The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2)

by Jean Nicole Rivers

  “Nothing,” she answered. “I just want to leave.” She told them as she began to make her way down the stairs, trying to maneuver around the ringleader, but he moved to either side to block her exit.

  “Why are you leaving so soon pretty American girl?” Franks taunted, moving forward, forcing her back against the door. His hot cigarette and beer-flavored breath assaulted her, and she was forced to turn her head to one side to avoid the pungent odor. He was close, too close now, another inch and his lips would be planted on hers. Putrid vomit sat just at the bottom of her throat, and she tried hard to push it up, in hopes that it would spew all over them, warm and odorous, making them ditch the fancy they seemed to be building for her.

  “Have either of you guys ever been this close to a pretty American girl before?” he asked his friends with his lips now even closer. His long, spiny fingers traveled toward Blaire and pressed her dark hair back behind her ear.

  “No, but I think that Petro’s shed out back is unlocked and open for business,” one of them said as Blaire felt the red hot sting of tears in her eyes. “No one is coming to save you this time, Petro is gone, and even your boyfriend, Latif, has run off to the city too,” one of the sidekicks teased with a laugh. She could hear all of their footsteps coming closer as her memories of the Frightening Four came bubbling to life with their incessant chanting. Jump, jump, jump, jump! Her heart raced, and her mind spun with voices and taunts. Ring around the rosie…

  They were too close; they were all just too close.

  Jump, jump, jump, jump!

  Blaire tried to stop the mixture of haunting voices that were swirling in her head.

  She hated them. Blaire hated them, and they were ALL too close.

  They’ll take you, torture you, rip off your head. The children in white will tear you to shreds. They’ll circle around you until you are dead. The children in white will leave you in red!

  “See there, you have the opportunity to kill three birds with one little stone,” Franks informed her, nodding his head toward his loyal followers.

  “Please, just let me go,” she begged, as she pressed passed the thug with all of the force that was left within her. She cried out as he pushed her forward, causing her to tumble down the steps. She had only enough time to roll over and look up before they descended on her with the gray sky at their backs.

  “Wait! No! Please!” Blaire screamed.

  “HEY!” someone yelled out, his voice ripping through the commotion along with the sound of shoes shuffling in the snow. Blaire’s vision was a clumsy mosaic of black coats, white snow, gloved hands, and then suddenly light. As the gang recoiled, the light from the sky poured down on her the same way it had that day on the riverside. Blaire removed her forearm from in front of her face and saw that Franks and his sidekicks were standing several feet away from her. At the end of the walkway to the street was a man standing in front of a pickup truck, its engine growling agonistically against the harsh environment.

  “You little punks get away from her. Franks, the last thing you need is another visit from the authorities. If your mother tells me right, you ain’t full well got out of the last bit you were knee deep in with that girl from Kerchaviv,” the man shouted through a snow-tinged red mustache.

  “Mind your own business, Horace. You’re not much for good advice on staying out of trouble,” the ringleader spit back. Franks’ face was twisted in a scowl of seething anger toward the man who interrupted his fun.

  Horace rubbed his icy beard as he looked at the ringleader, staring him down in a dual of sorts, the kind that took place between beasts in the wild. Horace was older, more experienced, and had no need to bark for the depth of his savagery to be understood. Franks contemplated the competition before backing down and commanding his pack to do the same.

  “You need a ride?” Horace asked, finally breaking the sadistic stare he had set on Franks. Blaire scrambled to her feet and made an ungainly dash for the truck.

  “Next time…next time, there won’t be any interruptions. I’ll make sure of that.” Franks turned his back on them and swaggered a few feet into the snow, waiting for his accomplices.

  Blaire threw herself into the truck, fishing frantically for the lock, which she pushed down as the haunting tableau of the boys standing in the snow burned itself into her brain. Outside Horace laughed heartily and yelled words that were indecipherable against the soundtrack of the unforgiving winds and rumbling engine before he made his way back around the truck and climbed inside.

  “Are you okay?” Horace asked as he began to drive the puffing, noisy machine that he called a truck.

  “A little frightened, but I’m okay,” Blaire said as she placed her hands in front of the vents, which blew out only a small amount of heat.

  “Town scum, you know, every place has them. I’m Horace and you’re lucky I happened to be driving by. You owe me one,” he informed her with a wink.

  Blaire swallowed hard and said, “I’m Blaire. What do you think they would have done to me?” It was a question she had to ask, but one that she truly did not want answered.

  The man looked at her for a couple of moments with an inexplicable expression.

  “They wouldn’t have hurt you much,” he finally said with a grim smile. “You’re going to St. Sebastian, right?”

  “Right,” Blaire responded, suddenly unsure of whether or not being with Horace left her in a better or worse position.

  “You prepared for the storm?” he asked.

  “Not really, I don’t think so.”

  Horace sighed as if all women were comparable in their utter incompetence.

  “You want me to take you by the Dobish market? You’ll need to get non-perishables, batteries, candles, and water. You may be stuck up there for a couple of days until the snow clears, and you will probably lose power, pipes could freeze, or any number of things. After that I have to get you back because I need to be getting home soon, too.”

  A couple of days…couple of days, Blaire thought frantically. A time period that was once inconsequential now seemed like an excruciating eternity.

  Margaret Dobish was turning her sign around to read “Closed” when Horace’s truck rumbled up to the storefront. Blaire waved at the woman lightly and prayed that Margaret would show pity. The woman glared at Blaire before she rolled her eyes deeply and opened the door.

  “There’s a storm coming. You realize that, don’t you?” Margaret Dobish yelled over the wind.

  “I just need a few things. I won’t be long, I promise.”

  The storekeeper sighed and stepped to the side to let Blaire in. Margaret had trouble closing the door against the wind. In the store, Blaire shopped nervously, with her hand shaking every time she stretched it out to grab batteries, fresh water, or any other necessity. Soon she headed for the counter knowing that she could only fill the cart with as much as she would be able to carry.

  “Hunkering down for the storm, are ya?”

  “Yes,” Blaire said.

  “Are you okay?” the woman asked Blaire as she rang up her items.

  Blaire looked up and wondered if she should speak. Blaire was afraid to say anything that may make the locals dislike her more than they already did, especially considering she was not sure when she would get out of Borslav.

  “St. Sebastian…” Blaire’s voice dried to a scratchy whisper by the final syllable of the word. “You said that your aunt worked there?”

  “She did,” Margaret confirmed.

  “You said it was haunted by ghosts.”

  The grocer stopped what she was doing and looked Blaire firmly in the eyes.

  “I never said anything about no ghosts.”

  “Wha…” Blaire began, confused, as she remembered Margaret’s words clearly.

  “There’s no need for ghosts when you have children up there like that. Who needs spirits?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That place is haunted enough by the living. Imagine one place, one
dark hole, where people throw all of their unwanted, so no one ever has to look at them again, a place void of hope, happiness, laughter, and joy. That place is cursed daily. Its veins pump loneliness and misery through the walls. My aunt told me that those children become faceless. When you don’t have parents, you have no identity, and it is easy to lose yourself, but how can you lose something you never really were? You abandon yourself because you’re no one.”

  Blaire was shivering, not from the raging cold outside, but from the words that slipped from Margaret’s tongue, words that Blaire knew were true, every last one of them.

  “All of the unwanted are thrown away there, and they slowly deteriorate with every passing second until…madness, and the unwanted that is on the inside escapes and sucks everything into its darkness.” She finished talking just as Blaire felt something take a firm grip upon her. Blaire whipped her head around to see Horace who had his hands planted steadfastly on her shoulders.

  “You need help with these bags?” he asked. “We have to go.” Horace scooped up the two large sacks.

  “Morning, Marge,” Horace greeted the shopkeeper.

  “Morning,” Margaret responded with a suspicious eye that traveled to Horace, back to the unsuspecting girl, and then once again to Horace.

  “Thank you,” Blaire said to the lady.

  “Good luck,” the woman responded as Blaire stepped back into the storm that was quickly bearing down on them.

  Horace pulled his truck up into the snow-flanked drive of the St. Sebastian orphanage. Blaire felt nauseated at the thought of reentering St. Sebastian, and, as the thick white snow continuously swallowed up everything in sight, Blaire leaned over and pressed her face into her hands. It was strange, but at St. Sebastian she felt safe from the savage city of Borslav, and in the savage city, she felt safe from the black halls of St. Sebastian.

  “You okay?” Horace asked.

  “I’m okay,” Blaire said, sobbing through her hands.

  All that she and Travis had to do was get through a night or two. They could lock themselves in their room, put the dresser in front of the door, stay away from everyone, especially Natalka, and as soon as the snow let up, they could go. They could leave, right? But somehow it just didn’t feel that simple to Blaire anymore. Something was coming, something more deadly than any snowstorm.

  Blaire felt Horace lean into her, and she knew immediately that his hand was on her thigh. She froze. He leaned a little closer as his large hand began coasting upward, and she pulled herself up and locked him in a crazed stare.

  Blaire catapulted herself toward Horace screaming and throwing wild punches. The truck rocked with her fury and she felt like two people, the animalistic woman who fought to defend herself and the reasonable soul who seemed to be out of body, watching the scene and wondering how she had lost control. Horace was strong and had her pressed up against the door within seconds, his eyes featuring a desolate rage that managed to break through Blaire’s wild emotions and frighten her. Her hands scrambled to locate the door handle behind her, and she pulled the handle to plummet into a mound of drifted snow that nearly covered her.

  “Crazy bat!” Horace yelled as Blaire shot up angrily and pulled her bags from the truck. She kicked the truck door closed with a shriek. Her chest heaved in and out as she stared Horace down. Yelling a few more obscenities through the window of his truck, the man then put it in gear and began rambling back down the drive. Once he was out of sight, Blaire turned and sighed at the sight of the building that would have to suffice as her refuge until the passing of what was to come.

  Against the winds and heft of the grocery bags, Blaire fought her way into the building where Anya was waiting just inside the door.

  “What took you so long?”

  “It’s getting bad out there!” Blaire warned lifelessly as she shook out her coat.

  “Blaire…” Anya began.

  “We could barely get through the roads,” Blaire said, continuing to speak in a monotone voice that signaled her trance-like state. She was just going through the motions, and no longer had the capacity to feel. “And this is only the beginning…” Blaire babbled as she hung her coat, picked up the bags, and headed robotically to the kitchen.

  Halfway down the hall, Blaire realized that she did not hear Anya’s steps following her. Blaire turned back to see Anya still standing by the door, the expression on her face an ominous harbinger.

  “What?” Blaire asked. Anya’s throat tightened. “What is it, Anya? Speak!”

  “It’s Travis…”

  Blaire heard her bags plunge to the floor as she lost feeling in her hands. “What happened to Travis?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  “He fell down the stairs.”

  “What? How?” Blaire was practically screaming now.

  Anya’s heavy shoulders rose in a shrug. “I’m not sure. I know that he wasn’t feeling well and he didn’t look good. Maybe he fainted. We managed to get him into bed. I called into the city for a doctor, but with the trains not running, no one can get here now, but Travis is breathing. He has a few bumps and bruises and he’s unconscious, but I think he will be okay.”

  Blaire sprinted up the stairs to the third floor. Something held her outside of the bedroom door for a moment, and she pressed her head lightly against it, before opening it and stepping inside.

  Travis was laid out on his bed, his eyes were closed, he was peaceful, and his chest rose and descended subtly.

  Next to the bed, Natalka sat in a chair rocking back and forth.

  Blaire stepped forward silently.

  Natalka’s rock slowed until it came to a complete stop at which point she turned in her seat and glowered at Blaire.

  “What are you doing, Natalka?” Blaire spit out the words as if even Natalka’s name on her tongue was poisonous.

  Natalka rose from the chair and took long strides toward the woman who backed up until she was against the wall. Natalka opened her mouth abnormally wide to speak, her foul-smelling breath covered Blaire’s face just as Anya pushed open the door. Natalka’s attention whipped toward Anya.

  “Are you okay?” Anya asked, as Natalka fled the room.

  “Yes,” Blaire responded. She was shaking as she rushed across the room to lean over Travis, putting her ear to his mouth to hear his slow and short breaths.

  “Travis? Travis, please wake up!” Blaire felt Anya’s hand on her back rubbing, but it was of little comfort. Blaire grabbed Travis’ cool hand and held it tightly between hers. His lower lip was busted, and there was a bruise across his left cheek.

  “Did you see this happen?”

  Anya shook her head back and forth. “I just heard the fuss, and when I came up the stairs, he was already unconscious on the second floor landing.”

  “How do you know he fell?” Blaire questioned.

  “Well, what else could have happened?” Anya was clueless.

  “We have to get him to a hospital.” Blaire tried frantically to lift his heavy body from the bed.

  “Blaire, I told you I already tried, but no doctor will come. We can’t get him to the city now.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “What can we do?”

  “My God,” Blaire said taking the seat next to his bed. “He didn’t just faint; he is really sick.”

  “I know that he has not been feeling well lately.”

  “No! Anya, I mean he is really sick. He’s been poisoned.”

  “Poisoned? How?” Anya asked.

  “Follow me,” Blaire said.

  In the kitchen Blaire went straight for Natalka’s baking drawer where she pulled out boxes of cake mix and other ingredients.

  “What are you looking for?” Anya asked.

  “The rat poison,” Blaire mumbled as she rambled through the cooking utensils, sending them flying over her shoulder like dirt behind a dog digging his hole, incipient rage adding frenzy to the removal of each item as she realized that all of the incriminating materials h
ad been removed.

  “Rat poison?” Anya was startled by the implication. “Who would give him rat poison?”

  “Natalka! Natalka, that’s who. Those…those desserts that she has been giving us have been laced with all kinds of stuff!” Blaire yelled through her frustration removing every item until the drawer was empty.

  “It’s gone! It’s gone! She took it out,” Blaire screamed.

  “Blaire, I think that you’re just in shock about Travis. Why would Natalka want to poison him?” Anya asked.

  “I don’t know! She’s crazy. She is losing it!” Blaire screamed as she threw the brownie box across the floor and pressed her bare forehead to the cold floor weeping softly.

  The round woman held the pathetic bundle that was Blaire gently against her chest. “I know how stressful things can get here, but everything is going to be okay. As soon as the storm lifts, we will get Travis some help and he will be okay,” Anya assured her.

  “What are you doing in my drawer?”

  Both women were startled.

  Blaire scrambled to her feet. “What did you do with it?”

  “What did I do with what?” Natalka teased subtly with a manner that assaulted Blaire, but just escaped Anya.

  “The rat poison! You know what I’m talking about!”

  “I would never keep rat poison in my baking drawer—it’s dangerous. It causes sweats, coma, failure of organs, and eventually death,” Natalka said with her young, soft face morphing and stretching until all features were frightening and out of place, and then once again becoming normal. Blaire gasped and looked to Anya who had not witnessed anything unusual, only Blaire could see the truth.

  Blaire pushed passed the girl, into the hall, up the stairs, and didn’t stop running until she was in her room. She sank into the chair next to Travis’ bed and stared off into the maze-like white of the walls, her brain failing to finish any reasonable thoughts that it began. She couldn’t think, she could only feel and what she felt was empty; empty and tired.

  “How are you?” a mousy voice whispered.

  Blaire was startled awake and soon realized that she had been sleep for some time.