Psychro Killer: Chapter 10 - Alexa and Gorge

The following morning, Niko found Elena sitting alone in the garden with a cup of coffee, her expression tight and distant. He hesitated for a moment before sitting beside her, unsure if he should bring up what he had overheard. After a long pause, he decided to ask.

“Everything alright? Last night, I mean...” he began, keeping his tone light, though he was genuinely curious.

Elena looked at him, surprised for a moment, then sighed. “You heard that, huh?”

“I couldn’t understand it,” Niko said quickly, “but I could follow the gist. It sounded... tense.”

Elena let out a bitter laugh. “Tense? Yeah, you could say that. My father...” she trailed off, her gaze fixed on something far away. “He has this idea that I should be... perfect. The perfect daughter, doing everything the way it’s always been done. The festival, the wreaths, the cooking, the cleaning. I don’t mind it most of the time, but...” She paused, frustration flickering across her face. “There’s more to life than that, right? I have other interests.”

Niko nodded slowly. “Families are difficult. Believe me, I get it. My parents had other plans for me too. I didn’t want to be a musician at first. I had different ideas, but they insisted. And in the end... well, they were right. Music turned out to be a rewarding and complex art. But it wasn’t easy getting there.”

Elena smiled faintly, though there was sadness behind her eyes. “Yeah, well... there’s nothing like that for me here. I’ll probably just end up somebody’s wife, making things pretty and keeping them clean. That’s all that’s expected of me.”

Niko frowned, sensing the depth of her frustration. “What would you want to be? If you could be anything?”

For a moment, Elena didn’t respond. She just stared at her hands, turning the coffee cup slowly. Then, as if making a decision, she stood up. “Wait here,” she said, disappearing into the house.

Niko sat there, puzzled, until she returned a few minutes later with a stack of sketchbooks under her arm. She placed them in front of him, her expression suddenly vulnerable.

“These,” she said quietly, “are what I would want to be.”

Niko opened the first sketchbook, and his breath caught. The pages were filled with exquisitely detailed watercolour studies of flowers, birds, and landscapes - each stroke precise, each colour vivid and alive. The sketches weren’t just good - they were extraordinary.

“Elena... these are... incredible,” Niko said, unable to hide his surprise. “You made these?”

She nodded, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “I’ve been drawing for years. It’s my escape, I guess. But no one really knows. My father would probably just think it’s another ‘pretty’ thing I do.”

Niko looked up at her, seeing her in a new light. There was so much more to her than he had realised. “You’re really talented. You could do something with this. Have you thought about... showing them to anyone?”

Elena shrugged, her vulnerability quickly masked by a casual tone. “Maybe one day. But for now... it’s just for me.”

Niko wanted to tell her that she could escape, that she didn’t have to be trapped by the expectations placed on her. But before he could speak, Elena stood up, brushing off her skirt.

“Anyway,” she said, shifting back to her usual confidence, “you’ve got an important job today.”

“Oh?” Niko raised an eyebrow.

Elena smiled mischievously. “Yannis wants you to keep an eye on Alexa and Gorge for the day.”

Soon Niko found himself in the middle of the village with Alexa and Gorge trailing behind him like eager ducklings. The festival was in full swing, though today’s atmosphere was more relaxed - families strolling through the market stalls, children laughing as they ran through the square. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, mixing with the sweetness of baked pastries and… pasta.

“Pagotó!” Alexa shouted, her wide eyes pleading as she pointed at an ice cream stall.

“Pagotó! Pagotó!” Gorge chimed in, jumping excitedly.

Niko chuckled. “Alright, let’s get some pagotó.”

As they walked through the village, Niko felt a strange disconnect from the vibrancy around him. He glanced at the market stalls, the colourful decorations, and the joyous faces of the festival-goers, but Zoe’s absence lingered at the edges of his thoughts, a shadow pulling at him. He couldn’t shake the lines from W. H. Auden’s Musée des Beaux Arts, that poem about how life continues even in the face of disaster. A reminder of that very Greek concept of ekphrasis - how art captures the contrast between suffering and indifference.

He tried to push it away, focusing on the present, on the laughter of the children beside him. But a familiar irritation simmered below the surface - irritation at himself for not being able to fully immerse in the moment, for letting his grief pull him away from the beauty of the day.

As they stood in line for ice cream, Gorge started to tug on Niko’s shirt, pointing at the double cone. Niko snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. “No! That’s greedy.”

Alexa’s face fell, and Niko immediately regretted it. He had let his frustration spill over onto the boy. What was he doing?

He crouched down to their level, softening his voice. “Hey, sorry, Gorge. I didn’t mean to get angry. Let’s get you both double scoops, okay?”

Alexa smiled again, and Gorge, who seemed to have forgotten the outburst already, nodded enthusiastically.

As they licked their ice cream cones, Niko felt a pang of guilt, but also a renewed sense of purpose. He was alive. He was here, in this place, with these children. He couldn’t let himself drown in the past. Not today.

“This is a beautiful day,” he murmured to himself, willing the simplicity of the moment to take root. “I need to remember that.”

They sat by the edge of the square, Niko watching Alexa and Gorge play a clumsy game of tag near the fountain, he tried to enjoy the last remnants of the afternoon. The kids’ laughter was infectious, and for a brief moment, he let himself forget the weight of the past, the suspicious stares, the questions that buzzed like gnats in his mind.

But that peace shattered when a man, clearly having had one too many drinks, staggered toward him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed, and his movements unsteady as he stopped a few feet away, glaring down at Niko with a sneer.

"I recognise you," the man slurred, his words thick with alcohol but sharp with anger. "You must be Angelopoulos’ boy. Same stupid grin."

Niko tensed, glancing quickly at the children who were too engrossed in their game to notice the exchange. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," Niko muttered, keeping his voice low, not wanting to cause a scene.

The man’s lip curled in disgust. "Don’t play dumb with me. If you weren’t sitting with these kids, I’d kill you right here."

Niko’s heart skipped a beat. His first instinct was to rise, to confront the man, but Alexa’s giggle behind him kept him rooted to his spot. His hands clenched into fists. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man spat on the ground, the wet splat of saliva hitting the dirt at Niko’s feet. "There's blood on your hands," he hissed, his voice dropping to a growl. "Until the wrongdoings are punished, they can’t be forgiven. You’re no different from him. You think you can just come back here and everything’s fine? No. Not until justice is served."

Niko stood up slowly, his body trembling with barely restrained anger. "What wrongdoings?" he demanded, stepping toward the man. "What the hell are you accusing me of? I’ve got nothing to do with my father’s past. What did he do?"

The man blinked, momentarily thrown off by Niko’s ignorance. He tilted his head, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You don’t know, do you? You’re as clueless as they come." He took a step back, stumbling slightly but still glaring at Niko. "Ask Yannis," he spat, voice dripping with venom. "He knows. He knows everything. But you’ll wish you never asked."

With that, the man turned on his heel and staggered off, disappearing into the crowd as though the confrontation had been nothing more than a passing breeze.

But for Niko, it left a storm in its wake. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands still shook as he sat back down, staring blankly at the ground where the man had spat. The accusation, the mention of blood on his hands—it rattled him to his core. A terrible secret regarding his father, something that everyone but him seemed to know.

He glanced over at Alexa and Gorge, still lost in their game, innocent and unaware of the darkness that had just reared its head.

His chest tightened, the urgency that had been simmering in the background now roaring to life. Whatever this was, it was bigger than just him. He had to know the truth about his father, and Yannis was the key. He just had to find the right moment.

But with every passing minute, it felt like time was running out.