SICK HEART

by Huss, JA

It’s not Udulf’s house. I don’t know who owns this place, I just know it’s not his. It’s not even whole. It’s a place they bring kids like me so they can do things to us.

  Not just sex.

  He could do that on his boat.

  He could do that in his home.

  He could do that anywhere he wants.

  No. That’s not what this place is for.

  This place is for the things they can only do in old abandoned castles in the mountains of Romania.

  But Udulf is alone. It’s just him and me and he’s got his computer open so he can play a movie on repeat.

  It’s a horrific movie.

  I know they like to film it.

  I get it. I’ve seen it all before. I am seven now and I’ve been doing this for years. Almost nothing can shock me but this movie shocks me.

  It is mostly of Lazar and Udulf. Years ago, but not that many years ago.

  To my seven-year-old eyes the man sitting on the bed with me is old. But to my eighteen-year-old memory, Udulf is probably only in his mid-thirties.

  In the movie he and Lazar are much younger versions of themselves. They are in a shipyard and they are running between the containers. Laughing, mostly. But Lazar is also screaming threats to the children they are chasing.

  Every few seconds another man or running child will appear. Just a flash. They are not important. They are not the focus of Udulf’s obsession.

  The two children he is obsessed with are caught. They are naked, they are filthy, their feet are bleeding, and the little one—the boy with the silver-gray eyes that so perfectly match Udulf’s own—is cowering at the feet of the little girl.

  His sister, I now know. She has those eyes too. She is what Ainsey will look like in a few short years.

  I know what happens next.

  Udulf played it for me dozens of times. He made me watch it with him for hours. He narrated the entire thing in Dutch, thinking I couldn’t understand.

  But the Dutch was already there in my head and all the things he said tunneled their way inside me like worms. They got stuck there with the images on the screen.

  Udulf raped the little girl while Lazar filmed it.

  Then Lazar skinned her alive while Udulf held the camera.

  The boy just watched.

  Silent.

  He said nothing.

  I didn’t understand much that night.

  I didn’t know why they did these evil, awful, sick things to that little girl.

  I didn’t know why Udulf didn’t kill me that night at the crumbling Romanian castle.

  I didn’t know why he kept me there until morning, but never put another hand on me. He just watched that movie over and over again on repeat.

  And I didn’t understand why he took me back to Lazar.

  Not at the time.

  Not for a long time.

  The only thing I did understand were his words.

  I had no use for words after that.

  There was simply nothing left to say about this world.

  Cort lunges at Lazar, Udulf’s mercs point their rifles at Cort’s head, Rainer grabs his arm and pulls Cort back just as his fist passes through the air in front of Lazar’s face. There is screaming, and yelling, and the entire time I just stand there unable to move.

  I just watch, the way Cort watched in that movie.

  Then I snap out of it and drag myself back into the present.

  What the hell just happened? I try to run it through in my head. But nothing makes sense. Maart, Rainer, and even Evard have chosen to stay?

  Why? Why would they do that? They are free. They can walk out of here. Go anywhere they want. Leave these evil assholes behind. But they want to stay? Maart wants a fight?

  All the men in the room are yelling and Cort is spewing threats at everyone. He tries to grab Ainsey from Lazar, but Lazar pulls her back. Then the mercs step in, grab Cort by the arms, and ziptie his wrists.

  “Calm down!” Udulf is yelling. “This is part of the deal!”

  “What deal?” Cort screams it, just as I say the same thing in my head.

  “For losing,” Lazar spits. “Anya won that fight. You cheated. You do not win by cheating.”

  “Fuck you,” Cort spits back. “Pavo was a piece of shit who never stood a chance against me. That fight is mine.”

  “I agree,” Udulf says. These words come out fatigued. “We’ve had this discussion ad nauseum, Lazar. The bookies paid out on Cort’s win, so it has been settled. But as we discussed”—he nods his head towards Ainsey in Lazar’s arms—“you have found yourself a new daughter to replace the one who died that night.”

  What?

  What did he just say?

  Died that night?

  Who died that night?

  I didn’t die that night.

  “Bexxie.” I look up and find Lazar watching me. “Bexxie,” he repeats, his voice filled with disgust and malice. “She paid for your treason with her life. And she went out bloody. Just. Like. Pavo.”

  I lunge at him. And I’m dead fucking serious about this lunge. The edge of my hand is already aiming for his throat, ready to chop his trachea and make him choke on those words, when one of the mercs grabs my hair and pulls so hard, I fall backwards on my ass.

  “I have it all on film,” Lazar says, his voice not even quivering from my threat. “I’ll play it back for you some day.”

  “Someone had to be the sacrifice that night.” Udulf’s tone is mild, matter-of-fact. “And since it wasn’t you?” He shrugs with his hands. “Well, she was the next best thing.”

  I lean over and throw up.

  “What’s my prize?” The whole room goes silent and everyone looks over at Cort. “If I fight, what is my prize? And don’t say freedom,” Cort snaps. “Because I already have that.”

  Udulf smiles. He smiles like a man who knows he has won. “Ainsey, of course.” Then he nods his head to me. “I’ll throw her in too.”

  “Not good enough,” Cort spits. “My entire camp goes free.”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Udulf chides. “Maart has cornered that market. If he wins, your entire camp goes free. With the exception of the little one and Anya Bokori. If you win, you get them, and only them.”

  Cort laughs. “And what makes you think I would fight for just them?”

  Udulf nods his head towards Maart. “Because he told me you would.”

  And Maart was right.

  Because Cort agrees to the terms.

  I spend the next thirty minutes locked in an upstairs bedroom as the entire camp packs up their personal things and are loaded into a bus. Everyone but Cort and all the girls, because Maart said they weren’t worth his time and Cort could keep them until he lost and they could be sold.

  I join them at the last minute, and then we’re driven to a newly built compound that turns out to be Maart’s new training camp.

  I guess we all know when this deal was made. A long, long time ago.

  Lazar wanted to keep Ainsey as a down payment on his ‘new daughter,’ but Cort refused these terms and threatened to pull out. So in the end, it was agreed that Ainsey and I were to be kept at the new compound and she would live in the barracks with the other kids until the fight is over.

  It’s a massive estate, a mansion with enough rooms to house the entire camp. But they have their own facilities, so instead it only houses me, Maart, Udulf, and Lazar.

  The fight will happen in three days. And the whole time this was being negotiated, I could see the worry on Cort’s face.

  He trained every day, like the rest of us. But he didn’t train hard. He worked out like a man who knew he would never have to fight for his life again.

  Maart has spent the last three months working out like a man who would be fighting for his life in the near future. He has been sparring with four top-notch fighters. And he spent an extra four hours a night training with me. Which, OK, I’m not really a suitable opponent for him to spar with, but it was four extra hours a day.
r />   It’s so apparent that he is in much better shape, I feel a little sick.

  And you could say, well, Cort has the advantage because he’s got the experience. He’s been in the ring dozens of times. He’s undefeated and Maart hasn’t had a real fight in over a decade.

  But Cort’s body looks like it’s been fighting for decades. His bones have been broken, his muscles stretched and pulled past their limits. I’m not sure how many concussions he’s had in his career, but I’d be willing to bet that number is significant.

  He looks like a man who has been in the ring for decades.

  Maart looks like a would-be champion about to rise.

  It is the morning before fight day and I’m sitting at the dining room table with Udulf. He makes me take meals with him. To torture me, I think. To make me uncomfortable. But also because he’s fishing for information.

  He sits across from me, smiling as he chews on a forkful of scrambled eggs. “Tell me, Anya, who do you think will win?”

  I, of course, don’t answer him. He knows I’m not going to answer him, but so far, he’s been patiently persistent.

  I expect this patience to wear off at some point today, since the fight is tomorrow and I’m fairly certain he expects Maart to win and part of the deal was that Lazar would get me back if that happened. So Udulf here, he’s got one more day to get answers out of me.

  There isn’t a lot in my life to give me joy at the moment, but watching him squirm over this almost makes the situation worth it.

  “We all know it’s going to be Maart. Does that disappoint you? I mean, surely you and Cort have gotten close. I saw the way he looked at you.” He pauses to chew on a bite of sourdough toast, then continues. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… do you remember me?”

  Do I remember him? As if I could forget the time Lazar rented me out to his good friend Udulf here so I could get his secrets.

  But the funny thing is… nothing I came back with was secret.

  Lazar was there. He tortured that little girl, then they killed her together.

  So Lazar wasn’t looking for secrets from Udulf.

  It took me a long, long time to figure this out and the answer only just came to me that day we got off the ship and walked into Cort’s village.

  At first I thought he was looking for something else, but that wasn’t it either.

  Lazar sent me to Udulf to be killed.

  Twice now.

  And both times, I came out alive.

  Why?

  Well, that’s a pretty simple answer, actually. The first time Udulf got a phone call. I didn’t remember this until they started negotiating the fight between Maart and Cort the other day. It was a call from… someone. Doesn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the news.

  Cort had won his fight.

  He was officially in the Ring of Fire now.

  On the night that Udulf was raping me and showing me a snuff film of Cort’s sister—Cort van Breda was morphing into Sick Heart.

  And this changed everything.

  And, well. The second time Cort took me without asking.

  Funny how that worked out.

  What was Udulf thinking that morning he came to visit us on the Rock?

  Did I remember how he raped the girl in the movie?

  Did I remember Lazar skinning her alive?

  Did I know Cort was the little boy who watched?

  Did Cort know he was the little boy who watched?

  Did I tell him?

  So many questions had to be running through Udulf’s mind during that short visit.

  He left me there because he knew I didn’t tell Cort and he knew Cort didn’t remember.

  So he left.

  And he came back here, to Brazil. To Cort’s camp. To talk to Maart and... probably Rainer, too. And that’s when all this was set up.

  “I remember you,” Udulf says, sipping on his orange juice. “You were… what, eight? Nine?”

  I was seven, but who’s counting?

  “Yes.” He smiles. “You were… something. Very pretty. I’m sure you hear that all the time. Don’t you?”

  I sigh and push a piece of French toast into my mouth, chewing slowly with my eyes locked on his. These people are so sick. I never understood how they could live with themselves until Udulf’s little speech at Cort’s camp.

  They don’t believe in evil. There is no Heaven and Hell. There are no consequences. This is nothing but a game.

  Well, I don’t believe that. Not all of it, at least. There have to be consequences. There has to be more to the real world than just the tangible act of existence. Sick, evil people need to pay for their crimes at some point.

  But here’s the really interesting thing Udulf said. This is a game to them. They are players in a very literal sense. There are winners and there are losers and nothing else in between.

  It’s a good tip. One I will take seriously.

  So when Udulf throws his napkin on his plate, and just before he pushes his chair away from the table, I decide to enter this game.

  I lift up my juice glass and bring it to my lips. But before I take a sip, I say, in Dutch, “Of course, I remember you, Udulf.” And then I switch to Hungarian. “I remember your midnight confessions.” I switch to English. “How could I ever forget the man who masturbated to a movie of his own daughter being raped, and tortured, and killed.”

  He is so surprised by my spoken words, he laughs out loud before he can fully understand the threat behind them.

  I try not to think of their full implication as well.

  Men like Udulf and Lazar are the reason I believe in God. Because if there is a God, there is a Devil. And there must be a Devil, because these men work for him.

  “She talks.” Udulf’s shock has worn off. He is delighted at my words.

  “I do. And I know why you wanted me dead that night.”

  “Which night would that be, nyuszi?” Pavo’s nickname for me rolls out of his mouth like flowing water, easy and smooth. “The first time or the second?”

  “Both.”

  He smiles at me, a little bit tight-lipped, but he’s mostly pulling off a pretty good I-give-no-fucks expression. “Are you going to tell me? Should I guess? Or were you just making an observation?”

  “You don’t want him to know.”

  He huffs. “What are you talking about? The films?”

  Interesting. It’s been eleven years and yet that memory is so fresh, his mind goes there immediately.

  “Cort knows about the films. He used to enjoy watching them with me when he was small. He’s an animal. He came that way. He will die that way.”

  “Maybe,” I answer back. Cort is not an animal. He did not come that way and he will not die that way either.

  Cort did not watch snuff films with Udulf. I know this for a fact because Cort does not remember what happened to him. He has repressed it. He has made up some other situation to account for it. The bathhouse nightmare is the stand in. It is bad, but it’s something his mind can deal with. It’s something he can understand. Watching your sister be skinned alive—nope. That’s an experience that deserves to be forgotten. And if Udulf showed him a snuff film, the memory could come back. There was a chance.

  And that would never do.

  Not when Cort was winning.

  Udulf watches me carefully. Maybe wondering where all this is going.

  How many men on this planet own fighters in the Ring of Fire?

  Eight? Ten? Maybe twelve.

  It’s not easy to turn a small boy into a grown-up killer so ruthless he makes it all the way to twenty-seven.

  I know this now. I know this better than Udulf does. I’ve seen it all first hand.

  They all want to be there. They all want the opportunity to win those prizes. They all want their stable of little boys in the camps and harems of little girls in their bedrooms.

  And both Lazar and Udulf made it.

  Udulf would never admit this, but Lazar gave it away that n
ight on the Bull of Light.

  They need these warriors.

  They are nothing without them.

  Lazar mourned the loss of Pavo. Maybe he’s got another fighter on his way up, but I doubt it.

  Udulf, on the other hand, had Maart in his back pocket.

  His secret weapon to wield in a pinch.

  And Udulf has definitely found himself in a pinch.

  “Did you know that you were the reason I stopped talking?”

  Udulf laughs, places a hand over his heart, his gray eyes dancing. Eyes that could be twins of Cort’s, but aren’t. Because Cort’s eyes don’t carry that kind of malice. “I must’ve made a big impact on you.”

  “Oh, you did.”

  We stare at each other for a moment. I have, obviously, learned the value of silence over the years. And he’s an expert in it. So there is a long pause in our conversation.

  Finally, he says, “Is there more? Or was that it?”

  “I know who Cort is.”

  “Well, my Cort is a lot of things.”

  “Or should I say… I know who he was.”

  Udulf’s eyebrow lifts up.

  “He was in that movie. That one you showed me.”

  Udulf’s smile gets tight.

  “He was running through a shipyard filled with containers. And those containers were filled with children. And those children were… what?” This is a real question because my mind is unable to comprehend how these devils think. “What were they to you and Lazar and the others that night? Just… meat?”

  Udulf says nothing.

  “Just a game?”

  He forces a smile.

  “Like a deer in the woods?”

  “You’re getting closer.”

  “You and Lazar killed a little girl in that film. It took me a while to piece together who she was. Because even though Cort has nightmares about that night, he doesn’t really remember it. He doesn’t really remember Lazar, either.” Once again, we pause time and stare at each other. “But I do. How could I forget? You played that film on repeat for hours.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Do you think I told him?”

  Udulf laughs. “That last meeting at the base camp would’ve been a bloodbath if you had.”

  “I know how to keep a secret, Udulf van Hauten. And I have kept yours for over a decade now.”