Becoming Lost

by Ophelia Sikes

  He glanced at Alex. “Sir, shall I pour?”

  Alex reached forward. “I will handle things from here, thanks.” He poured my glass first, then his own. He set the bottle back into the ice.

  I raised my glass to his, turning the wine glass’s bowl slightly off-angle. “To new beginnings.”

  He mirrored my move, and the clinking of bowl to bowl sent a beautiful chime out into the room.

  I took down a taste.

  Glowing contentment filled me.

  Delicious. Absolutely delicious.

  Alex was watching my eyes, and I could see his breath leave him. It was a moment before he took his own drink. Before he put his glass onto the table.

  I laid my fingers along his watch on his wrist, giving a soft stroke to the skin. “You seem to be successful at what you do.”

  He held in a groan. His voice was hoarse. “I find it’s a combination of research and perseverance. You have to know what to do and then have the balls to see it through.”

  I gave an amused smile. “That you do, in so much of life.” I slid my fingers along his arm. “And you have them? The balls? To do what needs to be done?”

  His gaze on me was heavy now, and I could see the desire rising in him. “Absolutely.”

  I took my fingers from him and brought up my glass. I drank down another savoring taste of my Champagne. “So, what do you miss most about Ukraine?”

  He answered without hesitation. “The music. There’s just something about our Ukrainian musicians. Maybe it’s because of all we have suffered, under the heel of the Russians. The decades of starvation. The near-eradication of our own culture. Our musicians held on to our heritage. They protected it, for us all.”

  I thought of the night we danced together. How his arms had held me. How his eyes had looked into my very soul.

  His breath left him.

  I slid my fingers down to his –

  I blinked.

  I had a job to do.

  I stood and looked toward the bar, bringing myself back into focus. It seemed as if half of the room were watching us now.

  There. Hanging on the back wall.

  I called out to the barkeep, “Does that bandura actually play, or is it just a decoration?”

  The barkeep easily lifted the beautiful cherry stringed instrument from its hooks. He carried it around to hand it to me. “It is my own instrument,” he stated. “I would be honored if you would play us a tune.”

  He nodded his head to a waitress, and she turned the house music off.

  Now I did have the full attention of the room.

  I gave the strings a strum and shifted a few knobs to bring it into tune. Then I looked down at Alex. “Any requests?”

  He was watching me as if nobody else in the world existed. “Whatever pleases you the most.”

  I gave him a smile that told him just what would please me the most.

  His mouth went dry.

  I began singing a folk song, rich and warm, one which every man present knew the words to. In a moment Alex had joined in with me, and then the barkeep, and soon the entire room rang with the rhythm of the words.

  My presence here was an act, and yet warmth filled me as we sang. As we treasured a rich culture which had withstood its near-destruction. Which had persevered.

  The song at last wrapped around to its end.

  The room echoed with applause and cheers, and I bowed in gratitude.

  Then I looked down and strummed a chord. “Maybe something slower, next.”

  I rippled my fingers into the opening chords.

  His eyes opened, and he was caught on me.

  I sang the love song which had always held my heart. It was a tender twining of haunting melody and intricate lyrics.

  The singer, a young woman, is torn away from her beloved; she aches with the loss. She endures hardships and miseries beyond measure. No matter how fate twists, she never gives up hope. She strives with all her being to return to him.

  Then, just when all seems lost, her final efforts burst through the challenges. At last she arrives in her home village. Surely it is too late. Surely he is gone, or married, or lost to her …

  He is there, waiting. He has been searching for her, without fail, and has heard of her return. He has just arrived.

  And they gaze into each other’s eyes …

  Many eyes were shining around the room. The applause rose even higher.

  I turned in place, holding the bandura high. “And one more, to end the selection on a rousing note. A dance tune!”

  A cry of delight rose from the group, and I dove into the fast paced music. Men were drumming along on tables. Women whirled around passed from arm to arm. The voices rose loud as feet stomped and cheers rang out. The entire club could have been transported back to Lviv, to a hundred years ago. To a time when communities came together to celebrate, to share, and to lift up the night.

  The song cascaded to a rollicking end.

  There were cheers and applause, thumps and raised glasses. I bowed to the barkeep and handed him back his instrument. “That is a fine bandura. Thank you for allowing me to play it.”

  He beamed. “Thank you for the beautiful performance. That will be the talk of the place for months.”

  He gave a wry smile. “It almost makes me regret the no cellphone policy. I’m sure many men here would pay good money to have a video of that performance.”

  I chuckled. “And I’m sure many other men would pay far more money to have any such recording destroyed. Along with the person who made that recording.”

  He nodded and touched his nose. Then he headed back over behind the bar.

  Alex was looking at me with a shimmering gaze. “You are amazing. Simply amazing.”

  I gave him a twinkling smile. “What I am is thirsty.”

  He put out his hand and took mine, helping me back into my seat. He then handed me my Champagne flute. He filled it afresh.

  He toasted me. “To tonight. To seeing you with that smile on your face.”

  My smile widened of its own accord. “To the man who brings me such pleasure that I lose all sense of place and time.”

  His body shone. I knew, if we had been alone, that there would be no more words.

  I drank some Champagne.

  Man, but this stuff was good.

  My free hand was resting on the table, and he laid his on top, his fingers curling around to my palm.

  One finger tapped against my palm, and I followed the letters in Morse code.

  Please. Don’t do it. We’ll find another way.

  I brought my eyes to his.

  They held mine with an intensity which took my breath away. As if he were wholly mine, and there could be nothing held back between us.

  Nothing but this.

  I gave him a wry smile, sliding my hand from his grasp. “And now, I apologize, but I must powder my nose. I will be back shortly.”

  I drew my eyes away from him, so I would not be swayed by that powerful gaze. I took up my purse and walked around the table.

  Mark’s hand snapped across the table to grab, hard, at my wrist. Even though I had been expecting it, the suddenness of it startled me, and I let out a gasp.

  Half the men around us rose to their feet.

  Mark’s voice held a tinge of a drunken slur. “Hey! You! I got money too, ya know! It’s my turn now. And enough of this guitar stuff. I wanna see some dancin’. Somethin’ more sexy. With some oomph to it.”

  I tugged at my hand, but Mark wasn’t releasing me. His gaze became a leer, and it swept down my body.

  Alex’s voice held concern. “Hey, pal, I think you should –”

  Mark snapped, “You had your chance! She’s mine now! And this hundred dollar bill says she’d better start –”

  A voice came from behind us. Cool. Calm. But it cut through the room as if it were a beam of pure ice. It could be heard in every last distant corner.

  “Let. Her. Go.”

  Chapter 4

/>   I don’t know if Mark willfully released his grip or if his fingers just obeyed Mikhaylo’s command of their own accord. The man just had that power to him.

  I took in a breath. Of all the moments, this was the most crucial. Not that I was worried about Mikhaylo recognizing me. I had been one of thousands of girls who had gone through his system. If he had ever met me in person, it was perhaps once or twice, when I was first brought in. A long time had passed since then.

  A lifetime.

  I was more focused on ensuring I made a strong enough impression on the man. His empire was vast. He had seen women of all shapes, sizes, and talents. I needed him to judge me of worthy of bringing back to the main base. I needed him to treat me as a high-quality acquisition.

  I was ready.

  I turned.

  I brought an appreciative smile on my lips. “Thank you so much, mister –”

  “You can call me Haydeon.”

  I held the smile on my lips. Haydeon. The name meant destroyer. There was no more apt title for him.

  Alex’s voice rose behind me. He spoke to the room at large. “I apologize for the actions of my client here. He’s had too much to drink. Please, put a round on the house. Two. Whatever you’d like. As soon as my business is complete, I will take him home. I vow he will never return here again.”

  There were muttered comments and remarks, but the room settled back down into relative calm.

  Without looking back, I strode up the stairs to where Mikhaylo and his party were sitting. It took every ounce of my inner strength to keep drawing closer … closer … closer to the man. I could see the edges of the scar at his neck. The mark Olga had made which had cost her far more than her life.

  It had cost her her sanity.

  An open bottle of Kortitsa was on the table, and crazed thoughts flicked through my mind.

  He smiled at me. “Shall I order us a bottle of Krug?”

  I slid my fingers around the neck of the bottle.

  I drew in a breath.

  I drank down three shots in one long swallow. Then I wiped the mouth of the bottle off on my palm and put it back down.

  His gaze shone with delight. “Now there’s a woman after my own heart.”

  I muttered, “Had to get the stench of that cretin off my body.”

  His look hardened. “The bastard should be castrated. They all should.”

  I slid into the seat at his side. “They have their uses,” I murmured. “That man is about to get fleeced naked by one of our own. That will be good to see.”

  He nodded, easing. “Yes. Far better. Strip him to nothing. Back to where he belongs. The gutter.”

  He poured out a shot for himself. Like magic, a waitress had appeared bringing a shotglass for me. It was also filled.

  He touched his glass to mine. “To new beginnings.”

  I held mine up, holding his gaze. “New beginnings.”

  The shots flowed, the words spun, and he was smooth, oh so smooth. One might not even know he was a monster. That he was the worst category of demon that even other demons didn’t dare to cross. That everything which shone was a mere mask, and beneath it boiled a blackness so wretched that it could never be named.

  His hand went past my glass.

  There.

  If I hadn’t been watching for it, I wouldn’t have ever seen it. Even with my attention on high alert, I nearly missed it.

  He poured the glasses both full again and lifted his.

  “To you.”

  I chuckled.

  I let my gaze drift to the side.

  Alex’s eyes were full on me.

  I saw the warning in them.

  I drank.

  Chapter 5

  The world was a kaleidoscope.

  It was a carnival ride, and the lights were flashing on, off, on, off.

  There was a leather seat. It had that new car smell to it. I’d heard they bottled and sold that scent now. To spray into vehicles. The seat was soft against my cheek.

  Rumbling. Whirring.

  Someone was going through my purse. Emptying it out. Items were being tossed out the window. A cool breeze came in. It felt fresh. Crisp.

  The scent of the ocean.

  The taste of salt on my lips.

  Blink.

  We were outside a warehouse. It could have been any of a thousand warehouses along this stretch. How long had I been out? Two men were lifting me out of the car, one by each arm.

  My feet weren’t working properly.

  Mikhaylo’s voice called out from behind me. “I have to go back to the hotel. Get my bag. I want to put her through her paces properly. While I’m away, get her set up. But no one touches her until I return.”

  The man on my right responded, “Of course, Mister Haydeon.”

  I nearly snorted. Haydeon. Haydeon the Destroyer. Haydeon thought he was invincible, but he wasn’t. I was going to take him down. And I would use everything in my power to do that.

  They were carry-dragging me across the concrete while behind us the car smoothly drove away. One of the men rapped on the warehouse’s metal door. The door cracked open a sliver, then pulled open wide.

  They hauled me through.

  Another maze of containers, stacked three high. More men with guns and pistols. A row of desks held computers, monitors, keyboards, and mice. The chairs sat empty.

  Beyond was an open space. To the left there was a squarish cage, about six feet on a side, with a door on the close end. Five women huddled within.

  A guard unlocked the cage door and the other two men tossed me in. My feet stumbled on each other and I splayed hard on the metal floor.

  The cage door locked behind me.

  The women all pressed back against the rear bars. They were, to a person, beautiful. They were black and white, Chinese and Hispanic. All had stained dresses and smeared lipstick. Their faces were wet with tears.

  I pulled myself to my feet and turned to look at the room.

  A king-sized bed centered in the space. All around were professional lighting and baffles. At least six cameras were set up from various angles.

  I glanced to the right.

  I had to get to those computers.

  I slid my hand to my shoulder, as if adjusting my bra strap, and unhooked the USB dongle from its latch. They’d already stripped my diamond bracelets, earrings, and necklace. I tucked the dongle in the nook between my thumb and index finger.

  Then I latched both hands on the front bars.

  I began shaking them as hard as I could. “You can’t hold me! I’m an American citizen!”

  The Chinese woman behind me desperately tried to shush me. “You’re going to get us all in trouble!”

  I shook harder, bellowing. “I want my lawyer! I demand to see my lawyer!”

  A guard came over to glare at me. “You’d better shut up! Enough!”

  The black woman called out, “We’ll keep her quiet!”

  I kicked at the bars. “No you won’t! Nobody keeps me quiet! Let me out! Let me out!”

  The guard raised his hand high, and I stared him full in the face. “Go ahead, hit me,” I challenged him. “They wanted me untouched. Remember? And once my lawyer gets here, you’ll all be going to jail! For life!”

  He laughed at that. “For life is right, you bitch.”

  I spit at him.

  Fury filled his face, and he grabbed at the lock, jamming in the key.

  He opened the door –

  I launched past him, as if racing for the exits. As I approached the tables with the computers I deliberately stumbled, hard, and flailed into the nearest one. I jammed the dongle into the USB port and then let the rolling motion take me upside-down to splay onto the floor.

  Three guards were instantly on me, roughly grabbing me up. The one I spit on had his hand clenched as if he were going to pound me in the head.

  Another snapped, “No! No marks!”

  The third guard’s grasp cranked tighter on my wrist. He jabbed his free hand
into the distance. “Put her in the box.”

  Mikhaylo was a monster of habit; the box had been one of his most treasured techniques. I had known it, logically. But it was one thing to think of a situation in theoretical terms. It was another to be here. To be in the grip of three heartless men and to know the box was a heartbeat away.

  I slipped past all preparation. Fear coursed through me dragging pure terror in its wake.

  Suddenly I wasn’t acting.

  Suddenly I was scrabbling, clawing, desperately trying to get free.

  The guards laughed out loud as they wrangled me across the room. I saw glimpses of the cage as I fought against them. The stage-set bed. Then they were dragging me around a corner.

  There. There it was.

  Now they needed five of them on me to hold me down. If I hadn’t been drugged I might have had a chance. Every cell in my body screamed in agony as we approached it.

  Like Mikhaylo, from the outside it seemed almost ordinary. A simple metal cube. Maybe two point five feet on each side. No windows. No vents. Just the one door. Solid. All so solid.

  A guard hauled the heavy door open.

  I dug in my shoe’s heels, which snapped off. My fingers were claws. I howled in terror –

  They flung me in head-first.

  They jammed in my legs and feet.

  They slammed the door shut.

  There was the sound of the key in the lock.

  I was lost.

  Chapter 6

  I was lost.

  Absolutely and utterly and completely lost.

  There was no light.

  No sound.

  No sensation.

  No air.

  The walls were pressing in on me. I could not stretch out my legs. I could not fully sit up. I was trapped hunched over, cramped in, and soon my entire body would ache with a thousand pains which would never stop.

  I could scream, and scream, and scream, and nobody would hear my terror. I could be forgotten here. Completely and wholly forgotten.

  And I would die.

  Somehow there was an air exchanger built into this setup. For I had once tried to calculate how long it would be before the levels of carbon dioxide became fatal, and I’d come up with around four hours. But then had come the headaches, and the delusions, and I’d been sure it’d been much, much longer than four hours before they’d let me out. Before they’d dangled bottles of water before me and demanded I do things … things … before I could quench my all-encompassing thirst.