"We are all sinners, but some of us are better at it than others."
Ruthless People by J.J. McAvoy
I don't fight as my mouth and nostrils fill with water.
Instead, I close my eyes and pray that the end will be quick.
I push myself further down, trying to hurry the process.
I hear water splashing from the tub to the floor and push myself even further still.
It is better for me to leave this world than to continue to hurt the people around me.
The water has started to overwhelm my body and my breathing has started to falter when I hear what sounds like screaming.
I struggle as I am abruptly pulled out of the water, fighting off the hands holding me, wanting desperately to return to my watery grave.
But the person who has botched my mission will have none of it.
"Help! Help! Somebody help!" kamsir shouts, wrestling with me. He soon overpowers me and is able to lift me out of the bath.
Seated on the floor, I am now coughing and spluttering, water seeping out of every orifice
. As we hear footsteps approach, kamsir throws a towel over my body to protect my decency.
"What happened?" Yusuf demands, panicking when he sees me on the floor. "kamsir, what on earth happened here?"
He doesn't answer, but wraps both arms around me from behind and squeezes tight, making me cough and splutter all the more.
He snaps her fingers at the person who ran in with Anayo. ", what's your name?"
"Catherine," the person answers tearfully.
"Stop standing there crying foolishly and go and get me steaming hot water!" kamsir orders.
"Now!"
Catherine scampers away like a startled mouse, and when she is gone, kamsir shakes me angrily.
"What is wrong with you? Zeynep, what is wrong with you?Why would you want to do something so stupid?"
By now, I am shivering violently, and Yusuf reaches for a blanket to wrap around my shoulders.
He lifts me off the floor and carries me to my bed.
Catherine returns with Mary, both of whom are holding vessels of hot water; Catherine, a small container, and Mary , a big whistle kettle.
Yusuf and Kamsir leaves the room to give us privacy, and the women proceed to soak towels in hot water, massaging me down from head to toe.
Seeing that none of my clothing will be suitable enough, kamsir brings a pair of fleece pyjamas from his room.
The last thing I remember is a hot water bottle being placed on my chest, as I fall into a deep but fitful sleep.
I have nightmares of sinking deep into the sea, of struggling with an underwater beast while my dead mother tries to fight it off.
Of jacobi being tied to a stake before being killed by a firing squad, and of me standing all alone in the desert, my mourning clothes flying in the sandy wind…nothing but rags.
In between these dreams, I wake up with a start, sweating profusely.
Apart from the trauma of the nightmares, my body temperature has long adjusted, and the fleece nightwear is too much for my moderately cool room.
But someone always sponges me down, this time with a cool cloth, wiping the sweat off my face.
I am too agitated to notice who that someone is, but by morning when I do, it is the last person I expect it to be.
Kamsir.
He is lying crouched on the small sofa, and I know only too well that it isn't the most comfortable sleeping option available to him.
"Why didn't you just let me die?" I croak.
He looks in my direction and sits up. "You're still sounding hoarse. We might need to take you to the hospital this morning."
"Kamsir, why didn't you just allow me to go? If you hadn't come, I would be gone by now!"
"Gone to where?" he retorts. "When you walked away last night, I just knew you were going to do something stupid. And when it took you so long to return, I knew I was right. Why would you want to kill yourself, dear step mother? Is it because we found out that your boyfriend was behind the murder? Is that why you want to die? You think he would do the same if the reverse was the case?"
"Jacobi didn't kill the minister," I say, looking him square in the eye. "I did."
He snorts. "Zeynep, please sleep. Sleep and stop saying nonsense."
I suddenly realise he isn't even the one I should be speaking to, so I throw off my sheets and sit up, trying to shake off the horrible headache that hits me when I do.
"And where do you think you're going?" he demands.
"To confess to the officer," I say, rising to my feet.
"I have proof that I'm their culprit. Jacobi surrendered to the police to protect me. I have to make sure an innocent man does not suffer for my crime."
"zeynep, if you're going anywhere today, it's the hospital and not to confess to anybody!" kamsir shouts, rushing in front of me. "I thought you were stupid before, but by God, this takes the cake! You want to throw away your life because of a man? Zeynep, leave him to pay for his crime. He was caught red-handed, holding what has been confirmed to be the weapon that killed my father. Leave him, and let justice take its course."
There is a timid knock on the door, and Catherine peeps inside.
"About time!" kamsir retorts. "Come and stay with her. I need to shower and get ready for the day. Stay here, and don't allow her to go anywhere."
He walks out of the room, leaving me standing before the younger woman.
"zeynep, you really frightened me," she says, her eyes still shiny with tears. "Did you really try to drown yourself?"
I sigh deeply. She is too young to understand. "I need to leave here, Catherine. I need you to help me get to the police station."
"Have a bath first, zeynep," she answers, locking the door firmly and putting the key in her pocket, before walking to the bathroom. "Let me run you a nice, warm bath, and we can talk about how to get you anywhere you want to."
I hesitate, contemplating forcing my way out of the room, or maybe even escaping through the window. But both options would only serve to cause more trouble, and God knows I have caused more than enough already.
Besides, I have confidence in Catherine's ability to help me get across to the station one way or another. The few minutes it will take to shower and change are a small sacrifice to make.
Keeping away from the bathtub, I step into the shower cubicle instead, and I'm not surprised when Catherine enters it as well.
After what happened the previous night, it's not unexpected that they don't want to take any chances with me.
I stand and allow her to lather my body, relishing but hating every rub of the sponge, as it cleanses and hurts me at the same time.
"Where have you been?" I ask, trying to make conversation. "It's been several days since the minister died. I thought I would see you around a lot earlier than this."
"I've been around, zeynep," she answers. "I came as soon as I heard the news, and I've been taking care of my mom. She took the news very badly."
I nod in agreement. If there is one person who the minister's death has devastated, it is madam maria. And understandably so.
With her benefactor dead and with none of us knowing what lies ahead for the ranch, her days here might be numbered.
"Have you been coming from your place?" I ask. "Your place in New-York?"
She shakes her head, holding the shower head over me, allowing the burst of water to wash away the soap suds. "I had to leave there."
She doesn't offer any more, and I turn around to look at her. Her eyes are downcast, and I suspect that her lover's wife might have found out about her and their love nest.
Her heartbreak is evident, and I can't help but feel sorry for her. Her first real taste of heartbreak.
We don't say any more, as she helps me change clothes, including a light cardigan kamsir brought for me.
As I am still coughing, I reluctantly wear it.
Getting downstairs, I am happy that Ibrahim is also having breakfast with his siblings.
If kamsir will not allow me to report myself to the police, I know the fastest way for that to happen.
"Ah, the girlfriend of the murderer!" Ibrahim remarks. "Were you aware of the plans your lover had? Or did you scheme the whole thing together?"
"How are you feeling?" Yusuf asks, ignoring his brother. "Are you sure you should be up and about? Kamsir says you don't want to go to the hospital."
"Thank you, but there is no need for the hospital. I'm fine," I answer, smiling at Yusuf, grateful for his concern. "I'm happy you're all here, as there is something I have to tell you," I say, turning to the other occupants of the room. " Jacobi didn't kill your father. I did. This is the wound I got in the process." I show them my injured palm. "Jacobi saw the wound last night, and he figured it out. Knowing where I would likely have hidden the knife, he went to my garden and found it there. He is taking the fall to protect me, but I'm not going to allow it. I shall be confessing this to the police today, so I'll be grateful if you could notify Officer mark and ask him to come right away. If you don't, I'll just repeat this confession to any of the policemen hanging around."
"zeynep, wait! Slow down!" Yusuf exclaims, raising his hand. "This makes no sense at all. I don't care about whatever injury you have, but I know you didn't kill Dad. Don't throw yourself under the bus just to save Jacobi. I know you love him, but this is your life you want to destroy."
"So, the truth finally comes out!" Ibrahim chuckles, reaching for his phone. "Let me call Mark to let him know the culprit has finally owned up. Somehow, this doesn't surprise me at all."
"Nobody is calling anyone!" Yusuf yells, glaring at his brother. "Drop that phone Ibrahim. Let's discuss this as a family first. Zeynep is clearly in distress and not thinking straight."
Ibrahim ignores him and dials anyway. "Good morning, Mark…" he says when the line connects, before rolling his eyes. "My bad, officer. There's been a new development here that requires your immediate attention… Oh, you're in New-York? Well, I think you might want to leave immediately and head back here now… Why? Well, the real murderer has confessed." A broad smile breaks on his face. "I knew that would interest you. We'll be expecting you," he disconnects the phone and smiles at the rest of us. "He's on his way."
"Zeynep, don't do this," Kamsir implores, and I am surprised by the concern in his eyes. I would have thought he would be the first person crucifying me by now. "You didn't kill him."
"Is there some kind of serum people are drinking that's making everyone want to own up to this?" Yusuf exclaims in exasperation. "First it was that old man, then Jacobi, and now zeynep. Meanwhile, the real person we're looking for is probably walking the streets, free as a bird." He glares at Ibrahim. "Or sitting at a table, having breakfast."
By this time, I have had enough.
"I'll be in my room. Let me know when officer Mark gets here," I say, making to leave.
"Hold it right there, mother," Ibrahim calls out, rising to his feet. "You no longer have the luxury to come and go as you please. You killed my father, and you think you can go and lie on your bed leisurely? You will remain seated here until Mark arrives."
"Ibrahim!" Yusuf chides.
But I am glad to comply. Without argument, I take a seat, avoiding eye contact with everyone, and instead look ahead with my hands on my laps, patiently waiting for when I will be taken away, and Jacobi will be released.
I am surprised by the calm I feel, despite the fact that punishment for murder in the state could lead to my own death.