by Jeff Elkins
Caroline continued, “And above all, you must never become romantically engaged with your patron.” Stopping in front of Nadia, Caroline nodded to the man at the door.
Psoglavac crossed the room with frightening speed. The muscles in his chest and arms stretched his shirt. Moe cringed as he backhanded Nadia, hitting her so hard she fell to the floor. Nadia grabbed at her abdomen trying to protect herself, but Psoglavac kicked her anyway.
Moe looked at the floor hoping it would end quickly. She knew there was nothing she could do.
“You must never become entangled with your patron,” Caroline said, as the man kicked Nadia again.
Caroline knelt down and touched Moe’s cheek.
Moe continued to look at the floor.
Caroline pinched her face, demanding Moe look her in the eyes.
Moe obeyed.
“Nadia will be punished,” Caroline said, as the man kicked Nadia a third time. Nadia spat blood onto the floor and moaned in pain.
“Nadia will be punished for a long time and you will never see her again,” Caroline said, pinching Moe’s cheeks harder and then, letting go. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt and added, “And when the other girls ask you what happened, you tell them that Nadia is gone because she misbehaved.”
The man reached down and grabbed Nadia by the hair. Nadia clawed at his hand and screamed. Like she was a child’s sled, he dragged her out of the room. Moe heard her wailing, as she was dragged out of sight. A chill went up Moe’s spine when the crying stopped.
“You were brought here to do a job. So do your job,” Caroline said.
Moe let go of Sasha’s hands. Tears streamed down both their faces. “Oh, God,” Moe said. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. She stumbled back, but Sasha caught her. Moe closed her eyes and tried to regain her balance. She took deep breaths. She could see the man’s face. She jerked as she remembered him smacking Nadia to the ground. Moe shook her head, trying to force the memory out of her mind. With Sasha’s support, she stood. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said.
“You have to find her. Please,” Sasha pleaded.
Moe took another deep breath. She looked to Stacie. The situation had calmed down. Stacie was now talking with the overseer. They looked to be negotiating next steps. Moe really wished Stacie hadn’t smacked that nanny. She thought about Nadia. She remembered being stuffed a van. She remembered the jab to the ribs and the van. She missed the feel of wet grass on her feet and Misha running by her side. She wanted to walk away and find a place to lay down, but she understood now that with a simple accusation, Stacie had likely just killed that girl.
Moe stumbled toward Stacie. She could taste the cigarette in her mouth again. Then she saw the van driving toward her. She felt the world go black as the bag was put over her head. “No! Stop!” she yelled, waving her arms.
Moe felt the rough hands on her. She saw Nadia blow a smoke ring and then cough up blood. She saw Caroline’s eyes and felt her nails digging into her cheeks.
Stacie was ten yards away. “Stacie, not that one,” Moe yelled. “I told you, she wasn’t a nanny. She was a waitress.”
Stacie looked at her with confused panic. “What?” she called.
Moe tried to take a deep breath, but all she could taste was cigarette smoke. “That’s not her,” she coughed. “It looks like her, but she wasn’t a nanny. She was a waitress.”
Stacie went with it. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” she said, clutching her shirt. Turning to the nanny, she said again, “I’m so, so sorry.”
Moe stopped and raised her hands above her head, trying to get a full breath. Looking up at the clouds, she whispered to herself, “That’s not your story. That’s not you.” Her heart raced again as she felt the bag come over her head. “Your name is Moneta Watkins,” she said.
She took deep breaths. Her head was pounding. “That is not your story. You’re Moneta Watkins. You’re the daughter of Amar and Rashida. Sister to Robert, Joseph, Calvin, and Lance.”
She took more deep breaths trying to force her heart to slow. “You grew up happy and strong,” she said. “Remember the love. Remember the joy. Because no matter what is in your head, this is your story.”
“Again, I’m so, so sorry,” she heard Stacie call. Stacie took her by the arm and Moe jerked at the memory of being yanked into the van. She saw the face of the man who’d attacked Nadia. She saw Nadia cough up blood. “No. No. No,” Moe said. “That’s not my story. That’s not my story.”
“Moe. Are you alright?” Stacie whispered, as she guided Moe out of the playground.
Moe wept. “That’s not my story,” she mumbled to herself.
“Come on girl. We need to get out of here,” Stacie said, rubbing Moe’s back as they walked.
“My name’s not Sasha,” Moe said. “It’s Moneta. I’m Moneta Watkins.”
“Shit, girl. What in the hell did you see?” Stacie said.
They walked through the park together. Moe wept, but the walk was helping. She could feel her heart slowing. “I need to lay down,” she said. “Could you help me get home? I need to lay down.”
“Absolutely,” Stacie said. “Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Moe dreamed of open fields, with white flowers and wet grass, and terrifying men who knocked women out of chairs with the back of their hands and being kidnapped in front of a club. It was Bosley’s wet nose on her feet that roused her from her sleep. She could feel him nestled against her legs. She reached down and rubbed his head.
Sitting up, she looked for her phone and found it on her bedside table with the note that read, “Went home to change and shower. Call me when you are up. Love, Stacie.”
Moe sighed. The phone said it was seven-forty in the evening. She’d lost the day, dreaming about through Sasha’s memories. There were five voicemails and twelve text messages. She opened the text messages first. They were all from Robert.
“Answer your phone.”
“Where are you?”
“Are you ok?”
“Answer the phone.”
“I’m coming over.”
“Fuck Moe. Answer the phone.”
“I’m here.”
“Let me in.”
“Are you okay?”
“Banged on your door? Why aren’t you home?”
“MOE! WHERE ARE YOU!”
“Found Stacie. She said you are asleep. Call me when you wake up.”
Her head ached. She decided not to listen to his messages. She turned and let her feet hit the floor. She closed her eyes and saw the van coming toward her. She opened them again and massaged her temples.
Taking her phone, she texted Stacie. “I’m up. Meet at Thirsty Horse in 20?”
It took less than a second for Stacie to reply, “CU There.”
She then texted Robert. “Sorry to scare you. Just woke up. Staying home. Don’t worry.”
Struggling to keep her balance, Moe stood. She was tempted to turn on music, but she was afraid she would hear the beat of the loud club again.
Bosley jumped off the bed, shook his whole body and yawned. Moe wished she could shake off her dreams in the same way. Not yet steady on her feet, she made her way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, she touched up her hair and then splashed water in her face. The feel of the water on her cheeks reminded her of the lake and of Misha. A sense of painful loss filled her chest. She missed Misha.
Moe smacked her cheeks. “You don’t know Misha,” she said out loud. “You can’t miss her because you don’t know her.”
She splashed more water in her face, dried it with a towel, and then looked to the top right corner of the mirror. Touching the picture of her family, she read, “Your name is Moneta Watkins. Daughter of Amar and Rashida. Sister to Robert, Joseph, Calvin, and Lance. You grew up happy and strong. Remember the love. Remember the joy. Because no matter what is in your head, this is your story.” She took a deep breath through her nose, he
ld it in her mouth, and then exhaled. Looking in the mirror, she said one more time, “This is your story.”
After taking Bosley out, Moe started up the street. She liked the cool feel of the night’s air on her face. The Thirsty Horse was only six blocks away. She was looking forward to the walk. It was quiet. Lights in the windows of rowhomes lit the sidewalk and the occasional TV flickered as she walked past. She liked glancing into windows trying to guess what people were watching. She paused for a moment to look at a flat-screen playing a baseball game. The O’s were up by three.
She noticed something in the corner of her vision. She looked back and saw him there, Psoglavac. He was a block behind her pretending to look at his phone. Fear filled her lungs making it hard to catch her breath. She looked down and thought, “He’s got his gun. I can’t look at him or he’ll notice me, and then he’ll beat me. He’ll beat me like he beat Nadia.” But instead of Sasha’s shoes and the hardwood floor, Moe saw her pink shoelaces. She stared at them, allowing them to remind her what was real and who she was.
Moe clenched her fists and closed her eyes, pushing Sasha’s transferred feelings down. Opening eyes, she looked back again. Psoglavac was slowly walking toward her, trying not to catch up with her. She looked around. This street was too open for an attack. There were too many windows, too many potential witnesses. He needed to get her somewhere off the main drag.
She considered texting Robert, but what good would that do. There’s no way he would get to her in time. She was on her own and she was okay with that because she was going to make this asshole pay for his crimes.
Moe started walking again, picking up her pace. She took a left and headed toward the Catholic Church on Cross Street. Between the old brick cathedral, prayer garden, and the now mostly empty convent, the campus took up the whole block. Moe knew the grounds well. She went there sometimes to think and clear her mind. Surrounded by a four-foot-tall brick wall topped by a three-foot-tall iron fence, the campus was like a mini fortress with one gate in and one gate out.
As Moe crossed the street, she looked back again. Psoglavac was still behind her. He was as big and terrifying in real life, as he had been in Moe’s memory. His face was flat like he’d been punched in the nose too many times as a kid and his shoulders were strikingly wide, giving him a top-heavy look. Moe wondered how hard she’d have to hit him to knock him down.
She’d need to be quick she reminded herself. If she was quick, it might not affect her like it usually did. She couldn’t dwell. Get in, get it done, and get away.
Moe arrived at the other sidewalk and walked faster. Glancing down at the curb, she saw a piece of chipped sidewalk. “Perfect,” she said to herself as she bent down to pick it up. The rock filled the palm of her hand. She squeezed it. It was strong and jagged.
She turned into the entrance of the sanctuary and made a sharp right toward the prayer garden. She knew the brick wall would momentarily obscure his view. It would give her the time she needed.
In the middle of the prayer garden, there was a statue of Saint Michael. The angel stood seven feet tall with its giant wings extended. In his right, hand Michael held a sword, and in his left, a round shield. Moe jumped up on the base of the statue and pushed her back against it. She hoped it was enough to hide her. Now she just needed Psoglavac to follow her. She needed a quick touch. Get in and get out. She couldn’t let him get a hand on her. If he grabbed her, she knew there was no escape.
The seconds felt like hours. The only sound was her own breathing. She doubted her plan. What if he didn’t follow her in? There was only one way out of the courtyard. If he stayed to block it, he would catch her with little effort and could push her back into the campus. Her mind raced for an alternative plan, but nothing presented itself. She’d just have to wait him out.
She heard footsteps. He was moving forward slowly, searching for her. Moe’s heart raced. She squeezed the rock in her hand again. She needed to time her next move perfectly. He’d be on her in a few more steps. She closed her eyes and listened. She heard him take another step forward. She opened her eyes and watched the darkness. His leg came into view and she pounced.
Reaching out with her empty hand, she touched his cheek. She only needed a moment of a memory. Force it to the surface and force him to live it. She raced through his mind, searching for the combination of pain and fear. It only took a millisecond to find. The memory raged in the background. Moe smiled, closed her eyes, and focused on it knowing that forcing something this powerful out would hurt him.
Tears rolled down Moe’s cheeks. Her heart pounded with fear. She was seated in a small room. It was empty except for blankets on the floor. It was her bed. Her childhood bed. Her knees were pulled to her chest, and she rocked back and forth.
There was screaming from the next room. Two adults. One male and one female. They were Moe’s parents. Psoglavac’s parents. Something broke. It was a dish on the floor in the other room. Mama was throwing dishes again. Her parents yelled Russian obscenities at each other. Moe pressed against the door, wanting it all to disappear. She prayed quietly to herself that they would stop, that they wouldn’t come in, that they wouldn’t hurt one another.
There was a burst of gunfire. Moe screamed in fear. She stood and ran into the room. Her father was there. He was holding the smoking pistol and crying. Moe scanned the room, hoping to find his mother standing in the kitchen, but she was on the floor. A pool of red crept from her head.
Moe let go. She stumbled back. She could hear the plates breaking and the gunshot in her ears, but she’d been quick. It hadn’t consumed her. She bit her lip and the pain centered her. Taking a step back, she smiled. It had worked.
Psoglavac looked bewildered. His arms hung limply by his side. The gun he was carrying slipped from his hand. Tears formed in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. “Mama,” he said softly.
Moe grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the balls as hard as she could.
Psoglavac fell to his knees. He grabbed his groin with both hands. The memory still had him locked in a trance, but it didn’t keep him from feeling the pain of Moe’s attack.
“You like beating on women?” Moe said, as she reared back with the rock in her hand. Swinging her fist with all her might, she hit the big man with the rock. Blood poured from his scalp and he fell to the ground.
“How’s it feel, you bastard?” Moe said, as she kicked him in the stomach again and again. His eyes were locked open in terror. With each grunt, he moaned the word, “Mama,” and Moe knew he’d be reliving his mother’s death all night. Moe had found a powerful memory and forced it to the front of his mind, and she wasn’t sorry.
She searched his coat pocket and found his phone. Wrestling with his large hand, she pressed his thumb against the pad and it unlocked. Standing, she kicked him again in the face as hard as she could. “That’s for Nadia, bitch,” she said.
Leaning down, she picked up the gun he’d dropped. Stepping into the street, she removed the magazine, cleared the chamber, and threw it down one sewer drain. Crossing the street, she threw the gun down another. There were enough guns in Baltimore already. This one could find its way to the Chesapeake Bay.
As she walked away, Moe turned her attention to Psoglavac’s phone. She opened his text messages. The most recent message was a note from an unmarked number that read, “New shipment by train. 4:35 am.” Tucking the phone in her pocket, she hurried to bar. The sound of breaking plates and a gunshot danced in the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside. The memory was weak and already beginning to fade.
Stacie was waiting for her in the back corner at their usual table. Moe crossed the room with determination and sat down at the table. Stacie had a beer and fries waiting for her, and Moe took a long swig. She began stuffing fries into her mouth. She was voraciously hungry. It was only then that she realized she’d skipped lunch and dinner.
“Well, you seem to be feeling better,” Stacie said with a laugh.
Moe stuffed more
fries into her mouth and mumbled, “Thank you for the food.”
“I figured you’d be hungry. You were asleep all day,” Stacie said, sipping her drink.
“I had to deal with all the shit I saw in Sasha’s head,” Moe said, right before taking another long swig of beer.
Stacie leaned forward. “So, what did you see? Did you learn anything useful?” she asked.
“I know everything, including our next move,” Moe said with a smile.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The parking garage of the airport’s Amtrak station was mostly empty. Moe pulled her hatchback into a spot that would allow them easy access to the garage exit if they needed it.
“So what’s the plan?” Stacie asked.
“Walk up and see what’s going on,” Moe said.
“Okay. I know I’m new at this, but I’m pretty sure they know your face. They had their thug following you. I don’t think you are going to be able to waltz in there unseen,” Stacie said.
Moe nodded. “So I’m going to have to be extra sneaky,” she said with a grin.
“Nope. That’s not where I was going. I was going to say that you should hang back and let me go in,” Stacie said.
“There’s really only two people that know my face. Caroline and the Big Boss Mrs. Kingsington-Ring,” Moe said defensively.
“You don’t know that for sure. They’ve probably got wanted posters of you up all over their office,” Stacie said.
Moe laughed. She knew the situation was grim. These people were trying to kill her, but she couldn’t help it. The idea that someone would put a wanted poster up for her was funny.
“So here’s the new game plan. The Stacie Plan, if you will. I’m going to go and see when the next train is coming in and where it’s coming from. You’re going to find somewhere to hide and watch safely from afar. I’d tell you to stay in the car, but I know that’s pointless. So text me when you’ve got your hiding spot, and then I’ll come and tell you what’s going on,” Stacie said.