by Eddy Will
She would have to keep an eye on her lover. Maria picked up the phone and dialed. If Styx was reaching out to someone she would know.
Chapter 35
Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 3, 2012, 10:58 AM
Anna reached a steep rocky outcrop after having moved without a break for what she guessed was about three hours. She had covered well over ten miles, but she was not sure how much distance she had actually put between herself and the lodge. She had been on a steady uphill path, but the forest was dense and it was tough to traverse in a straight line. She had seen the rocky outcrop about two hours ago and had decided to head in that direction for an overview.
The view was magnificent: a green canopy as far as the eye could see, majestic snow-capped mountains rising in the far distance. She wished she could be in those mountains, the terrain would be to her advantage. She sat on the rock and inspected the gear Diana had handed her before she set out. She emptied out the satchel’s content on the rocky ground: power bars, a plastic bottle of water, two lighters and a box of matches, a blanket, a flashlight. Anna laid them out in a neat row and took stock. Next she removed the knife from the sheath. The blade was long and had a serrated edge on the top of the blade. And it was sharp. She felt the weight of the knife in her hand, getting used to the feel. Anna knew about knives from hiking and climbing expeditions and this one felt solid and sturdy in her hand. The bow and cache of arrows was a different matter. As a girl she had spent summers playing with a bow and arrow at summer camp where archery was part of the outdoor experience. Her aim had been decent when it came to hitting a straw target from a hundred feet away. But it had been years and it had been camp. Now the bow and arrow was a weapon and she had better find use for it. Remington had a rifle and she assumed him to be a good shot. He would not be here otherwise. A bow and two dozen arrows were no match for a hunting rifle. And tracking and killing a rabbit for food seemed impossible. Her gaze fell on the handful of power bars and her heart sank. It was not enough if she expected to last more than a day. Nourishment was a non-negotiable prerequisite for survival.
Anna set the nook of the arrow into the bowstring and drew back. The bow, like the knife, was of high quality. Maybe Diana did want her to win, she wondered. She picked a dead tree some seventy feet away. She pulled back the bowstring with the arrow, took aim at the limbless trunk and released the arrow. The bowstring snapped and the thin projectile shot forward. The arrow missed the thick trunk by more than ten feet and traveled another hundred yards at least.
“Wow,” Anna said. She had not imagined the arrow to travel such a distance. She loaded another arrow and drew hard on the bowstring, feeling the thin string push into her fingers. She missed the trunk twice more before an arrow whacked into the dead wood and stuck.
“Wow,” Anna said again. She emptied her quiver firing one arrow after another, practicing her stance and posture for best aim. Maybe summer camp was not a total waste she thought. Twenty arrows later and four had stuck in the dead tree. She would need practice and time, neither of which she had. Anna collected the arrows, filling the quiver once more, when the distant sound of a brass horn caught her ear. She stood still, her eyes searching the direction of the faint sound. There it was again. Her eyes followed the sound.
The call to the hunt.
Anna’s heart pounded hard and fear flashed into her heart. She had been distracted, but the distant horn was a reminder of her fate.
Remington was coming for her.
Anna fought back the rising panic that grabbed her throat. She was miles away, had a solid head start. Even if Remington knew where she was and if she didn’t move from the rock, he would not reach her for hours. She breathed in the fresh forest air and forced her heart to slow. She packed her satchel and ate a power bar, stuffing the wrapper into the satchel. Leave no trace. Remington had not struck her as a tracker; she doubted he could find his way home without a GPS map on his smart phone. But Remington would not be alone on his hunt, he would have plenty of help.
Anna strained to see the lodge from her vantage point, but she was too far away, and the building too low to stick out from the green canopy. The distant snowcapped mountain was the only marker she had and recalling the map in the control room, that mountain was in a northerly direction from the lodge.
But if the clouds dropped much lower, the mountain would disappear from sight. Anna started out again, heading in the direction of the snowcapped mountain. It served as a beacon of freedom. The mountain was outside the hunting grounds and if she reached it, she would be safe. Anna fell into a light run, her body leaning forward as she ran uphill, toward the mountain, to freedom.
The incline had been steady as she worked her way through heavy brush. The undergrowth had become thicker and slowed Anna’s pace as she pushed past prickly branches and twisting vines. Small dark berries sprouted from thin and thorny growth. Anna slowed her pace at the sight of a sea of blackberries. She filled her pockets and satchel and ate as she continued moving. The incline had leveled off, but the forest was too dense to see far ahead. She headed for a large fallen tree, vines and brush engulfing the dead trunk.
The brush by the dead tree exploded, startling Anna, her heart jumped and she screamed as a large deer shot past her.
“Holy crap,” she said, her heart pounding hard. Anna stepped to the dead tree, curious about the deer’s hiding place. Under the large trunk nestled in the green growth was a new-born baby deer, its young eyes wide in confusion about its mother’s sudden departure.
‘Bambi,’ Anna thought and then another thought entered her mind, one that would never have entered before today: lunch.
Anna was incapable of completing the thought, never mind the actions required to turn the thought into reality. She stepped back from the deer hideout and continued on her way, her thoughts dwelling on the brutal laws of nature. ‘There has to be another way,’ she thought.
Soon the ground slopped downhill and the brush cleared, as the trees spaced out opening up the path and visibility for Anna. Soon the decline increased dramatically, opening into a vast valley. Anna stopped and studied the awesome view. The valley was shaped like a cauldron, all sides rising from the valley floor. A long thin waterfall cascaded down the rocky drop, a cloud of mist rising into the air on the northern side of the valley.
Anna broke into a run, using the downward slope and headed for the valley floor. The waterfall had become her destination.
Chapter 36
London, England, August 3, 2012, 12:35 PM
Styx pounded the keys of the piano playing the crescendo of a Beethoven Sonata with too much forte and too much violent emotion. The classical piece failed to sooth the punk rocker’s troubled soul and raging fury. She rose from the piano bench in mid-measure and screamed at the naked wall. Abject terror and uncontrollable rage had been trading places in her heart all day. The brutal image of a dead man juxtaposed by the comforting, sweet smile of Maria had been at the core of the chaos. She lit another cigarette and sat on the ledge of the tall living room window, pulling up her knees to her chest. She watched the rain on the other side of the glass, running in crooked lines down the window, pooling on the brick sill and finally cascading to the pavement below. The sky was blackish grey, much like her mood. She breathed blue smoke against the window glass. It curled up and blew out in all directions bouncing ineffectively off the obstacle, much like her mind. She felt more alone than she had in a long time. And for the first time in years she wanted to go home. But her home had been obliterated by a faulty gas line. Her mother and father had perished in their home and in the flash of a moment a normal, happy twelve year old girl had become the ward of the state, an orphan. Her home had been replaced by a long line of foster homes. Styx had grown up mostly alone, mostly without parental guidance and mostly without love.
And yet, she had grown up and was still alive. A settlement against the negligent gas company had helped the young orphan get a start on her life. Her given name was So
phie McKenna. She had chosen her nom-de-guerre, as she referred to it, when she was sixteen, a reference to her perceived state as viewed through the lens of her teenage Angst: flowing between the world of the living and the world of the dead, never knowing which way she might drift.
Styx had experienced one special act of kindness, a glimmer of hope: a music teacher had invited the traumatized child for lessons and Styx had shown talent and interest, stopping by after school whenever Ms. Cherry had time. Styx continued lessons long after she had moved to other homes and only stopped when Ms. Cherry died. Styx had received a musical gift that allowed her to channel her pain and rage at an unjust world and had saved her from a life of drugs and crime.
Styx turned to the grand piano and thought of Ms. Cherry. It had been the old lady’s piano, it was the piano on which Styx had learned and grown accomplished and when Ms. Cherry’s children found no use for the bulky instrument, Styx asked and received.
Tires screeched on the street below followed by the sound of a shattering crash. Styx craned her neck but the accident was too far down the street. She climbed off the window ledge and stubbed out the cigarette. Her spacious and sparse apartment was suffocating her. She grabbed her raincoat and umbrella and headed for the door, craving fresh air and rain on her face.
Styx stopped on the landing outside of the building and buttoned her red coat, drops of rain gently needled her face. She felt better already. She pinched her nose and squinted into the falling rain. Cars crept down the busy street in a long, unending procession, windshield wipers sweeping water off the glass and red brake lights reflecting in rain drops, sparkling like stars all the way down the block. Couples huddled close under too small umbrellas, their arms wrapped around one another, while others pulled their umbrellas close to their face to deny even a single drop on their cheeks. And then others still without any protection from the elements, their fists buried in pockets and short suit jacket collars pulled high, but still lacking. A man in a classic tan trench coat with the collar turned up and a wide brimmed hat from another area had taken refuge in an entrance across the street, intermittent plumes of cigarette smoke billowing into the air.
Styx skipped down the steps and joined the foot traffic. Her head held high, she carried her umbrella, saving it for later. For now, the rain on her face felt good. She entered a coffee shop to pick up a hot chocolate for the walk. A tall, skinny man wearing a wind breaker and baseball hat looked through the store front window making up his mind whether to enter. A man with a harried, intense face rushed past the indecisive man, clutching a laptop bag close to his chest. Dark, intense eyes bored into Styx before he flashed a quick smile. His hair was unkempt and sticking in many directions and his attempt at a beard lacking. The artsy man ordered coffee and claimed an empty table in the corner where he unloaded his precious notebook before returning to pick up his drink. Styx smiled at the artsy fellow, but he looked at her as if he had seen her for the first time, but smiled anyway before hurrying to his corner. The skinny man still had not made up his mind when Styx left the coffee shop. The chocolate was hot and the drops falling on the white lid of the cup cold. Styx opened the umbrella and on a whim decided to walk to the river. She flowed with the tide of pedestrians, stopping from time to time at shop windows. Her reflection in the glass looked back at her and she swirled the umbrella, water flying off the reflection. She curtsied her other self and continued. She thought her head looked funny. It wasn’t really too big for her slender frame, but she thought it strangely odd. The thought that she might be an alien had crossed her mind. She stopped at an intersection deciding which way to take to the river. The skinny man wearing the baseball hat stood at the light across the street. Evidently he had decided against coffee. The light turned and Styx chose her path to the Thames. Puddles littered the sidewalk and Styx made sure she stepped in every one.
The embankment along the River Thames was deserted. The tide was high and Styx leaned over the railing and spat into the murky brown water. The river swirled the spit and carried it away, to the North Sea maybe, she thought.
A rickety bicycle powered by tired legs of an old man labored along the embankment. The man steered with one hand, holding an umbrella in the other. The bike rolled by the red-headed punk and the old man mumbled a greeting followed by a toothless grin. Styx eyes followed the comic character swerving along the riverbank when she saw him. It was quick but she had no doubt. The skinny man wearing a baseball hat had lunged behind the broad base of a statue standing on the embankment. It was the sudden awkward movement that had caught her eye. Styx blinked hard, her harmonious solitude shattered in an instance.
She walked in the opposite direction, her pace unsteady and self-conscious. What should she do? Who was the man wearing the baseball hat? Her intuition had sounded a clear alarm, but her rational mind looked for rational explanations, looking for ways to prove primal intuition wrong. Her walk was over, it had become something else. She kept a steady pace so as not to alarm her tail, but her mind raced for answers. There was a gnawing suspicion deep in her mind that the explanation for the tail was closer to home, less arbitrary and more personal: Maria Koshkova. Had Maria grown suspicious? Did she know that Styx had looked at the phone and discovered the photo of a dead man? Styx struggled to remember every detail of those moments. She did not know when Maria had appeared in the door. Had Maria seen her look at the phone? Whatever the reason, if the skinny man was sent by Maria Koshkova, then something had gone wrong this morning.
Styx reached a busy street. A red London Transport double-decker bus pulled up at a bus stop and a throng of people flowed from the interior onto the sidewalk, hurrying off in all directions. Styx inserted herself into the crowd and moved with them. Glancing back, the skinny man was never more than a hundred feet behind. Styx led the man on a zigzag journey hoping he’d disappear. He didn’t. Styx grew angrier and less afraid. She thought of ways to lose him.
The rain fell harder, bouncing off the sidewalk, prattling on car roofs. Styx abruptly turned into a women’s clothing store. Aisles filled with garments gave her plenty of protection. She browsed the store, keeping an eye on the skinny man outside. He would not come inside the women’s store. It would be too risky. The skinny man stood on the sidewalk, trying hard to look casual. At regular intervals he snuck a glance making sure his target was still in sight. And all the while the rain fell hard. He was stuck, had no choice but to wait. A plan took form in Styx’s mind. She purchased a black beanie hat. When she left the store she walked quickly as one who had remembered an appointment and was late. She passed others on the sidewalk, taking careful glances back. The skinny man kept up albeit at a greater distance. Her speed forced him to stay back farther.
Styx found an Underground station with two entrances on the same side of the street. She picked up her pace and rushed down the steps to the station. When she was out of the skinny man’s sight, she pulled the black beanie hat over her bright red hair and tore off the red coat, stuffing it into the shopping bag without slowing her pace.
She ran up the second steps and back on the sidewalk, she turned and looked back. The skinny man was out of sight. He had followed her into the Underground station. Styx ran into a nearby book store and headed straight for the tall shelves. She paused in the Fiction section and found a place that afforded her a view of the street.
The skinny man reappeared on the sidewalk in a panic, his head snapping from left to right and back, searching the crowded sidewalk for his target. He stepped to the left, then to the right. After a moment he kicked the railing of the subway entrance. Styx read the expletive on the man’s lips. She watched him pull out his phone. Craning his head to read the name of the subway station he conveyed his failings to his superiors. Styx giggled at her success and at the skinny man’s frustration. He had lost an air-headed punk rock chick, an assignment he probably had considered a walk in the park.
The man nodded in quick jerky movements, like a hen pecking at the ground, then looked
up and down the street one last time, before he hurried down the stairs to the subway tracks.
Styx waited for several minutes before she put her coat back on and left the store. Questions piled up in her mind. Who was the man? Why had he been following her? The ‘why’ and ‘who’ preoccupied her mind as she hurried home. The streets suddenly felt drab, the grey skies darker and the rain only wet and cold. She hated the skinny man for ruining her walk.
Fifteen minutes later, she climbed the step to her front door. Holding the umbrella at arm’s length she shook the rainwater off the fabric. The man in the tan trench coat and wide brimmed hat still stood in the entrance of the apartment building across the street. And he was still smoking a cigarette.
Styx felt the knot of fear tighten in her gut. The man in the trench coat was there for her.
She was being watched.
There was only one person in Styx’s small world, who had the resources and cause to have her tailed.
Styx shivered and hurried upstairs. Her suspicion primed, she inspected the door and lock for any signs of forced entry. She found none. Inside, she stood in the hallway for a long time listening to her apartment. What was the sound of intrusion? What was the sound of violation? She slowly walked from room to room, looking for signs of someone having invaded her space. The absence of clear evidence did not sooth her sense of intrusion and violation. The fact that she could not be sure, was worse than finding a shattered window and her belongings strewn across the floor. The computer looked untouched, exactly the way she had left it. Once booted up, Styx opened the email account and erased all correspondence she had had with Jack Storm. She could no longer trust Maria Koshkova. The phone rang and startled Styx.