Page 209 of Whisper

Afghanistan, the land of ghosts, drenched in death and regret, had to be the center of the universe.

He’d met Kris there.

Fell in love with him there.

And lost him there.

All under Allah’s gaze.

His cell phone buzzed, rattling on the table. Dawood inhaled slowly. Rose, and grabbed it.

A text appeared from his contact.[ You were supposed to keep your head down. ]

He swallowed. His throat stuck.I thought it might help. I was trying to gather intelligence. But he doesn’t work for CT anymore. His laptop was useless.

Kris’s laptop was in his bathtub, soaking until it was utterly worthless. He’d swiped what he could in under twenty minutes, enough to see that Kris wasn’t a part of the counterterrorism world anymore. He didn’t have anything for Dawood, nothing that he could use. Nineteen minutes after he’d grabbed Kris’s laptop, he’d ripped out the battery. When he got back to his motel, he’d dumped the laptop immediately into the tub.

[ There’s absolutely nothing that we need from him. He’s not important. He’s a distraction from our mission. And you’re fucking up. ]

Astaghfirullah.

[ Are you still in? Still committed? ]

Yallah, of course. Maa shaa Allah.

[ Then call Yemen. It’s time. We cannot be distracted, brother. ]

In shaa Allah.

The phone was silent. His contact stopped texting.

Slowly, Dawood kneeled on his prayer rug again. Tears dried like paint on his face, a new mask. He turned his head up, took a shaky breath. He was nothing but raw wounds, holes in his soul that had been flayed open. He should never have wondered what Kris looked like now, never have dreamed of the taste of his kiss again.

Stay?Kris had whispered.Please?

Something fractured inside him, a wall that had held everything back cracking. He’d walled everything off, a lifetime of mourning, a lifetime of agony. He’d always fought it, always fought against his pain.

His darkness, something that had lived within him since he was a boy. At ten years old, he’d been witness to the cruelty of the world, the madness that was to consume everyone, that had slipped into everyone’s soul like black oil. He’d tried to fight back his whole life, tried to do the right thing, tried to be one of the good guys, but—

What was the right thing, anymore? What was true? Where was truth in a world full of Qaddafis and planes that slammed into buildings, full of torture and a hatred that lived in the bones, so deep and dark and twisted it poisoned the world. Where was truth in the graves of the innocents, in drone strikes, in car bombs and IEDs that left lives shattered, holes in families around the whole world?

What was true, between the bonds of brotherhood and the bonds of true love? The bonds of Allah and the promise of faith?

Or was truth a cold reality, the promise of retribution? Of justice? Of death?

What was the price of justice?

You must follow the path Allah has laid out for you.

Had Allah given him this test, this cruelest of tests, as the bitter finale to this life? His heart screamed, the labyrinth of his soul caving in, the sands of his world collapsing, drowning him.

He closed his eyes. He’d done what he could. His whole life had been lived at the mercy of others’ whims, their twisted fates. From watching his father struggle at the end of a rope to feeling the press of an American soldier’s boot on the back of his neck. From loving Kris to losing Kris. From finding a father’s love again to losing it all, all over again.

The truth is complicated.

Was there any truth between the taste of Kris’s kiss and the path he had to walk? Was there any outcome, any choice for a future? Any hope, anywhere, at all?

“Oh Allah,” he whispered, prostrating himself again. “I seek refuge from the evil of darkness when it settles.”