Dangerous Illusions

Leila almost stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk before her building threatening her bags of groceries to spill over the dusty pavement. But she could not afford to do that and she recovered with a sigh. This was not how she had expected her life to be when she had moved in to downtown Chicago and that too from Denton. Leila entered the stairs of her apartment building very carefully so as to not destroy her edibles in the shadowy gloom of the monolith of this concrete whose basement was the only thing she could afford with her two jobs. The city was like a jumbled mass of shapes sprouting up like a swath of mushrooms, only of concrete. The cityscape was unapologetically urbane, and there were no trees or plants anywhere. Just random blocks of shapes swept close together by a child in his playfulness. There were rectangles, squares, domes, and if you looked carefully at the city then probably you would find some spheres and castles as well. Then there were spires, weather-vanes and the satellite dishes. Disappointment and helplessness brought an acrid taste to Leila’s mouth which she could not shake away. She walked down the stairs and opened her door in pitch black darkness with her usual practice and dexterity. Balancing the bags in her hand Leila whispered something under her breath and the lights of the room came on. She smiled to herself at the small usefulness of the things her grandmother had forced her to learn as a child. She was a waitress at the bar just a few blocks down the road taking the evening shift when she got most of the tips and worked her mornings at the supermarket in the vicinity  of the bar itself.  The manager of the bar had asked her if she was open to something more unorthodox and liberated for earning better, but as he looked up and down thinking of pawing her curvaceous body with his meaty hands she had decided against it to her better judgment. On watching the rat scurrying at the corner of her ancient armoire Leila thought if she would have been better off stripping for strangers. Dumping her bags on the kitchen counter Leila sunk down on her bed and opened her computer on the side-table. She was flicking through the advertisements on Craigslist hoping to find a position that would be able to give her an opportunity to work part-time giving her the extra buck she needed to get out of this black-hole. She closed her eyes and murmured a short prayer for good luck in her endeavor. After a few minutes a big bold advert in neon red letters glared at her from the screen as if shouting at her. Leila rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands to see if she was reading correctly or it was her imagination she was hallucinating. CURSED. …HELP NEEDED….SERIOUS MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH…NO PHONIES OR AMATUERS SHOULD CONTACT…CALL ON THE BELOW GIVEN NUMBER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. ..PRICE NO BAR… ---- DESPERATE MOM.   What the hell was this? How on earth could anyone even write or contemplate such a thing? This was the first thought that came to Leila’s mind. Not that it could not be true, it could be but the chance of a true curse being put upon another mortal was so rare that it was probably a misconception. Again, her prayers might have truly worked and she had a genuine chance of earning the dollar bills which she needed desperately. She looked carefully once more at the advertisement and found that it was posted three days ago. And then it was just a call to be made, which would not be a trouble for her. Leila got up from her squeaking mattress and fished out her phone from her purse and came back and dialed the number. No one received the call and she reached the voice mail. Hey there…you have reached Rachel Mendoza….I am sorry for not being able to take your call but please leave a message and I shall call you back as soon as possible. Leila spoke after the beep, saying,” Hello Mrs.. Mendoza…this is Leila Hopkins. I found your advertisement on Craigslist and I would like to talk to you about your problem which you have mentioned and get an idea about what you are dealing with. Call back as soon as possible.” She did not feel that she should be saying something more about herself or exposing her like a product to be marketed. It was a long shot, thought Leila but there was no harm in trying. After all her Grandmother had always said that God helps those who help themselves. She took the phone with her and got out of her apartment and started walking up the stairs because the lift in their building was always out of order. Once Leila reached the top of the building she was almost out of breath, but the view of the city was worth it. Leila had always felt that this city was a machine which was alive and had gradually eaten away a once green land like a microchip which had become grossly enlarged. The roads ran in their predictable grid pattern like the ancient Harappa civilization and the lights of the stores and the restaurants and all the places of vice which emerge only in darkness shone with ugly neon intensity. There was nothing you would not be able to find in this city, from the home made bars of soaps to the women who would make you think of God in entirely new ways. Rising from the depths of despair and rootlessness, it was the ultimate choice of how you wanted to live your life. The tiny vehicles ran along the tangled mess of streets forming a twisted thread of light as they all immerged as a part of a magnificent messed up dream which never ceased to exist. As Leila kept on thinking looking at the view beneath and beyond her, the mobile rang with a shrill tone which broke her reverie so badly that it almost toppled over from her hand down below but thankfully it did not. Leila looked at the screen and found that it was the same number she had left a message on a few minutes earlier. She received the call. “Hello?” “Is this Leila Hopkins?” “Yes, speaking. You must be Mrs. Mendoza. So since you wrote Desperate Mother in your advertisement I am sure this is something regarding your child?” “Yes…yes it is Ms. Hopkins. The state Don is in I am not sure how long we have in our hand to save him and I …” “Look I understand that this is not something to be made fun of but sometimes we get calls for cases which are clearly psychological and there is nothing supernatural attached to it. So are you sure on that count?” “I do not have an opportunity to be sure since I have little idea about this but there is someone whom I believe implicitly and she has told me that there is something seriously wrong with my baby and there is nothing medical about it,” said the Desperate Mother. “Where is your son now?” “He is still in the hospital, has not been discharged yet.” “Then bring him home as early as possible because I would not be able to do anything in a sterile environment where the power is mostly negative. And I would like to mention this beforehand but I take hundred dollars for my consultation visit, after which I would be able to tell if this is genuine or not,” said Leila, hoping that she had not said anything too excessive and upset the woman who was clearly distressed. “Surely, I understand, there are risks involved with these kinds of things. I shall bring him home tonight itself. How early will it be possible for you to come?” Leila made the calculations in her head and told her to text her address and she will be there by five in the morning, since no positive enchantment is possible during the witching hour or closely before or after that. The reason seemed to satisfy the woman and shortly after the call was disconnected a text arrived on her number. Leila looked at the address and smiled. She looked down once more and felt at that moment that she was living an unlucky life which was part of a frightened dream and she wanted to jump. But she had been taught better than that. Sleep that night was tough but she knew she needed her rest if she had to deal with something dark the next morning. But Leila hoped that the situation was not that bad and settled in a fitful slumber. Next morning she dressed up like she did every other one, only brushing her hair rather than tying it up in a knot and leaving it loose, her curls falling in thick mass beneath her shoulders. Her dark mocha skin shone without any cosmetic enhancement. Leila took her bag with some things which she specifically needed to check for any magical presence and prayed once more for protection to her ancestors before she left her home. The address which she had to reach was in a slightly better neighborhood than the one in which she lived. It was morning and there was only the sky above which was the proof that she did not live in a monochromatic world. Where she came from, it was dry but here people only worked and ate, they did not have any time to plant trees or sweep dry autumn leaves. Leila shook her head at the thought and wrapped her jacket even tighter. The neighborhood looked like the kind of place where nothing bad ever happened but Leila knew better than to believe first impressions. The streets which were once sleek were now bleached by the sun and the road was simply a patchwork in monochrome. This was the kind of place which had developed one after another in the decades when Chicago had dreamt of becoming the largest city of the country but had to settle for the second best. People had drifted here in search of new homes and found themselves inside matchboxes. Leila entered the apartment building and looked at the lift which looked so old and despaired that she decided to climb the stairs. Once she was on the sixth floor, she checked the apartment number and rang the bell. It was fifteen minutes past five. She could clearly hear the steps before the door was unlocked and it was opened by a middle-aged soccer mom whose entire life seemed to have been devoted around her trophy child. “You must be Leila Hopkins… I thought that you were not coming,” said Mrs. Mendoza as she opened the door and gestured her inside. As Leila entered she could smell a slight waft of sage and lavender buds spread all throughout the apartment. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? I am making some for myself,” said Mrs. Mendoza as Leila looked around the house and found it to be a normal middle-class household with nothing out of the ordinary. “No thanks. I am good…If you don’t mind. I would like to see your son please, and if you would tell me what happened then I would have a clearer idea of what I am dealing with,” said Leila as she smiled at Mrs. Mendoza who was pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe.