L'affaire Bob

29. La Taizah Familia

-"I'm not giving in!" I heard someone shout. "No matter what you do, I'll resist!"

I looked at my surroundings. I was in a small room, and apart from the bare walls and a few wooden chairs that were thrown hastily in its center, there wasn't much furniture around me. Judging by the simplicity of that place, I assumed whoever lived here wasn't the wealthiest person in the country. I directed my attention back to the man sitting in a chair in front of me, whose yells, I figured, I had heard earlier.

The poor fellow cried and begged for me to let him go. My hand, however, didn't seem to want to set him free, because it inexplicably rose in the air and slapped the old lad on his face.

Bringing it back to my side, I noticed how big and calloused my hand was.

Woah, hold on. Big and calloused? My hand was never like that! My usually slim pianist fingers would look much smaller. Granted, this used to earn me a few laughs here and there, but it proved to be of advantage whenever there was something we needed to get out from under the couch. A clue, for example. Or sometimes, Pierre's monthly payments' check.

Confused, I threw a glance towards the mirror on the wall in front of me.

And what I saw made me stumble. Or at least, metaphorically speaking. In reality, I-- or the body of whoever's head I was in-- didn't budge and kept hitting the poor man's figure.

In the dark, I couldn't quite distinguish my new physique, but I vaguely noticed the beard that grew under big, fat lips.

The victim's upper lip quivered.

-"Why are you doing this, Greg?" he asked me, or rather, the so-called Greg.

-"I could ask you the same thing, Kev," I replied. "I thought we were brothers," I continued against my will. "I thought we were going to keep up what our ancestors had started together!"

-"But can't you see?" Kev yelled desperately, his mustache trembling. "What they have been doing is wrong! I'm sorry, but I cannot work with you anymore."

Suddenly, my whole perspective changed. I was still in the same room, but now, I was watching the scene from Kev's eyes.

Greg's resemblance to Kev stroke me. If not for the beard and the mustache, one could've easily mistaken the two. They had the same platinum blonde hair, same green eyes. Both of them looked familiar as if I had seen them before. I felt as if I should've recognized them, but my mind couldn't remember for the love of God who they were.

Greg took a deep breath. His eyes narrowed in frustration and anger. But apart from that small movement, he didn't let the irritation win him over.

-"You'll regret this," he said. "Never forget what our father used to say: 'Each action has its consequences. Be it good or bad, someone will always take the blame.' He had always taught us to measure each action, see its benefits and disadvantages."

-"Ironic," I-- or Kev-- snorted. "Especially seeing how you're doing the complete opposite."

Another slap echoed between the four walls. I felt my cheek burn, although this wasn't me who had been hit.

And, whirling around, Greg stormed outside the room, slamming the door as he left.

Its loud thump woke me up. I turned my head, looking for a clock on the wall, but found none. Groaning, I dragged myself out of bed and went to search for my watch inside the closet.

When I finally found it underneath all the shirts, I struggled to read the hour. The first few sunbeams were falling on the crystal, making the light refract and divide into small rainbow-colored strips, not failing to blind me in the process.