2000 years later...
Sometimes if I close my eyes, I can picture the faces of my mother and father. It’s an unintentional habit of mine, and I suppose all children who have lived their whole life in an orphanage do it. But when I see them, it’s always like a dream; I know who they are, but cannot see their features clearly. The very worst kind of torture.
My name is Kyria, and I am a thief.
Don’t get me wrong, I only steal from those who deserve it. Sometimes I break into places or things just to prove to myself that I can, and don’t steal anything. Must be another idiosyncrasy that has developed from my childhood.
One of my favourite things to do is to break into museums. It’s an easy enough task for someone as skilled as I am; despite being a popular tourist destination in London, this particular building has only two security guards, and they never check the exhibits. So, you simply open one of the windows to the cafe, slip in, cautiously make your way to your desired destination and, Bob’s your uncle, you have a private viewing. My favourite part of the museum is not the beautiful clothes, or the glittering jewels, or even the creepy sarcophagi. No, it’s the Greek art. I’m captivated by the amazing statues and pottery, and I marvel at how anyone could love anything so much to spend the time it would take to create such works by hand. I stare at the faces of the gods and wonder what could have caused their disappearance if they were so loved by their people.
It was a warm summer’s evening, and I was sat on the cold marble floor, staring up at a majestic statue of Poseidon. I enjoyed the darkness, save for the spotlight on his face, and the silence, except for the sound of my quiet breathing. I felt as if I was the only person in the world, and that was how I liked it. I closed my eyes and let myself daydream, pretend I wasn’t me, and escape from it all.
I don’t know how long I had been sitting there, when I suddenly heard footsteps. I mentally cursed, and sprang to my feet. There was only one door out of the section I was in, and so I crouched behind a display, hoping that I wouldn’t be found. The steps came closer and closer, and I soon saw a pair of men’s black shoes in front of my eyes. The man walked around slowly, and I very carefully prepared myself for a sprint. I silently slid my hand into my jacket pocket, and threw a small rock that I had kept in there for such situations, and threw it in the opposite direction of the door, hoping to distract the man enough for me to get a head start. The rock connected with the wall with a loud clack, and I ran as fast as I could out of there. I could hear the thud of my heart in my ears, and my lungs gasped for air. The adrenaline made me feel dizzy, but I was positive that no-one was following me. I stopped to catch my breath and jogged down the corridor leading to the cafe, and my exit. But as I got to the door, I heard the click of the lock.
“No!” I whispered, and tried the handle. It was no use, but I still tried multiple times, jiggling it this way and that. I pulled a hair grip from my hair and knelt down to try to pick the lock, but I was too late. The door at the end of the corridor opened, and a man stepped through it.
He was very calm, his hand casually in the pockets of his black trench coat. I stood up and assessed him. He was much taller than me, which wasn’t difficult as I was only 5 foot 4, but I could probably take him in a fight. He smiled at me, which caught me off guard.
“Hello, Kyria. It’s been a long time.” He said. I took a step back in surprise.
“How do you know my name?” I asked him, trying not to sound like the scared girl that I was. “Who are you?”
“Ah, both of these questions have one answer.” He said to me. I crossed my arms.
“Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t want any cryptic riddles.” I said to him. He grew solemn.
“I am your father, Kyria.” I laughed.
“Really.” I said, unconvinced. “Well if you’ll excuse me, I have to leave before the guards come.” I said and turned to pick the lock.
“Kyriana Stone, do not turn away from me!” He said loudly. I stopped, and then looked at him, completely serious.
“Are you really my father?” I asked him. He nodded, and I looked at him more closely. And I was there in his face- the same eyes and nose. “Bu-but...” I started, but he interrupted.
“Now is not the time or the place. There are things we need to talk about, and you have questions that I shall try to answer. But for now...” He said and then strode over to me and took me by the shoulders. “We must leave.” I nodded dumbly, and I let him lead me out of the museum, not questioning the route or whether we would be caught. Finally we were out in the mugginess of the early morning, and he motioned for me to follow him. I struggled to keep up with him.
“What’s your name?” I asked. He hesitated.
“How can a name be complicated?” I asked.
“I will explain later.” He then stopped and looked at me, a troubled expression on his face. “I am called Patrick Stone. For the time being.” He said, not explaining anymore. “Come on.” He said, starting his quick pace again.