Guardian of Lightning

Chapter 2: The Devil Behind the Paintings

Adam's journey back home was shaky to say the least. Despite reports that skies from Athens to Heathrow were to be clear, grey clouds and terrible turbulence marred what should've been a relaxed trip. The traffic ridden taxi ride to his hometown of Forest Dale was blissful by comparison, and he arrived in one piece.

The Shah estate had hardly changed in the two years that he had been gone. On arrival, he noticed that his father's private security still guarded the handcrafted white gates, and the lavish gardens were still manicured daily by the gardeners, some of whom he recognised and greeted on the way in. Other than the staff, everything else about this place held nothing but painful memories. The sculpted marble, the crystal chandeliers, the grand staircase in the entry way. It was all a flashy reminder of who he didn't want to be.

Adam practically raced up to his bedroom, and upon entering, noticed that it was smaller than he remembered. The giant four-poster bed took up most of the space, while the rest of the area was covered in regular teenage boy things. Car magazines, a miniature-sized basketball hoop and his PlayStation. Maybe it wasn't smaller, he thought. Maybe he had just outgrown it.

Ironically, the only object that didn't fit the picture, was a magnificent painting on the wall opposite his bed. It depicted a lioness and her cub lying in a field of long green grass. As the cub slept soundly, the lioness lay behind, keeping a watchful gaze over the surroundings. His mother had painted that before she died, and it was the most valuable item in this room, to him, at least. Two years since he had last laid eyes on it, yet the image still filled him with same comfort, but also the same pain. His childhood memories ripping open from old wounds that he had sketchily patched up with gaffer tape over the years. Shaking his head, he focused on the real reason he returned home.

"Hi Maria, it's been a while. Hope all is good with you," he said. "Stupid, sounds like I'm reading out an email."

He slumped onto his bed and twiddled his fingers, with the nervous energy of a child who'd been called to see the headteacher. The feeling was familiar. He was in trouble a lot as a kid. Adam wasn't a bad student. In fact, he did pretty well in most subjects.

No, his problems at school were mostly behavioural. Fights, walk-outs, outbursts. He often exploded when things went wrong, especially when he felt some sort of injustice. One of his teacher's once described him as a dormant land-mine; fine for the most part but could go off at any moment. Adam wasn't stupid. He knew he had issues. He just chose to ignore them. If not for the soothing presence of his friends over the years, who knows where he would have ended up which is why he had to get this apology right.

There was a triple knock which drew Adam out of his thoughts. He quickly got up from his bed and answered the door. A portly man with thinning hair stared back at him. Carlton.

Carlton was his father's valet, in-charge of managing his personal affairs and the day-to-day running of the estate. A white shirt and grey trouser-vest combination gave the man a sense of smart authority. Around his neck was a black tie, knotted in a simple windsor. On his feet, black, polished shoes shone in the light pouring in from the open doorway. His meticulous pride in appearance was probably due to an eventful youth spent in the British Special Forces.

Although Carlton was one of his father's oldest friends, the two could not have been more different. Carlton was forever the mediator in their household. The epitome of calm and the only reason that Adam hadn't left – or been kicked out – of this home long ago.

Unlike his father, Carlton cared for Adam unconditionally. It was Carlton who came to Adam's aid when he got in trouble at school. Carlton who talked to him about girls. Carlton who trained him to fight, and Carlton who would take him to visit his mother's grave when he was young.