Dark Protector

by Ana Calin

  I didn’t have the energy left to deal with any of this. My brain, heart and bones felt heavy like lead.

  “I think I’ve had enough for one night,” I whispered, and dropped down onto the bed. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, dark sleep that didn’t let me out of its grip until midday.

  I woke up with a headache. The shower helped reduce it a bit, but by the time I had my coffee my head threatened to blow up again.

  Leona and I took the bus to the university, but neither of us had any intention of going to class. After we got off the bus, we took a turn and walked to our old haven—the lonely pub by the lake where we’d forged our plan to get Damian’s attention months ago. How lame it all seemed now, looking back.

  Jenica, the small friendly waitress, brought our coffee and left us after exchanging a few pleasantries.

  “That Dr. Sinclair’s work preceded and exceeded that of Crick and Watson isn’t the only surprise,” Leona said. We sat shoulder to shoulder, looking at the laptop screen.

  “I leafed through his books at the library and those formulas . . .”

  “That’s not the only way he was ahead of his time, I tell you,” Leona interrupted. “Take a look at this.”

  She typed Sinclair’s name along with “Facets of the Nuclein” and hit search.

  “The name alone triggers endless pages of something else, mostly junk. As if the guy wasn’t one of the world’s greatest scientists.”

  “Or as if someone wanted to keep him hidden,” I whispered. Leona nodded.

  “You need to combine the name with one of his titles, then scroll down to the end of the sixth page to find this,” she said.

  The site she accessed showed the picture of a very handsome face, profound eyes looking deep into the camera.

  There had only ever been one face that struck me that way – Damian Novac’s. He and Sinclair had so much in common. The beautiful bone structure, the iridescent eyes, and that air of being different from mere mortals. They didn’t look related but rather as if they belonged to the same species. Maybe that’s why I had such a strong feeling of familiarity as I stared at that portrait. Yet the most shocking part was that Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair had been either black or a mulatto.

  “Unthinkable in those times,” Leona said. “That a black man should make it so far in society, let alone –” she gave the picture an askew look, “a hybrid.”

  “He was an aristocrat no less,” I whispered, scrolling down and reading through the available bio eagerly.

  When “Facets of the Nuclein” was published in 1891, Nathaniel Sinclair was still outrageously young, a genius who’d graduated from university and obtained his title at only the tender age of twenty. He proved a remarkable personality in many ways, which managed to attract a lot of hatred instead of admiration, especially from the part of his older half-brother. Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair disappeared from the social stage in 1899, shortly after his father’s death. Gossip-mouths of the time speculated that he fell victim to his half-brother’s jealous scheming, but this was never proven.

  Nevertheless, despite his brother’s efforts of burying Dr. Sinclair’s work, his contemporaries, mostly his university mates, made use of his research and discoveries and furthered his “school”. There were rumors that, under the jealous brother’s persecution, this circle had to go underground and soon turned into a secret society. The mystery and fascination shrouding them survive to this day, and some anonymous sources even claimed that Watson and Crick and others of their league had access to these people and to classified information. Still, there was no media coverage on this society whatsoever.

  “These people must all be members of the Order of Lords,” I said. “The founding fathers. They created the most dangerous killers that ever existed, they created the Executioner, and I’m supposed to stop him all by myself. I feel like David against Goliath, only that this is the real world.”

  Leona grinned like an adrenaline junkie who looked forward to a free fall. “You won’t be alone, Alice. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I already assured Hector that I’d give you my full support, and I’m going with you on Saturday.”

  “Like hell you are,” I burst. “Jesus, Leona, I can’t even believe that asshole Varlam asked such a thing of you!” I threw my hands in the air, my face burning with anger.

  “Damian wouldn’t hurt me, Alice. There’s a good chance he’d call off the operation even if I went to the club alone, because he knows how much I mean to you. He would never hurt you like that. Actually, I suggested to Hector that I should stay at the club if you get Novac to leave the place, just to make extra sure nothing happens.”

  “I’m warning you, Leona, Hector’s using you. He’d sacrifice you anytime in order to satisfy his ambitions. I know you like him, Leona, but trust me when I say he’s not going to stick around once we’re done.”

  I could say that was the first time ever that Leona scowled at me with something fiendish in her eyes. “I’ll take my chances,” she spat, and pulled away from me with the laptop, gaze down at the screen. I immediately felt guilty for my tactless manner.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled after a few moments. “I know it sounds cheap and cliché, but I only want what’s best for you. And that comes from the heart. I love you, Leona.”

  She looked up at me from under her eyebrows, unable to keep the corners of her mouth from quirking up. “I love you back.”

  We forged plans for Saturday and took most decisions smoothly, but I still hated the idea of having Leona at the Marquette on Saturday. But what I felt particularly guilty about was involving Tony. Leona knew what she was getting herself into, but he didn’t.

  “He deserves it, Alice,” she told me as I stared at my cell phone in the living room, unable to make the decision of calling him.

  “Remember all the vile things he did to you and, if that’s not enough –” She grabbed the sides of my face and made me look at her – “Remember he betrayed you not once, but twice.”

  She had a point, so I called Tony and invited him to join our club-group, which he agreed to just as Hector had predicted. My heart was still heavy, though. Meanwhile, my best friend had to deal with a nuisance of her own.

  “You’re not coming, Cora, and period,” Leona decreed in her cell phone as she emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying her hair with her other hand. She dropped on the couch next to me, swinging her legs onto the coffee table and rolling her eyes to express how much her sister aggravated her. The fluffy white bathrobe slipped off her legs, revealing her toned, olive-skinned thighs.

  “I’m the older one, you don’t get to tell me what to do.” The cell was close enough for me to hear Cora’s annoyed voice. How had she gotten wind of the planned club night?

  “Yeah, but I’m the smarter one.” Leona grinned as if her sister were right in front of her. “Plus, George’s best friend is coming, too. You know, the psycho-nerd he tried to hook you up with? You swore you’d never wanted to see him again.”

  I thought of the guy’s face and pretended to shudder. With his thick-framed glasses and slicked back hair, he did resemble someone who impaled rats in the basement for kicks.

  “Yes, but after all this abstinence I’m not picky anymore,” Cora said. “Come on, Leo, cut me some slack here. It’s been forever since the divorce, and I’m itching to get out. Not to mention it’s the first time I’ll have a baby-sitter in months.”

  “You’re itching, huh?” Leona flashed a grin. She got up, went out of the room, and returned with an apple, the cell between her ear and her shoulder.

  She ended the call with, “Fine, I’ll see you on Saturday then,” and tossed the phone on the table before she dipped into the cushioned sofa by my side. I sat up, staring hard at her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I admonished. “Do you remember why we’re going to the Marquette on Saturday? We’ll be there to stop a massacre, for Christ’s sakes, you can’t expose your sister to something like that. What if something goes wr
ong?”

  “Relax,” Leona said as she grabbed the remote and took a bite of the apple. “She’ll be gone with the psycho-nerd before you know it,” she said with her mouth full. “And there isn’t going to be any massacre. Novac won’t let it happen with you there, not in a million years.”

  “I wish I were as certain as you,” I mumbled, more to myself than to her.

  The door opened, and George walked in, juggling bags in one hand and a coffee tray in the other.

  “Hey ladies, what are you talking about?”

  Leona smiled. “Nothing, just girl stuff. You look like you’re feeling better.”

  Damian Novac is a cold-blooded murderer, I repeated to myself on Saturday evening after a bath, tapping my forehead against the bathroom wall. The guilt was eating me alive. I would refrain from flirting too much with Tony in order to keep him safe. Yes, that was the answer. That way, Damian wouldn’t harm him, but I’d still be there to break up his little party.

  “Alice!”

  Leona’s rapping knuckles on the bathroom door pulled me from my churning thoughts. With only a towel around me, I hesitated but cracked the door and let her slip inside.

  “What are you doing in here?” she inquired, looking at me from head to toe in horror. “You’ve been in here forever, and you’re still not ready?”

  “I- I don’t know where to start,” I mumbled.

  A grin slowly stretched over her face. “Has that ever been a problem since you met me?”

  In a matter of minutes she’d sent George with his psycho-looking friend to pick up Cora, and began primping me.

  Choosing the right outfit was the hardest task. She eventually held up and inspected two hangers with outfits she’d put together. After tedious try-ons she decreed that the black lace corset had won.

  “It’s perfect,” she exclaimed. “Provocative yet refined, especially if combined with these black sheen pants.” She held them up as if presenting them on the shopping network.

  I stepped into the pants. They were tight, and the hem stopping a few inches from my ankles.

  “Fabulous. The corset highlights your waist, and I don’t even have to squeeze you into it,” Leona said as she tied the cords along my back. Then she took a few steps back to watch me like an eccentric fashion designer with a glass of sparkling wine in her hand. Taking a sip, she swirled her finger in the air to let me know she wanted me to spin around.

  “I love it,” she said as I faced her again.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I murmured. Her chocolate eyes met mine, the gaze of a devoted sister.

  “I don’t do things for undeserving people, Alice. You’re the worthiest person I’ve ever met.”

  I felt awkward in sentimental moments, so I broke away and went in search of my big silver earrings to play off the silver stilettos. I wasn’t Heidi Klum on the catwalk, but I kept my balance as long as my steps were narrow and slow.

  Since I couldn’t be of much help to Leona in matters of fashion, I placed my belongings at her disposal—most of which we’d bought together over the years anyway—and straightened her hair.

  The phone rang and my stomach instantly clenched. I knew it was George–he was on his way. Leona grabbed my hand. Against hers, it felt clammy.

  “Are you all right?” she inquired. I stared nervously at her reflection in the mirror. She looked so confident in her white dress with her one olive-skinned shoulder bare, and endless toned legs. I pulled my shoulders back and tried to mimic her stance. The stilettos made me look tall and the makeup robust and yet somehow I felt even more fragile.

  “No, Leona. I’m not.” I turned to look her in the eyes so fast, that I nearly fell off the high heels. “I’m terrified.”

  “No, no, no, don’t you dare cry now.” Leona planted small slaps on my face. “Now, you listen to me. You’ll pull this through, okay? You’ll take it step by step. It’s not a big deal.”

  “No big deal? Damian threatened to crush any guy who as much as holds my hand. His words.”

  “Then make sure Tony doesn’t hold your hand. You don’t have to give him hope, Alice, or kiss him, or make it look like you have something going with each other. Your goal is simply to get Novac out of there, and it’s not even a must. Actually, all you have to do is be there, and the problem’s solved – Novac will cancel his plan, and no one will get hurt.”

  Leona’s cell rang three times, the signal that George and Cora already waited in the psycho friend’s car.

  Spring had officially started with the first days of March, but this was a still winter-crisp night with glassy ice under a thin layer of snow, and a large moon. Shivering in our flimsy clothes and silly jackets, Leona and I held on tightly to each other until we reached the Skoda on teetering heels. George sat in the passenger seat, while Leona and I joined her sister in the back.

  “Tony said he’d meet us there,” I told them after a warm hug from Cora – the curvy brunette with the stylish bob and overflowing cleavage.

  “How’re the kids?” I inquired, avoiding the bespectacled nerd’s ogling in the rear-view mirror.

  “Oh, fabulous,” Cora replied. And from there an avalanche of stories about the little ones followed, as I’d expected, allowing me the comfort of merely asking questions from the background every now and then.

  We couldn’t park anywhere in front of the club, since the narrow street was already packed. Music drummed through the open club door, two inflated and intimidating guys in black jackets stood at the entrance.

  We parked a few streets up and hurried to join the line. At last immersed in the mass of bodies and loud voices, it got so warm that I could take my jacket off.

  As we finally made it past the two bouncers, my heart shrank again – this was the place where my dad had been seeing Svetlana Slavic. The thought was as harsh as the cigarette smoke that polluted the club, and as dizzying as the sweaty dancing bodies. Then our purpose here solidified in my mind. We had to hustle our way through the crowd to a table with a “Booked” sign on it, surrounded by white couches complying with the style the big-bellied new money of our town preferred. As soon as Cora, George and the nerd sat down, the waitress brought a bottle of whiskey and six Red Bulls, all unordered. After explaining something to Cora, George and the bespectacled nerd, she set them on our table. Leona and I threw our jackets and handbags on the couch, but remained standing.

  “Where’s Tony?” she yelled over the deafening beat.

  I shrugged, looking around. “Must be already here somewhere,” I yelled back when I failed to see him among the people and lasers.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes from sweeping along the blurred booths on the first floor, hidden behind fake arches and heavy curtains. I wondered which one it had been. The private little space where Dad had watched the temptress dance with sleazy eyes.

  But that stream of thought came to a snap the second my eyes crossed over Damian Novac’s face. I blinked fast to make sure I saw right, surprised at his springing into presence out of nowhere. Like an assassin from the white steam spewing out of the club gadgets just a few dancers away.

  He wore dark jeans and a t-shirt, but he still stood out like a god. The t-shirt fell just right on his body without going tasteless-tight, and the jeans did the same with his powerful legs, while his face was so much more handsome than the others that it was ostentatious. With his sculpted barbarian features and raven mane he was irresistible, and his eyes had fixed on me.

  The memory of his kiss charged my senses. The touch of his lips—stone-hard, and yet somehow soft and warm. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t be so cruel as to really have planned to murder all of these people tonight.

  A yell made me turn briskly – “There you are,” in a scratchy male voice somewhere in my immediate proximity.

  Tony stood so close that my nose hit his as I turned my head. As soon as my eyes fell on his fluffy-cheeked face, a feeling of guilt overtook me for my brainless, base attraction to the Executioner, as if I’d just woken up f
rom a drug-induced trance. He’s a cold-blooded killer!

  “Yeah, here,” I replied.

  “I already ordered, there’s whiskey and energy drinks,” Tony said, gesturing toward the table where everybody else sat, already enjoying the treat the waitress had brought from the start.

  “Yeah, tonight will be something,” I said and lifted a glass of whiskey as if for a toast, then took a gulp that burned down to my guts. I hadn’t eaten anything but some bread with marmalade in the morning, so the sensation of wobbliness after the whiskey only went up a notch with a mouthful of Red Bull.

  Just a bit later I felt more apt to play pretense that I enjoyed Tony’s presence. I tried a cheap joke about his wearing a dress shirt and slacks even at a club, but I found him deaf to that, hostile eyes aside to the spot where I’d seen Damian Novac.

  He still stood there, not even minding Tony, but scowling green crystal daggers at me.

  “I see you brought company,” Tony grunted.

  “I didn’t know he’d be here,” I hurried with the lie, not wanting Tony to think I’d invited him only to take revenge for matters of the past. “This was supposed to be a night out with friends.”

  “You mean this is something like girls’ night for you and boys’ night for your boyfriend?”

  “I mean our gangs don’t really get along. So we decided on this. I didn’t know they’d come to the same club.”

  There. Tony seemed to buy it and take a bit of distance as well. He obviously hated what he heard, but it kept him from touching me in any way that could raise Damian’s suspicion and his wrath – or so I thought.

  Damian soon disappeared from the spot we’d seen him stand and, no matter how desperately I glanced around for him, after two dances with Tony – he asked after Damian vanished – I still hadn’t managed to spot him. I grew desperate.