The land of dead flowers: (A serial killer thriller)

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  Abyssus abyssum invocat

  in voce cataractarum tuarum;

  omnes gurgites tui et fluctus

  tui super me transierunt.

  Deep calls to deep

  in the voice of your waterfalls;

  all your whirlpools and waves

  have passed over me.

  From the Vulgate translation of the Bible: Psalm 42:7

  Chapter 1

  Inga sat on a corner of her bed, looking at the man putting on his clothes. He didn’t abuse her like the others, he even tried to be nice, but now he didn’t look at her. He had finished his business and forgotten about her. They all forgot. She wasn’t a person to them. For them—she was a soulless toy. They played and left, wiping her from their memory forever. They didn’t think that besides a used body, they left behind a crushed soul. Did they care about her soul? Did they care about her at all? No. Never.

  What about this one? Would he forget? What if he could help? What if? Or was it going to be like the last time? If it was going to be like the last time she would be done. They promised to kill her and they kept their promises.

  That last time the man was so nice, so understanding. He asked her questions because he wanted to know how she ended up in this place. She told him everything, didn’t spare the details, and he promised to help her. Yes, he did. He left the room and another man entered a few seconds later. Eagle.

  Inga didn’t want to recall anything that happened after that, but it was difficult to stop a memory that was imprinted with bruises on your body, and with scars on your arms and face. They had beaten her, tied her to the bed, and kept her that way for two days. They wanted to suppress not only her will to live, but her desire to be human. They didn’t touch her for three days after that, and even brought her meals to her. They wanted her back in “working condition.”

  This man was the first since that day. Not many men wanted a girl with bruises, and Inga appreciated that.

  She shuddered when she heard his voice. He was quiet from the moment he entered the room, as if he was ashamed to be here and do what he did.

  “How did you get here?” he asked. He was already fully dressed and stood with his hands in his jeans pockets.

  She looked into his eyes, trying to guess what was hiding behind them. Is it a provocation? Do they want to get rid of me? Maybe they set it up because some important guy didn’t like me? Would I become the next Kitty?

  Yesterday, before dinner, they brought Kitty out for a show. She was naked and covered in blood. Dead. They said she didn’t obey, offended a client, and tried to escape. Everyone cried, except for Cleopatra. She said that she envied Kitty, because for her this hell was over. No one touched their food that night.

  Sometimes Inga wanted to die too. If she was dead they wouldn’t awaken her in the middle of the night to put her under another client. If she was dead they wouldn’t torture her and hit her. Some girls committed suicide and she wanted to do the same, but she knew her mom believed that her little girl was alive. She couldn’t give up. Inga didn’t have the right to die and she wanted to live. Eagle tried hard but he couldn’t terminate her hunger for life.

  “Are you deaf?”

  Inga shook her head and started to cry. She didn’t want to cry, but tears flowed like two rivers, overrunning each other.

  She bit her lip to stop herself from wailing. If Eagle heard her, she wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.

  The man frowned but didn’t move. He didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets. Inga couldn’t stop now. She looked at the man’s blurry silhouette and didn’t wipe her tears, letting them wet her blanket.

  “Do you want some water?” he asked.

  Inga swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped her tears, but a new flow began.

  “I want to go home,” she whispered. “I want my mom.”

  “What? Your mom?”

  For a moment the man looked as though he had been struck by lightning. Inga pulled her blanket higher, leaving only her eyes visible. Why did she say that? What an idiot. Now he was going to call Eagle.

  “Did you just say you want your mom?”

  “I’m really sorry,” Inga pleaded. “Please, don’t tell Eagle. Please. I didn’t mean to say it.”

  “Shit,” the man said as he scratched the back of his head. “You know I can get in trouble because of you?”

  Inga looked at the door. Somebody might be standing there, listening. They didn’t trust her.

  “How old are you?” the man asked, looking at Inga again.

  “Twenty-three. Just turned.”

  Inga wanted to add that she had turned twenty-three about eight days ago, but she had lost count of the days. She didn’t say anything. She would not stop crying after that, because eight days ago had been her birthday and she had received a beating instead of a gift: the taste of her own blood in her mouth instead of a cake.

  The man shook his head.

  “Where do you live? Lived? Where did you live?”

  “Cincinnati.” Inga sniffed and wiped her nose with the blanket. This man asked too many questions and he looked confused.

  “We’re in Washington. My sister lives in Ohio now. What’s your name? Serena doesn’t sound real.”

  “Inga.”

  “I’ve never heard that name before. How long have you been here?”

  Inga sighed. She wanted to answer, but somebody knocked on the door. She shrank and closed her eyes. That was it. No hope, no escape.

  “What the hell?” the man barked and Inga opened her eyes. He looked nervous.

  “Just checking.” Inga recognized Drake’s voice.

  “I wasn’t finished yet, you moron!”

  “Sorry, brother.”

  “Kiss my ugly ass!” the man screamed, but he looked scared.

  Inga wasn’t sure if Drake left but she didn’t care. The man in front of her wanted to help her. Inga wanted to believe it so badly.

  “How long have you been here?” the man asked. He walked to the bed and sat down on the edge.

  “About three weeks. I lost count.” The tears showed up again.

  “Shit, why did I come here? It’s my first time, you know? I didn’t even want to, but my friend pushed me. He even paid for me, because … That’s not important. We don’t have time.”

  The man stood up and started to unzip his pants, taking out his shirt he had just tucked in.

  Inga pressed herself against the wall. Her breathing became rapid; her hands started to shake. Not again, not now. Please, not again.

  The man stretched his hand out to her and Inga jerked back. He shook his head in embarrassment and then walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.

  This was the end. He was going to call Eagle and that would be the end of her. She would never see her mom again, or her sister, or her home, or …

  “Motherfuckers, you ruined it! You ruined it! Motherfuckers! Try to knock again, you stupid morons! Did you hear me?”

  “It’s okay, brother,” Drake said. “Fuck her until her eyeballs fall out.”

  “Just try to knock again, morons.”

  The man closed the door but didn’t lock it. Everyone got special instructions before entering the room. Lock the door and keep the key with you at all times. No one should leave the room but the client.

  “Listen.” The man bent to Inga and whispered in her ear. “I can get in trouble but I have a daughter almost your age. Only she’s blonde with blue eyes and you’re a brunette with brown … What am I talking about? It doesn’t matter … My mother ... God, help you … I’m really sorry … If it helps at all.”

  He walked inside the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  Inga couldn’t believe what had just happened. She stared at the closed bathroom door and moved her eyes to the unlocked room door. It was blue on the inside and black on the outside. The door so hated. The door, through which you couldn’t come in or go out without permission, without an order, without a push on the back. H
ated and alluring, simple, wooden, magical door. Inga couldn’t move for a few seconds. Her limbs went numb from the unexpectedness of the expected, from the reality of the situation she was dreaming about. It seemed that even her heart and her lungs stopped functioning. She looked at the door, waiting for it to open, waiting for Eagle to storm inside with a chain in his hands, with his face twisted in rage and excitement for the upcoming torture. No one entered. The door didn’t open and everything was quiet.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” the man said from behind the closed bathroom door, pulling Inga out of her stupor. She jumped from the bed, snatched her panties and the sheer, silk negligee (the only clothes she had), from the floor, and put them on, breathing heavily from rushing. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and dashed to the door. She grabbed the doorknob but couldn’t turn it. Her vision clouded from fear and nervousness. Her body shook uncontrollably.

  This was her chance. Her second chance and maybe her last.

  Inga took a deep breath, turned the doorknob and pulled the door open. One more breath and one step into the hallway. An empty hallway. Could it be? Could she be so lucky?

  On her right, was a dining room with yellow walls and rows of tables and chairs. On her left, was a lobby with a door that led to the outside. Her room was the first from the lobby. Inga closed the door, holding her breath, and flew to the exit. Her bare feet touched the warm, wooden floor soundlessly. What would she find ahead? How far could she go in these clothes at the end of November?

  Here was the door leading outside, her door to freedom. It was painted black like the walls. Inga looked back and saw the eyes of Bitch. They were wide from shock and disbelief. She was sitting at her desk with a Good Home magazine. The young woman, called Bitch by the girls, took clients to the rooms, and chose their fate.

  In the hallway, behind Inga’s back, the man cried out.

  “She’s escaped!”

  It was Inga’s client. He had to shout.

  Before Bitch recovered from her shock, Inga pushed the door open and flew outside under large, piercing drops of rain and gusts of icy wind. She wasn’t expecting it and for a second she was disoriented and began to choke. A commotion started inside the house.

  Inga rushed away, her feet sinking in the mud. She hadn’t even reached the first tree when she heard someone yelling behind her back.

  “You stop right now, bitch! Stupid whore! You’d better stop! You’re dead, bitch!”

  She wanted to cry from the pain, as her feet were sliding over stones and she was stumbling over sharp branches. She felt close to fainting from fear. She had lost the blanket and felt like she was naked.

  There were trees ahead. They hid the old motel, which had become a house of terror, from the road. Branches were scattered over the ground, and others caught her hair and scratched her face. Inga was crying, but she didn’t stop running, despite the cursing and the sound of footsteps following behind her.

  She couldn’t believe it when she saw a road ahead, the asphalt shining in the rain from the lights of an approaching car.

  “You stop right now, bitch!” Eagle was breathing hard and getting too close.

  Inga ran onto the road, toward a car. Now she didn’t care. Now she didn’t have a choice. She would rather die under the wheels of the car than to return to the house and die anyway. This time she was going to die for sure, and her naked body would be exposed for all to see, to teach others a lesson.

  The light blinded her and she expected an impact, but it didn’t happen. The driver slammed on the brakes, the tires skidded, and the car stopped. Before Inga realized what had happened, somebody grabbed her arm.

  “Let her go, fuck head!”

  “Who are you?”

  A strange man’s voice sounded over Inga’s head and she opened her eyes. A young man held her arm. Eagle was standing close, holding his favorite toy, a heavy metal chain, in his hands. Drake was approaching. He was bending down, trying to catch his breath.

  The young man, who held Inga’s arm, ran to the car and came back with a hunting rifle that he pointed at Eagle, who was getting closer.

  Eagle stopped short, his beautiful face twisted with rage.

  “It’s not your business!” he barked. “Let her go and get the fuck away from here!”

  The young man lifted the rifle to his shoulder, at the same time stepping forward so Inga would be behind him. The rain was pouring mercilessly; the wind was piercing her body. Inga was shaking so hard from cold and fear that she wasn’t sure how long she would be able to stand on her feet. She didn’t care what happened next; she just wanted to hide from the wind and rain.

  “I’ll give you a chance to get out of my way,” the stranger said. The tone of his voice was calm and confident.

  “You bitch. We’ll find you and bury you!” Eagle screamed.

  “One.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Eagle looked shocked. He couldn’t believe that somebody not only wasn’t afraid of him, but was threatening him as well.

  “Two.”

  “We’re gonna find you, motherfucker! Let her go!”

  “Three.”

  The rain muffled the shot but to Inga it sounded like an explosion and she covered her ears with her hands. Eagle stared at the stranger. His eyes were wide from shock. Inga had never seen him look so pitiful. He was wet, cold, and scared. Drake stood close to him. Somebody else from their crew held his shoulder and cried in pain. The rain washed the blood from his fingers. Eagle took a step forward and stopped.

  “Next shot will blow your head off,” the stranger said.

  Drake took a step back. His light, almost white hair was covering one eye.

  “Get in the car,” the stranger said.

  The wounded man continued screaming. He stretched out his hand covered in red, but the rain washed the blood off right away.

  Inga didn’t move and the stranger turned to her.

  “Get in the car!” he yelled.

  Inga jumped as if somebody had shot under her feet and ran to climb into the sedan. She shut the door, cutting off the sounds from outside. The pouring rain was hitting the window. The blurry silhouette of the stranger, who had saved her life, moved back to the car. He got inside, slammed the door, and dropped his rifle on the backseat. He pushed the gas pedal and the car jerked forward. Inga’s captors could barely make it to the side of the road in time to avoid being crushed under the wheels.

  Chapter 2

  Soft rock music played in the car. The young man turned on the radio and the heater right after they passed the bandits. Inga felt hot air on her skin and it was wonderful. She was soaked to the skin in her negligée and she had lost her blanket. The heat was so pleasant, so needed that she almost started to cry again, this time from happiness. Of course, she was still shaking and her feet were burning, but the feeling of safety and freedom was too great to think about the pain. You are free, you are free, her mind screamed, and Inga couldn’t help herself, she began to cry. Fear, happiness, pain, triumph—all these emotions splashed out with her tears. The young man didn’t try to stop her or to calm her down. He let her have her moment.

  The car moved on down the road, the rain whipped against the window, the wipers dashed like crazy, and Inga shook from sobbing. When her throat began to burn and her stomach started to hurt, she calmed down. First she started to whimper, then she took a few deep breaths, and then she completely stopped.

  “I have an extra shirt on the backseat,” the guy said. “It’s not very clean but it’s dry.”

  Inga looked at her savior, her noble knight from the road. He wasn’t gorgeous. His appearance was so typical that he could easily get lost in a crowd. He had a face that many people would find something familiar and charming in. The guy looked like your neighbor, or your friend, or your brother. Longer face, wider nose, narrow lips, and straight, dark blond hair. He wore jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a rain jacket. He looked at the road, not at Inga. He seemed lost in his thoughts.

/>   “Thank you,” Inga said. “You saved my life.”

  The guy looked at her shortly.

  “Change, before you catch cold. I noticed you’re barefoot but I don’t have shoes here, sorry. Not even socks.”

  “It’s okay. Thank you.”

  Inga reached back and grabbed a checkered shirt. She pulled off her negligée and dropped it on the floor. She was ashamed of her naked body despite the fact that she had almost never worn clothes during the three weeks she had lived in the house of terror. The stranger didn’t look at her and she didn’t have a choice. She put on the shirt (the sleeves were too long for her) and wrapped it around herself without buttoning it. She immediately felt warm and comfortable, and even though she tried not to cry, she couldn’t hold back her tears. She couldn’t believe it was really over. She ran away and was saved. She was saved. It meant that soon she could go home. She could go home!

  “Can I use your cell phone to call the police?” she asked.

  “Sorry, I don’t have one.”

  “Okay,” Inga said. Some people didn’t use cell phones for different reasons, she knew that. Too bad this guy was one of them. “I’m so grateful, you can’t even imagine. Those people would have killed me. Even if they didn’t kill me, I couldn’t have survived. No one lives long there.”

  “There where and who are they?”

  Inga wiped her tears with her shirt sleeve.

  “The slave owners in the house of terror.”

  “Who?” The guy looked at with surprise, and turned to the road again. Something knocked at the back of the car. Inga thought the noise came from the trunk.

  “Soda bottles,” the guy said when she turned toward the sound. “Who did you say they were?”

  “They kidnap girls from different cities and bring them here to make them …” Inga swallowed a lump in her throat. It was difficult for her to talk about it. It was embarrassing and hurtful, but at the same time she wanted to spill it out. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to throw away all the horror like rotten vegetables from a refrigerator. “They kidnap girls and sell them for sex.”