Free Promethea by M.M. Abougabal Page A

away.
                  Back then, I knew that my chances to bend her unyielding resolve were dimming. For I had accepted that the only way to counter her naïve obsession was to wield the very same sharpened weapon. I had researched tirelessly and thoroughly myself, aching to find gaps in her firm convictions and yearning for the moderate and extreme. I once even called upon the obvious: If God really existed, why is he letting children suffer? Why is Adam’s offspring dying from hunger and disease in Africa? They had done no harm; they did deserve a chance in life .
                  Freedom of choice , or so she argued. She would look at me with a concerned face, confidently debating that God gave the world enough resources to go by, enough for all of us. Yet it was mankind itself that lacked the will to distribute them in an equitable manner.
                  There were no more reasons for me to linger when Emily departed. I took care of her almost her entire life, and that is why I packed and left for the land of our forefathers . I thought it was ironic how they once set sail to the Americas seeking fewer religious tensions among other things, where I flew back basically for an analogous reason. At least modern day European citizens are not as devout and opinionated as their American counterparts. They simply lost their interest; they no longer cared.
                  I seem to be regularly wandering off as of late, so much that I did not notice the increasing number of worshippers lighting candles around me. My daydreaming sessions have once again impaired me. I could not shake off how their presence bothered me so much that I just had to leave. I never was a fan of public display of affections, so I stepped outside, buttoned back my coat and reached for my phone. I better get in touch with Adam and find out where he had been and where I am to meet him.

Chapter eight
                  Delić ticked all the boxes of a tech geek; he had neatly stacked what was at least fifteen thousand Euros worth of gadgets around his tiny apartment. He had even owned an early underground copy of the not yet released PlayStation 5 games console, which wasn’t even set to be sold for two more weeks. Adam knew all this because he could not wait to lay his hands on one himself. The Frenchman’s scrutinizing eyes kept touring the tiny apartment slowly until they fell on the young man’s pockets, which interestingly both looked empty.
                  “Where is his phone?” he asked. “A young man like him wouldn’t have survived a few minutes without his phone.”
                  Schuster pulled a black Montblanc ballpoint pen, which was tidily stacked in his shirt’s pocket and used it to inspect Delić’s jeans more intricately. “You are right, it’s not there.”
                  The missing mobile device was actually a welcomed turn of events. It offered them a chance to track down the device, which would lead them to potential suspects if they played their cards right. They were well aware that they could not waste time with this. The faster they act and triangulate the location of the signal the better chance they would have reaching the murderer before any information is retrieved and the phone discarded. Schuster had just started dialling back the station with his orders when Adam’s phone rang sharply.
                  “It’s Hélène, do you mind if I take this outside?” yet Adam waited for no answer. He paced out of Delić’s apartment, walked a couple of steps away from the officers who were rudely questioning some of the nearby neighbours, and answered his phone in French. He looked over his shoulder noticing an Eastern European brunette in her mid-twenties carrying a young crying baby. Her miserable tries to soothe her child or to speak in coherent German both proved fruitless. Even if generally, she seemed to