Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

  Tonight’s table has been set for ten. Mommy, Daddy and each of their guests, myself, two couples of local influence and a lone male. I refuse to meet the man’s gaze, although too late I realize I’ve already weighed and measured him. He is tall, ruddy, with dark hair and eyes. He is not local. By his accent he is Russian. I know their business has recently been expanding deeper and deeper into northern Eurasia, and a marriage between an influential family and their daughter would cement relationships that are currently rocky and distrusting. Too bad for them, because I refuse to be a pawn in their games.

  I sit, eating robotically, my linen napkin folded across my lap. The conversation is inconsequential as everyone pretends to enjoy each other’s company. I pretend to not notice the young woman sitting to Daddy’s right, a leather collar around her neck. She is nude, with high, perky breasts. She has light-blue eyes and platinum-blonde hair. In her face I remember the past—suddenly—and am left jarred by it.

  Help me. Help me, please!

  I gasp, hiding it behind a long swallow of the very best cabernet sauvignon Daddy’s wine cellar has to offer. I keep my eyes trained on my plate, trying to forget pleading cerulean eyes. It must have been a dream. It didn’t really happen. It didn’t.

  “Tell us what you’ve been up to, Giselle?”

  The question comes from my mother, and I meet her gaze even though I don’t want to. Long-repressed memories—unwelcome and painful—tease at the edges of my brain, begging to be remembered.

  It was just a nightmare.

  I force a pleasant smile onto my face and shrug. “The usual.”

  She nods and turns her conversation interests to someone else. What would she have said if I’d told her about the embarrassing incident with the senator?

  He died while I was riding him. His cock went soft as he took his last breath.

  Dessert doesn’t come a moment too soon, making the countdown of minutes until I am free to leave manageable.

  “You look pale.”

  Oh God. I don’t meet my father’s gaze.

  “I worry about you, Gigi.”

  “I’m fine, Papa.”

  “You need to be here, working with your family.”

  I swallow, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Fortunately my mother draws all the attention back to herself, because that is what she does best. I watch her lead the dinner party out onto the veranda and am surprised my father doesn’t leave immediately.

  Taking my hand, he states his case. “You’ve had enough childhood; it’s time to take your place in the organization so no one ever questions your loyalty.”

  “My loyalty? Really, Papa.” I meet his gaze and refrain from shuddering when he cups my jaw. I keep his secrets. I keep Mother’s secrets. “Someday. Not yet.”

  He presses a kiss to each of my cheeks. “Very soon, Gigi. I’ve coddled you too long. There is a man here tonight. His name is Lenka.”

  “No!” I shake my head. “Not the Russian.”

  “He’s not handsome enough?”

  “You know he’s easy on the eyes, Papa.” Damn, why did I just admit that I find him attractive?

  “Show him around the grounds while we entertain the rest of the guests.”

  “Papa. We’ve discussed this before. I’m not agreeing to an arranged marriage.”

  “What arranged? It’s not arranged if you choose. I am giving you that opportunity. I am giving you time to make love happen.”

  “As long as the man I fall in love with strengthens family alliances?” This is an old argument we’ve been having for at least six years. “We’re not living in the Middle Ages, Papa. I don’t want or need a husband.”

  “Don’t force me to choose for you, Giselle.”

  “Haven’t you already chosen? Aren’t you already trying to force this?”

  He laughs, but it is hard and harsh. I know and he knows that he hasn’t even attempted to force anything—yet.

  “I will show him the grounds, but nothing more.”

  With my assurances, he pats my cheek before joining my mother and their friends outside. I am left alone in the dining room, staring at my plate. I wish I’d been born into any family but this one.

  Movement close to my shoulder startles me and I jerk, finding the Russian mere inches away. Too close. He is pouring more wine into my glass and then empties the bottle into his own. God, how long has he been standing there? Did he hear the entire conversation?

  I would be embarrassed except for the fact I am completely enthralled. I could say he is handsome but he is too roughly hewn for such a pretty description. Still, he makes my knees weak.

  He lifts my glass and hands it to me. “I am Lenka Illich-Svitych. You may call me Lenny.”

  I take the proffered glass and down a large gulp.

  “You are Giselle?” He glares at me with a predatory look that makes me take a step backward.

  I’m not afraid. Why would I be? I’m at my father’s house, armed guards in sight, and yet… I swirl the ruby liquid in my glass and feign boredom. “Unfortunately.”

  I can imagine him naked—way too easily in fact.

  His suit is excellently tailored, boasting of wealth, and accentuates rather than hides the fact that Lenka Illich-Svitych is very muscled. I feel as though I am standing in the shadow of a Greek god, a god of war, and the way he looks at me tells me I am privileged to be there. He’s the kind of man who should have a stunning woman clinging to his elbow—not someone like me. I am so far from beautiful it is laughable. Why would he ever agree to this arrangement?

  “Your father expects us to be walking by now. You will show me the grounds?”

  What type of man cares to do the bidding of another? He would walk around the manse’s many gardens, pretending to be interested, because my father suggested he should. He would marry me—without even knowing me—or liking me.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  A throat clears behind us, one of my father’s guards making his presence known. He is dressed in a business suit, but his jacket serves only to hide an armory.

  “Joy, an escort.” I stand, taking my wineglass with me, and meet the bodyguard’s gaze as I pass him. “I hardly think Mr. Illich-Svitych intends to molest me behind the roses.”

  Lenka chuckles, closing the distance between us. He is too close, invading my personal space. I can feel his body heat, I can smell his lightly applied expensive cologne. His breath is warm on my cheek when he leans nearer to whisper, “You do not know me, Giselle. Your father does. I would more likely kidnap you.”

  I stare at him blankly.

  He strokes my cheek. “You are very exotic. I would stand to make a fortune with you—after I made certain you were properly trained—on the black market.”

  My stomach turns but I manage to restrain a shudder. “That wouldn’t exactly strengthen our families’ relations.”

  “No, but then I heard what you said to your father. You do not want a husband. Are you a lesbian?”

  “No.”

  “You wish to marry for love?”

  “That’s the excuse I give my father.”

  “I’m not very lovable, Giselle.”

  I could say the same thing about myself, and I look at the man in front of me with new interest, trying to see past his ruggedly carnal beauty. He didn’t shave. His dark eyes are steely and there is a scar that bisects his left eyebrow. He seems to be a very dangerous man.

  As I assess him, he does the same to me, taking a full look at me from head to toe with a scrutiny that makes me tremble. “In the event of your refusal, I will only take what I want from you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Show me the gardens, Giselle, so that I might have the opportunity to woo you.”

  I back away from him, stumbling. “I don’t think so.”

  As much as I don’t want him to know he rattled me, he did, and as I run from the room his laughter follows me. I run for the front do
or, barely making it outside before I hear my father’s rage.

  “Gigi!”

  My father’s shout stops me.

  I don’t wait for him to reach me to shout, “He threatened me.”

  “Lenka is a very strong man with few soft edges, but I think in time you could grow to respect him and perhaps even appreciate him. He could protect you.”

  “I don’t need a man to protect me!”

  “You are my daughter and I have many enemies. Do not pretend to be so naïve. I want you here this weekend for the annual gathering. The festivities begin with breakfast on Saturday. I expect you to woo Lenka with all the finesse I know you possess. I need someone in Russia that I trust. You will be my eyes and ears. It is time for you to take your place beside us in the business, and I will expect the announcement of your intended nuptials no later than Sunday at midnight.”

  He walks away, leaving me on the grand front porch. From the shadows Diego, my mother’s gardener, rushes toward me. “Gigi!”

  Seeing him, I curse under my breath and hurry down the steps to my car. I remember only belatedly I put Diego off yesterday and the day before too. He reaches my side just as I climb into my bright-yellow Maserati GranTurismo.

  “I’m in a hurry, Diego.”

  “I know you know where my niece is!”

  “No, Diego. I don’t know anything.”

  “You are a good girl, Gigi. I’ve watched you grow up. Why would you let them keep my Isabella?”

  “Diego, I swear, your niece is not here.”

  He holds a picture in front of my face. “This is Isa. I showed your father this same picture two months ago. I asked him if he could get her a job in the kitchens. He said, ‘yes, of course, send for her.’ Isa came here on his word. I paid to have her brought here, but she never showed up. I know she is here, Gigi. In my heart and in my bones I know something horrible has happened to my niece.”

  Starting my engine, I expect him to step away from the car but he doesn’t. “Diego. I haven’t seen her. Maybe the border patrol picked her up.”

  “No! Jorge said he got her across the border five days ago and that two men picked her up and said they were bringing her here, to Señor Marconi, and now. Poof! She is gone. Please. You must help me.”

  “Diego.” I sound exhausted, I’m so tired of lying, of hiding. I wish I knew where Isabella was so that I could help both her and Diego get away from the insanity of this place. Looking into his worn, weathered face, I remember the face of the much younger man who used to play with me in the gardens. I don’t let him see the pain I’m trying so hard to keep hidden because I know even if she was here, she wouldn’t be now. “I would tell you if I knew anything.”

  Of course, I wouldn’t—I’d never betray my family.

  I peel away, squealing tires, without closing my door, letting the force of the wind slam it closed. I imagine Diego shouting after me, calling my name. I hear my name screamed over and over, even though I am too far away to hear him.

  I wish I’d have set up a date for tonight…

  Digging in my coat pocket, I retrieve a business card I’d shoved there earlier in the day. I was flipping through a bondage magazine when a terrifying voice whispered behind me, “If you ever get tired of fantasizing and want the real thing…”

  He dropped his business card between the open pages of the magazine, and by the time I turned around to tell him to shove off he was already exiting the store. From what I saw in profile he was every bit as scary looking as he sounded. My heart started pounding with excitement.

  I look at the business card—no name, only a phone number and a promise. Discover Your Darkest Desires.

  “I’ve already discovered my darkest desires. The question is, mystery man, can you fulfill the fantasy?”

  A psychiatrist I once fell in love with told me I have a death wish. Maybe I do.

  Is that why I meet strangers?

  Not just strangers, sadists.

  I flick the card again and again, as though the man might magically appear if I flick it enough times. I shouldn’t call him. I’ve been doing so well the last few days since I made that promise to Rachel. I haven’t visited a single fetish chat room.

  Discover. Your. Darkest. Desires.

  The mystery is too much temptation. I dial the number and when the man answers, his voice sounds as deeply sinister as it did in the store. I hope the man is everything his voice promises him to be. The senator was such a big disappointment, not because he died, but because he talked such a good tale in the chat rooms, only to prove his sadist prowess had been greatly exaggerated.

  “You think you know my darkest desires?”

  “I do.”

  “You better not be a disappointment.”

  “What will you do if I am?”

  I think I hear humor in his voice—already a disappointment then. I pull onto the shoulder of the road and bury my face against my arms. I’m devastated. My hope was so inflated…

  “What will you do if I disappoint you?” he asks again, and this time there is no humor, just darkness.

  “I’ll cry with inconsolable disappointment.”

  “Oh love, I promise you will cry, but I don’t think it will be from disappointment. You will scream. You will beg and plead for me to end the torture of your flesh. You will promise me anything. You may even ask me to kill you to put you out of your misery.”

  A tingle of fear goes up my spine.

  My God, the mystery man is absolutely perfect.

  “Where should I meet you?”

  “I’ll find you, Giselle Marconi.”

  I am shocked when the line goes dead after his ominous promise. He called me by my name. Fuck. My real name, not my screen name or my scene name. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  Still sitting on the side of the road, I am trembling with fear. This guy could be the real deal. A serial killer. Or worse. I’m left thinking about all my parents’ connections. I think about what Lenka said to me: You do not know me, Giselle. Your father does. I would more likely kidnap you.

  What if the man who gave me his business card is like my father? Like Lenka?

  I imagine all the human flesh they have trafficked in my lifetime and shudder.

  “Help me! Please help me!” A voice screams in my mind from long ago. I was a child who had seen something I should have never seen…

  I was playing a game, hide and seek, going to the one area of the house that was forbidden. I heard her before I saw her. Wild sounds, like an injured animal. Frantic.

  “Help me, please. Help me.”

  I saw her, not realizing what I was seeing. She was naked, badly bruised. Caged.

  I hid behind a stack of cardboard boxes but she’d seen me. Her English had a rough accent, but I knew what she was saying. “Little girl! I see you. I know you see me. Help me get out of here!”

  The cage was locked. I didn’t know where to find a key. “I’ll go get help.”

  “No! Don’t leave me. Get me out!”

  I was so young. No more than five or six.

  I’ve heard her panicked pleas in my dreams every night since.

  I’ve seen her death mask, wide eyes, blue lips.

  God, I can’t end up like her…but would it be a fit punishment for not aiding her if I did? Karma comes around.

  I was a child.

  No! I’ve been consoling myself with that excuse for too long.

  The fact of the matter is, I knew what was happening to that woman was wrong. I knew she needed help. I knew I was too little to help her and needed someone bigger. I could have called the emergency number, but would they have believed a child? Would they have sent someone to rescue her?

  My mother found me in the basement frozen in indecision…

  “Giselle! You are not supposed to be here! Go to your room.”

  “The woman is hurt, Mama.”

  My mother knelt before me and put her hands on my shoulders gently. “You are too young to understand this, sweetheart,
but the woman wants to be here. She wants to be in that cage. She wants us to hurt her.”

  She was right about one thing—I didn’t understand what she was saying then. I was so young, too young to know the workings between men and women. Too young to understand sex, let alone kink.

  My mother shook me by the arms. She was so angry. It hurt.

  “Mama!”

  I looked around her body and saw the caged woman lying on her side and I knew she was dying.

  “Look at me, Giselle!” My mother shook me again, and I finally met her gaze. “What happens in this house stays in this house, do you understand?”

  “You’re hurting me, Mama.”

  “You never tell anyone what you see or what you hear. What happens here is no one’s concern but ours.” Her fingers pinched harder into my upper arms.

  “Mama!”

  My father was suddenly there, lifting me into his arms, rescuing me. He admonished my mother. “Marissa! You’re scaring the child.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and held tight as he climbed the stairs, carrying me from the cool, damp basement out into the bright sun. We sat in the garden surrounded by my mother’s prized roses.

  “Do you understand the importance of what your mother was saying, Giselle?”

  “Mama is very mad.”

  “Yes, but she’s also scared. What happened in the basement to that woman was an accident, but not everyone would see it that way. The police might think we did something bad.”

  I was young, but I knew what he was saying to me.

  “I don’t want you and Mama to go to jail.”

  He cupped my chin and kissed my lips. “That’s why you must promise to never mention what happened today.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Not to anyone. Ever.”

  I’d nodded. “What happens in our house stays in our house, Papa. I understand.”

  The sky is dark and littered with stars. I don’t know if I’ve been sitting on the shoulder for minutes or hours. Wiping my face, I realize I’ve been crying but I can’t remember what made me cry.