22: A Childhood Home

                                    

                                          
{ AHT }
Escaping through the sewer system isn't part of the plan.
The cloth masks we wear aren't helping. Ki gags every now and then, albeit she pushes on with a flashlight in hand. Our thick, black coats and boots  might have been a hassle if not for the rain outside. With my hair and hers tied up in tight buns, they lessen the sweat.
The large framed painting on my back is heavier by the minute. Not to say I can't handle it, but it's as if I'm holding a mug and unmoving for too long. Even though it's protected in a thick leather case, I won't dare to jostle it much. She offered to carry it, though it's not her turn yet.
Not only because all paintings are worthy of preservation, which Ki and I have the same value about, it is also because Theo was deeply troubled when this art went missing.
For four years and five months, I've been working as a chef and Ki works as a gardener under Angeline's management—many men were against this but Theo put his foot down—at Theo's small hotel. Despite he wants to keep it away from the spotlight, his business thrives. Because like his father's welcoming service, his too has attracted all walks of life. 
Angeline doesn't know what Ki and I are doing whenever we travel every three months. Theo feeds her white lies every time for our sake...
He made friends with people who study mysticism in their respective practices. Sufi, Dharma, Kabbalah, you name it. After decades of meeting crazy ones, he finally took a chance to befriend people who could help him with his gift. And they did. He has another gift now, albeit the side effects are that his pupils turn white and blind to the tangible world whenever he uses it.
...I'm unburdened without the constant inputs of knowledge from the spirit world. Just sometimes, with his secrecy, I feel left out. Especially my dear Ki, an innately, ever-curious being. Still, she is learning to let it go. 
Theo exchanges postcards with his friends around the globe. A slim pocket is fashioned into the middle of the postcard and contains a real message on a frail thin paper. Angeline likes to tease him by calling him a spy. Ki and I, on the other hand, help him translate his and their visions whenever he's confused.
A month ago, he and his two gifted friends, Basharat and Charusheela, created a project together: the painting we're having here. It was stolen and sold to the shadow market, placed at a high price since several paintings were destroyed during World War Two. We then found its location from many 'helpful' sources—look, they were compliant after meeting my fists. What a man got to do?
Theo didn't want to burden us since we had other cases to solve, but he lost sleep over it. Ki thought it wasn't a big matter and I followed her sentiment, but oh boy, are we wrong. This case is painfully meticulous, with traces and hidden clues scattered everywhere.
At first, I couldn't comprehend why the painting was highly sought after. Charusheela isn't a famous painter. However, Theo warned us, distraught that it would be catastrophic if it was in the wrong hands. The thieves might have discovered what priceless value it holds...
Ki and I resorted to this mess because we stole it back from a slave trafficker's abode in the middle of Berlin. I don't bother to learn his name. All we had to do was break in, retrieve the painting while the seller was sucking up to him in the next room, and sneak out.
But no. His prick of a son saw us near their parking spots and yapped at the entire house. I hope this item is goddamn gorgeous. This filthy place is a nightmare!
Huffing, I ask, "Are we getting closer?"
"Almost," Ki answers in exhaustion. "A couple of—"
"DA SIND SIE!"