Fever

by Tonya Plank

  The longer we stood on that podium and posed for pictures, the more the disappointment I knew he was feeling weighed down on me. More and more heavily. I’d so looked forward to celebrating with Paulina and Sam and Rajiv all night, well into the morning hours. And I’d looked forward even more to celebrating with Sasha in the hotel room! Now there just wouldn’t be a celebration, at least between the two of us. I knew it.

  Yes, we still had three more dances to go, three more chances to win. But I knew from watching all of those Blackpool DVDs that the same couple almost always took all five top medals. And those top medals usually went to the champions from last year. Often, there wasn’t a new champ until the old ones retired. I knew that from talking to Sam, and from the DVDs. Certainly Sasha knew it too. The odds against us were overwhelming. I couldn’t beat myself up over it. And I couldn’t let him.

  As we descended the podium and returned to the floor once more for the presentation of the medals for rumba I noticed the crowd was beginning to get smaller. People were throwing their hands up and shaking their heads before exiting the ballroom. That made my stomach drop. I didn’t know whether they were angry with the judges or with us. Or just with me.

  The first four medals in rumba went to the same couples as in the two prior dances: the Italians, then the Chinese. The crowd that remained went wild again for Arabelle and Andrew. There was no special standing ovation for them now because everyone just remained standing throughout the presentation of awards. No one bothered to sit. But the cheers for Arabelle seemed to grow. She and Andrew were going to place third across the board, it seemed. They both looked very happy with those results. People were no longer bothering to boo their placement above Xenia and Piotr. People were just kind of politely clapping now.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” continued the emcee, almost on rote now. “Placing second in the rumba, from the United…Kingdom, Micaela Dermansky and Jonathan Banks.”

  I naturally began to walk to the podium. But Sasha’s firm grip on my hand held me back. Oh yes, I forgot to hug Micaela. I turned toward her, but wait, she was coming toward me. What was she doing? She approached me, holding her arms out, kissing me on the cheek. I was facing the crowd. They were going crazy. The applause was suddenly deafening. There were no boos now, only cheers. She raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Congratulations again,” she said, that serene and gracious smile still on her face.

  I was honestly dumfounded. Sasha whisked me toward him with such force—happy force—I twirled into him, his chest stopping me. He caught me, planting a long, solid kiss on my lips. The crowds went even wilder at this. I turned around to see people were now coming back into the ballroom. I was still in shock. I so thought I’d heard the emcee call the United States and our names.

  It wasn’t until the emcee introduced us as the first-place winners in rumba and I heard my name that I realized we’d actually won this dance. We’d placed first in something! Rumba was the most balletic dance, the one that most showed off my attributes, and they’d given the gold medal to us! My absolute bafflement seemed to make the crowds go wilder. I took my hands from Sasha and used both to cover my mouth. Sasha was bowing next to me. I looked at him, and followed his direction, still in disbelief.

  He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and practically pulled me to the podium, kissing me on the cheek all the way. Which of course made the crowds go completely nuts. It really made me swoon to see the audience cheer for love. Not just winning a competition, but for a partnership that was working so beautifully on two different levels.

  I honestly couldn’t even remember Greta putting the medal over my head, with all the flashbulbs going off.

  We returned to the floor, and the winners of paso doble were announced for the first four places. I didn’t hear a single announcement, not a single name. My heart was now pounding so hard my brain wasn’t working; my senses were numbed. I could only hear the crowd erupt and feel the lights on me, and Sasha’s hand pulling me back, when we were the last two couples on the floor and I began to walk forward out of habit after the second place winners were announced. I could only feel Sasha’s passionate embrace and heavenly kiss on my lips when we were the last ones standing.

  The ballroom was now completely full again, back to capacity, when the jive result announcements began. My brain was suddenly working again. This was it. This was everything. The winners of three or more dances were named the overall Latin ballroom champions. I knew it was extremely unusual for the overall champions not to place first in all dances, but this was an unusual year since the judges were all new. I’d totally forgotten Sasha and Greta had told me about the changes to the traditional judging until now. But jive was my worst dance. And these judges knew that, as evidenced by our team results. We didn’t win this dance. Micaela and Jonathan would be named the overall champs. I knew it would be so. And it would upset Sasha so. Almost better to not get his hopes up, I thought as I stood stock-still during the announcements of the top four. Well, maybe it will give him hope for next year.

  We’d done so well. I’d come so far. Certainly, we should be more than happy with this. I definitely was.

  And then I heard the emcee say Micaela and Jonathan’s names. I hadn’t yet heard ours. We were still standing. Jonathan and Micaela came over to hug us but Sasha was already turning around to the crowd, taking a deep bow and waving. The applause was beyond deafening. I suddenly couldn’t hear anything. It was if my hearing had adjusted to save my eardrums from certain hearing loss.

  For a split second I somehow managed to make her out, immense though the crowd was. Cheryl. She was in the front standing area, in between the first two sets of seats. I didn’t know how long she’d been there, whether she’d watched the entire competition from so close. She would have had to stand the whole time if she did. The second I caught her gaze, she immediately looked down. But she didn’t only lower her eyes; she bent her entire head down, haughty chin and all. Still, I could see the look in her eyes quite well. Her expression was one of utter devastation. Like something all-important had been taken from her. Was my failure really that critical to her? She’d made me her enemy, certainly not the other way around. I couldn’t help but curve my lips upward, smiling at her. And my grin wasn’t mean. Nothing she could do would make any difference now. We’d won.

  Then her face disappeared in the tsunami of flashing bulbs. There were so many. It soon was all I could see. One big burst of white light. It seemed everyone was directing their camera at me, perhaps to catch my stunned expression?

  Because of all the crazy, flashing bulbs and my adjusting hearing, and my overall absolute astonishment, I saw everything through a haze, in a dream state. I was looking out in the same direction as Sasha, not toward the podium, but toward the crowd. A flash shone brightly in my face. I could have sworn in the light I saw a young woman my age who looked exactly like me running through the crowd. It was if she was running for her life. It scared the hell out of me. It was like a dream, or a nightmare, but I wasn’t sure why I was having it right now, because I really thought I was awake. Her hair was long, loose and wild as she fled. Then I turned to my other side, in the direction of whoever or whatever might be following her. When I did so, I saw him—the man who’d jumped from the sedan and kidnapped me. The one without the glasses, whose face I’d clearly seen. He looked briefly at me, then continued running after the young woman. The other me.

  I was so afraid, I momentarily lost my voice. Then I found it and screamed as loudly as I could. I grabbed Sasha’s arm to my left, and pointed at the man and the woman he chased.

  “That’s hi—that’s—” But I couldn’t get my voice to form words. I could only scream.

  I felt Sasha leave me. I knew he left because there was suddenly an air tunnel where he’d been standing. Now the room erupted in complete chaos. There was no order whatsoever. I couldn’t hear the emcee, I couldn’t see a podium. I couldn’t see Greta. I couldn’t make out any more specific faces. I cou
ld see only hazy figures in the crowd beyond the bright lights, seemingly running in the direction the woman, the man and Sasha had gone.

  But even if my senses were blurred, my mind was still working. I had no idea what was happening, but I knew Sasha was chasing a dangerous man who was chasing a woman who looked like me. I ran toward the exit of the ballroom, behind the other blurred figures. But it was so crowded. I screamed Sasha’s name, and I yelled for people to please get out of my way. Most people were too stunned to move; I was met with shocked stares. I ended up having to bulldoze my way through most of the crowd. When I finally reached the entrance to the ballroom, I couldn’t see Sasha, or the girl who looked like me, or the evil man. In fact, the main hall was almost completely empty. Everyone who was still at the competition was inside the ballroom.

  I ran as fast as I could down the hall and out the main entrance. When I opened the doors, I was met only with the harsh, cold night air. It was eerily silent. It was around three in the morning by now and everyone was inside the ballroom; no one was out and about the town this time of night.

  I should go back inside. I knew that’s what Sasha would have wanted me to do. But I was so scared for him. I had to find him.

  So I ran around the corner of the building. Nothing. I ran back to the front and around the other corner, now realizing I was in the exact same spot Sasha and I had been in earlier when I’d heard rustling in the trees. I didn’t know what to do. I knew I should go back inside. But I needed to find Sasha.

  Then I heard voices off in the distance. I could barely make out what they were saying.

  “Where are they?”

  “Where did they go?”

  “Over there?”

  Just as I was about to run in the direction I heard them coming from, I felt a large gloved palm hook around my arm. Someone grabbed me from behind, lifted me straight off my feet, clamped a hand over my mouth and took off, carrying me through the wind.

  Chapter 16

  Once again, I came to in a cold, dark room. This one was damp as well, which chilled me to the bone. This definitely wasn’t the same room I’d been in before. How much time had elapsed? Were we still in England, I wondered? The damp chill made it seem so.

  This time I was sitting on a bare floor, not a bed. The floor felt like it was made of cement. And this time I had a headache, and my jaw hurt. But I wasn’t in as much of a haze. I remembered being smacked hard across the face. That’s how I must have passed out. Not through fumes like before. My brain was much less foggy than before.

  I was gagged, and my wrists and ankles were both bound with what felt like duct tape. I struggled but to no avail. It really was freezing. I tried to scream, but it was impossible. Not that anyone would hear me. I listened hard but heard absolutely nothing. No men’s voices in the distance like last time. Had they left me alone? I opened my eyes as widely as possible but there was no light coming from anywhere. No windows. I could see nothing but black.

  I couldn’t believe it was happening again. My mind raced. Sasha had promised to protect me from these men. That meant Sasha had become incapacitated. Oh my God, what had they done to him? And who was the woman he fled after?

  It all came back to me then, the first time I’d seen Sasha dance at The Beverly Hilton, and then the first time I’d locked eyes with him at Infectious Rhythm when he was coming off the elevator. The way he’d stared at me, almost entranced, as if he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had seen a ghost. He’d seen that woman. She looked like me, but was thinner and more waiflike, like a ghost, as she fled from that horrible Russian man who’d kidnapped me. Incredibly strange, eerily so. It was like the former me, the one in the throes of an eating disorder, or some other kind of illness. So, those men must have kidnapped me thinking I was the ghost. Sasha said they weren’t mafia. So who in the world were they?

  I waited and waited for my captors to come in like last time. Either of them. I had questions. Not that I could ask them with the gag over my mouth. But my mind was filled with logic this time, like a lawyer. Not so much fear as before. Where were those men, and what was taking them so long to talk to me this time? Did they have that waif ghost girl in another room?

  Oh wait, that girl wasn’t a ghost, she had a name: Tatiana. She must be the Tatiana the Russian men kept asking me about. Maybe they thought I was her. But why was I here now? They knew I wasn’t her because she’d run. And at least one of them had chased her.

  It felt like hours had passed, though it could have been much less. I felt if I didn’t get out of there soon, I’d get a bad cold, or worse. I was still wearing my skimpy dance costume, which all the sweat had now dampened. So, it felt like I was wearing a wet toga-style bathing suit. I breathed in deeply to try to calm myself, but the air was so cold it hurt my lungs. I had to get out of here. I tried to rock myself back and forth to work up at least a little bit of steam.

  I rocked and rocked. I bent my knees and extended my arms up over my head, then as far out in front of me as they would go, then wrapped them around my legs. That might keep me a little warmer, I thought. I continued to rock back and forth.

  The effect didn’t keep me warmer. But it gave me an idea. The men hadn’t tied me up with rope; it really felt like thick tape the way it stuck to my skin when I sawed my wrists back and forth against each other. I still had the crazy-sharp Latin stilettos on. I drew my knees in further toward my chin and placed my wrists under the heels. I was in a ridiculously contorted position. If I’d survived the competition without injury, then now would be the time I’d tear a ligament or muscle, since I was so cold and had no heat to keep my muscles from stretching and straining. Just like a dancer to be thinking of such things in such a circumstance. But it wasn’t like I had much of a choice here.

  I positioned the heel of each stiletto right over the space of tape between my wrists and moved my ankles up and down. I pressed on my heels as hard as I could, trying like hell to poke through the tape. I pressed and pressed, sawing as hard as I could. My hip flexors were getting achy. Crap.

  Was I getting anywhere? It was hard to know without being able to see. I kept at it and kept at it, not having much of a choice. My shoulders soon began to hurt, hunched over as I was.

  Finally, I felt the hard rubber of the stiletto poke my wrist hard. It hurt but it had to mean I was making some progress. The tape was still wrapped around my skin so it should protect me from getting any bacteria in my bloodstream. Hopefully. Who knew what all was on the bottoms of my shoes by now.

  I kept sawing and sawing. I felt a small pop in my hip flexor. But I paid it no mind because finally, finally I felt the tape loosening. I stretched my wrists farther apart from each other. They were still bound; someone had triple or even quadruple crisscrossed that crazy tape. But they used tape, thankfully. I pulled my wrists apart as hard as I could at the same time I kept sawing with my stiletto heel.

  All of a sudden, the tape gave. I’d been pulling with such force, I fell backward. There was nothing to crash into so I didn’t think I made any sound, but I lifted myself up immediately, back into a seated position. I tried to tear the tape off my wrists, but it hurt too much. I felt skin ripping. I stopped. I didn’t really need to do that now anyway. My wrists were not bound to each other so I had my arms and hands free.

  I might have to rip some of the skin around my ankles though if I was going to have use of my legs, I realized. I tried and tried to pry the tape from my skin. They’d crisscrossed this one several times as well. It was damn thick. Crap.

  I needed something sharp. Like the stiletto. I felt around my feet. Most of the shoe hadn’t been touched by the tape. I unbuckled my right shoe and slid it off my foot. I then positioned the stiletto over the center of my ankles where I’d loosened the tape the most with my hands, and poked it through, again using as much force as I could.

  I stabbed and stabbed, sawed and sawed, and eventually the tape had come apart enough that I could just pull hard with my hands. This time instead of slicing some of
the skin of my wrist with the stiletto, I’d jabbed my other ankle a bit. I could feel some blood oozing out. But whatever. I’d managed to free myself. And with those crazy stilettos. Guess I couldn’t complain about the Latin shoes anymore.

  I put the shoe back on and ungagged myself. I was now free to scream. But I didn’t want to set off any alarms if there was anyone around. Why get re-bound and re-gagged with something worse this time? I got up and gingerly walked around the room, running my toes along the floor, rumba style, and holding my arms out in front of me like a sleepwalker so I didn’t trip or bump into anything. I finally reached the wall. I felt all around it, tiptoeing along its perimeter. I felt nothing but solid wall. There had to be a door somewhere.

  I walked around the perimeter again, raising and lowering my arms along the wall with each step sideways I took. Finally, I found it: a metal knob. I turned ever so gingerly, afraid someone on the other side might see or hear. But it was locked, as I’d assumed it would be. I felt around, above and below it, and placed my finger on its center. There was no keyhole, at least not from this side. So even if I had a credit card or coin or some such item I wouldn’t be able to pick any lock.

  I took a breath and tried to regroup my thoughts. What could I do? I didn’t think there was a window anywhere or I would have seen some kind of light, and my sight should have adjusted by now. For now, I’d wait, standing in that same position, my hands wrapped around that metal knob.

  Then I heard something. Something in the distance. It was a car pulling up. Wheels screeched, doors slammed. Two of them. Then there was another car—maybe two more. More screeching tires, more slamming doors.

  Then I heard an outer door open. It sounded like it was far away. This room must have been in the middle of a warehouse. Another door opened. I heard heavy footsteps.