I can help you remember what was taken. Memories pulled from you. Like those times you spent with your brother in that ancient city. And behind it all, there was only one person. You'll come to know him. And you'll have no choice but to fight him. Because their only intent is corruption. No other motive. They fight only to bring chaos. Because they've thought blasphemy is sacred"
He drew a deep breath.
"Look Celal, you don't have to believe me. No matter how much I assure you I'm not lying, it's up to you. But the facts are plain. They'll come after you. Do you know why? Because you learned something you weren't supposed to. And they know they can't take it back from you. The only thing they can do is try to erase whatever pieces of memory they can find—wherever you're weakest."
"You..." I stammered. Everything in front of my eyes was going blurry. Everything began to fall apart before me. The long-haired man began to fade. I looked at his face one last time before he disappeared.
"We'll meet again, Celal," he said, his voice warm but warning. "Until then, keep your eyes on Forman. Because they'll come for your head."
"Whether you walk this path or not... it's up to you," he added with a faint smile. "Until that day, I'll be watching you."And with that smile... he vanished.
I felt my eyes slowly opening. Light was beginning to seep through my eyelids. The sound of the summer monsoon filled my ears with a kind of delicate precision. For a while, I just lay there, eyes half open, staring at the ceiling.
I wanted to believe it had all just been a bad dream. One of those nightmares I'd been having lately. Just tricks from my subconscious. Still... and yet...
Then my eyes drifted over to Muzaffer and Fuat nearby. Muzaffer held an old, beat-up guitar. Probably second-hand. It clearly had tuning issues. He was casually plucking arpeggios on that antique nylon-string.
"Finally woke up..." he said, half-mocking. "If you slept any longer, I might've tried kissing you."
I didn't reply to his sarcasm. Just sat up slowly where I lay. A thin, handwoven cotton blanket covered me.
"Where am I?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Izaki..." Fuat answered while sipping his coffee in the corner. "You know, the place Hasan Martinci mentioned..."
"When did you bring me here?"
"About three days ago..." Muzaffer chimed in. He'd set the guitar aside. "You were in the infirmary until the day before. We finally got you home."
"What the hell even happened?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"We don't really know... you just collapsed. They took you to the hospital just in case. You've been half-conscious for about five days... mumbling things, waking up here and there. You even had regular conversations with us once or twice."
"It all feels so... incoherent."
"'Cause you're an incoherent guy, man. Someone else would be slurring their words or losing their balance. But you? You're up on your feet debating. You're just like your mom..."
"My mom..."
"Spitting image... like she dropped you from her nose."
"Muzaffer," I said, turning to face him. "Do you... remember?"
"Remember what?" he asked.
"Our mother's name?"
"Are you messing with me?" he asked, looking at me like I'd lost it.
"And what about the graduation day from military school?"
"How would I remember something I didn't even attend, man? I was off drinking... it was before I quit."
Nothing was clear in my head... not even my mother's name. And then I remembered Muzaffer's talk in the ancient city. Whoever that guy was, he had a point. It really did feel like someone had taken something from us. He hadn't said much, maybe, but...
I got up and asked where the kitchen was. Took one of Fuat's cigarettes and lit it. Whatever I'd been through was absurd, no doubt about it. I chose to think it through—to the point of madness, maybe.
I don't think I did anything else for the next two days. Just wandered the town. Sat at a café, had a drink while the monsoon rain fell. My clothes were soaked, but I didn't seem to care. The only thing on my mind was Remzi's murder... and everything that followed. We'd been given about a week off work anyway... plenty of time to think.
Usually, I did my thinking while sipping coffee and flipping through the newspaper. While my eyes skimmed the headlines, that night would always creep into some corner of my mind. It would replay itself from different angles. Random articles would suddenly trigger the memory. Like those American newspapers that made it here. "Discount on some sneaker brand," or "What some senator's been up to." Loads of them.
And then... my eyes caught one.
Maximilian Forman... famous businessman... an interview about investment strategies.
And I swear—lightning flashed inside my head