by J. J. Bonds
I’m relaxed as I take in all that Rutland has to offer. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. It’s a nice town; the kind where local kids can’t wait to get out and spend their weekends skiing, sailing and drinking. The people are friendly, and I’m greeted warmly, as I browse at the farmers’ market. No one pressures me to buy anything, and I’m allowed to handle the merchandise without hassle.
I end up buying a handmade bracelet and some fresh flowers for my dorm. Oriental Lilies. Perhaps the last thing I’d expect to find in New England, but they’re bright and fragrant, and I’m thrilled to have the last bunch from the florists’ booth. I’ve gotten flowers before, but never lilies, so I’m even more excited when the florist offers me a discount.
I exit the farmers’ market and stumble across an old theater, The Palace, on Center Street. The theater has been restored to its original glory which is pretty cool. It might be fun to come back some night and catch a show.
I hit a few more shops downtown and decide Amy’s Book Stop is my favorite. They have a great selection, and, like the folks at the farmers’ market, the owner is a nice guy who actually knows something about the merchandise he’s selling. He doesn’t try to push me into the best sellers and instead engages me in a conversation about my favorite author and my school. It seems the locals don’t know much about Crossroads, but speculation about the privileged student body abounds. I politely humor him and excuse myself thinking it might be best to head back to campus.
On my way to the car I make one last stop. Again, unplanned. This time less pleasant. But I can’t help myself. The angel draws me in. Wings spread, palms exposed, eyes cast skyward. The pillar at the base of the statue explains its purpose. The Angel of Hope. It’s a memorial for parents who’ve lost a child.
The monument hits me like a fist in the chest. I lower myself onto one of the stone benches and try to hold myself together mentally. The feeling of loss, of grief, of pain is nearly overwhelming. It descends upon me without warning, bringing with it unwanted ghosts of the past. I’m reminded yet again how cruel and unfair the world really is.
I wrench myself from the bench. I must get back to the Audi. I walk down Main Street putting one foot in front of the other, not really seeing anything but that angel.
**********
The jarring ring of the phone disturbs my sleep. I want nothing more at this moment than to be left alone. I’m wallowing. It’s not an indulgence I often allow myself. Self-pity is a waste of time, but at the moment I don’t care. I have an abundance of time, might as well waste a little. The phone rings again, demanding my attention. I briefly contemplate burrowing deeper into the covers, when I realize there aren’t many people who have my number. It must be Aldo. Who else would be calling me?
I roll over and grab the phone, answering in one swift motion. “Aldo?”
“Katia! How we miss you at the manor!” he bellows. “How are you enjoying Crossroads?”
“It’s... school,” I reply. I can’t lie to Aldo. He knows me too well. Why bother trying?
“Oh, dear child. What is wrong?” It’s not a question. Not really. It’s a command. Typical Aldo. He’ll want to make it right; to protect me. But I am no innocent lamb. I’m every bit the wolf, and we both know it.
“I have everything a girl could possibly want, but not the one thing that I need,” I tell him morosely.
“We talked about this, Katia,” Aldo reminds me gently. He never loses faith in me. It’s the thing I love most about him.
“I know. I’m trying. I really am.” I don’t know if that’s true or not. If I’m honest with myself I can’t be sure I’m giving it my best effort. I’m reminded of my last real conversation with Aldo before I left Romania. I quickly replay the conversation in my head looking for reassurance.
“The past does not give us definition, My Dear, only character. It is your future, and what you do in the days to come will define your existence.”
I stare at him incredulously. “Surely you can’t be serious? After all that I’ve done? My past-”
“Is like smoke.” He cuts me off and pauses for emphasis. I can tell he wants to make sure he’s got my undivided attention. “Grey, elusive-”
“Suffocating?” I offer, refusing to be silenced so easily by his obtuse metaphors and old world manner of speaking.
“I’m quite serious, you know,” he replies reproachfully, his gaze softening even as the words pass his lips.
I feel a slight twinge of guilt at my insolence, and, as I meet his eyes, I can see them pleading with me for understanding. I owe him so much, and yet I can’t bring myself to terms with this latest request. He’s never asked much of me and has given far more than I could ever hope to repay, even if I lived five lifetimes. Unsure of what to say next, I sit quietly waiting for him to continue.
“You must let go of the past now. It is your future—who you are today, tomorrow, and the choices that you make going forward— that will define you.”
“If only it were that simple,” I trail off wistfully, my mind wandering to other times, other places I dare not think of often. Deep down I know that I will obey his wishes out of respect, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it or that my heart will be in it.
“Enough of this!” Aldo admonishes, bringing me back to the present. “You made a promise to me. You will honor your word.”
Again, not a question, but an order. And why shouldn’t Aldo determine my fate? If not for his grace, I wouldn’t exist. His harsh words are the kick in the butt I need. I’ve lost my focus. I have to push aside the distractions and be strong. If not for myself, for Aldo. For the others.
“I never said this would be easy,” he reminds me quietly. “Crossroads will make you stronger. In time you will begin to see yourself as I do. You are a survivor Katia. You will go on to do great things. I know this.”
“If you believe, then it must be so,” I return smiling. He knows I don’t believe it, but why not humor him? My next words are far more solemn. “I will buckle down. I know what I need to do.”
“Good. Now tell me about your classes.”
Chapter Six
The weeks begin to pass more quickly, as I fall into a routine. Class, train, study, sleep. Repeat. I’m in a funk and can’t seem to shake it. While I’m excelling in my classes, the sessions with Anya are becoming increasingly frustrating for both of us. It’s clear she’s not happy with my progress. Our conversations are superficial at best, and I still can’t seem to let my guard down with her or anyone else here. I haven’t spoken with Aldo in a couple of weeks. I know he’s busy with his obligations to the Council and don’t want to bother him. It makes for a lonely existence.
The only bright spot in my schedule is my MMA class. I do my best to ignore Nikolai, and it seems to be working so far. We’ve been learning Taekwondo moves, and Garcia has promised that this week we’ll get back to sparring. It’s only the promise of physical combat that has me smiling today. I welcome the opportunity to expel some energy and am bored with practicing the maneuvers. I want to hit something already.
“Cha-ryeot!” Garcia barks, calling for attention. Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to realize that Garcia will never do anything halfway. He insists that we learn not only the moves but also the correct Korean commands and decorum for the practice of Taekwondo. Fortunately, he continues in English. “As promised, we’ll be sparring today. Pair off. Each of you needs a partner for today’s exercise.”
I glance around and realize that my classmates are partnering up with ease. I’m the only one who hasn’t bothered to make friends within the class. I’ve been too focused on the material. And, it probably doesn’t help that Marcus and I threw down so violently on the first day.
“Since we have an odd number of students, you and I will be working together today,” Nikolai informs me, approaching confidently.
“Lucky me,” I return dryly.
“I think we both know that luck has nothing to do with it. None of your classma
tes want to work with you,” he says simply. “Not after that showing with Marcus.”
I glare at him in return.
“They’re not gutsy enough to challenge you,” he whispers in my ear conspiratorially, his words blending in with the other sounds of the training center. His breath is sweet and hot against my cheek causing my stomach to churn nervously. My pulse quickens, and I tell myself it’s just adrenaline preparing me for the impending fight.
“So, I’m being punished for being proficient?” I ask sweeping my hair into a messy ponytail as I eye him skeptically.
“And here I thought you’d consider our partnership an opportunity. You won’t get better by sparring with opponents you can easily defeat,” he points out. Apparently he’s unfazed by my total lack of interest in being his partner. “I’m the best match for you. Unless you can’t handle it?”
I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me, and I refuse to fall for the bait. He’s right. If I want to be the best, I’ve got to defeat the best. I haven’t seen him fight yet, but his position as Garcia’s assistant speaks volumes.
“Jun-bi?” I challenge him.
“I’m always ready,” he replies bowing.
I don’t dare take my eyes off of him, as I move into a fighting stance. I force the sounds and movements of my classmates from my mind. Right now it’s just Nikolai and I on the mat. While I haven’t assessed his skill level, I know it surpasses my own and that I must be alert. I don’t have to wait long for him to break the tension. Nikolai goes on the attack immediately.
He’s on me in a flash, swinging his left arm in a hammer fist blow intended for the right side of my head. I get my arms up to block the attack but leave my midsection exposed. Nikolai anticipates the lack of protection and counters with his left hand delivering a palm heel to my solar plexus. I’m thrown to the ground by the force of the blow and slide off the edge of the mat pathetically. Any butterflies I’d felt moments before have vanished. The nerves in my abdomen now burn painfully from the force of the blow, but I can’t quit despite having made such a stupid beginners mistake. As I scramble to my feet, I am even more certain that the attack was premeditated and that he’ll favor his right hand.
“Ready to surrender?” he asks cheerfully.
“Never.” I probably don’t stand a chance of beating him, but I’ll go down swinging.
This time I attack first with a flurry of closed fist punches that end with a spinning hook kick. He blocks all of my advances easily and delivers a knife hand blow to my lower back, again dropping me to the ground. I roll quickly from his reach, anticipating a downward kick which meets only the mat in the absence of my body.
He’s extremely fast and agile which causes me to miss often. It’s also becoming obvious that even when I do manage to land a blow, the damage I’m inflicting on his rock hard body is minimal in comparison to what he’s dishing out. I remember my training with Viktor and tell myself that this is no different. Except maybe it is. I’m certain Viktor never wanted to hurt me. I’m less sure about Nikolai’s intentions.
I jump to my feet again playing defense. I just need to stay calm and let my training guide me as it did on the first day of class.
“I thought you were going to teach me something new?” I taunt him, circling slowly.
“There are many things I could teach you, if only you weren’t so stubborn,” he returns calmly. So much for goading him. He’s just as cool and collected as when we first stepped onto the mat.
“And here I thought stubbornness was one of my better qualities.”
I try another series of kicks alternated with hand attacks hoping that the moves will give me an edge. No such luck. I manage to land an elbow strike to his rib cage and several blows to his arms and torso, but I can’t get a clean shot to his head or any of the pressure points. The end result is that I find myself returning to the mat over and over again, the recipient of many well executed attacks by Nikolai.
The gym has gotten loud. There’s a lot of moaning and groaning mixed with the attack cries. I refuse to let Nikolai get the best of me. I’m starting to get a feel for his moves and manage to dodge his next assault. I catch him off guard and am able to hit him with a crescent kick which glances off of his head.
His head snaps back, and I can see the look of surprise on his face as he licks blood from his lip. He wasn’t expecting the move. It’s a minor victory. His face confirms what I’d suspected all along: he’s been holding back. And still he wiped the mat with me. We stand there staring at each other for a moment, assessing one another. The silence is broken only when Garcia calls the class back to attention.
“Good work today,” Nikolai commends me. I nod respectfully, and he returns dutifully to Garcia’s side.
I’m relieved when Garcia dismisses us. I’ll recover quickly, but right now my body is protesting the abuse it’s taken over the last hour. I head straight for the cooler and pour myself a glass of blood. It’s chilled, but I don’t care. Beggars can’t be choosers and I’m thirsty. The beating Nikolai gave me has left my body physically drained. I’ll have to be better prepared next week.
**********
Anya and I sit face to face with the desk between us, neither of us speaking. Secretly I’m hoping that she’s run out of patience and will cancel all future sessions, but I know it’s wishful thinking. She’s determined. Deep down I think she likes the challenge.
“Are you planning to attend the Halloween Masquerade?” she asks casually.
I look at her incredulously. She might as well have asked me if I was planning to sprout wings and fly to the moon on October thirty-first.
“Hadn’t planned on it. Frankly, it seems kind of pointless. That dance isn’t going to get me any closer to graduation or to fulfilling my promise to Aldo.” There. Anya will understand that answer. It’s practical.
“Call me crazy, but it might be fun. You do know fun, right?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
“Ha ha. Yes, I know all about fun. I just don’t think that getting dressed up and gyrating around the dance floor with a group of my peers, who by the way are spoiled- rotten, vapid….”
“Katia.” Although her tone is stern, a smile flickers at the corners of her mouth. I decide that she probably shares my opinion, even if it’s not professional to voice it.
“It’s just not for me,” I finish hastily, crossing my arms over my chest.
“The Halloween Masquerade is a big event at Crossroads. The staff really goes all out. While the students are at Holloway Farm, this place will be completely transformed. It may not be the biggest event of the year, but it’s definitely the most outlandish. As you can imagine, the students like to have a little fun with the holiday. I wish you would reconsider,” she pleads. “You are allowed to enjoy yourself once in a while, you know. I’m sure Aldo and Lissette would love for you to attend.”
She’s not wrong there. Lissette would love hearing about it. She’s far more sociable than Aldo and me and enjoys a good party. I know it’s a big event for the school because all of the students, even those who don’t normally have off campus privileges, are required to go on the trip to Holloway Farm for Moonlight Madness.
“And it would give you an opportunity to bond with your classmates,” Anya insists, as if it’s a good thing. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the desk, as she waits for my reply. As usual, she’s the consummate professional. Calm, composed, and prepared to wait out my obstinacy. Despite the late hour, she’s still wearing a crisp white blouse which has somehow managed to avoid wrinkles and a black pencil skirt. During our many sessions I’ve learned that Anya’s clothes will always be boring and austere. It’s only in her shoes that she allows her personality to shine through. Today she’s wearing leopard print stilettos which peek out from under the desk.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her finally. Yeah, right. I’d rather bang my head on the desk a hundred times than go to the Masquerade.
“There’s something els
e I’ve been wanting to ask you about,” she begins tentatively, her wild shoes bouncing under the desk with nervous energy.
“Oh?” I watch Anya as she studies me. Her brows knit together, and she’s got that look in her eye—the one that says she’s about to throw me a curveball, and she’s trying to decide if I’m going to freak out.
“The necklace you wear. I’ve never seen you without it. Tell me about it.”
That’s it? She wants to know about my necklace? To me it’s a thing of beauty, but Anya’s sudden interest perplexes me.
I hold the necklace up to the light and study it. The amulet is more than a thousand years old. It’s made of heavy gold and rests on a sturdy chain that I can easily slip over my head. The amulet itself is oval in shape, its stone nestled in an ornate gold carriage. The filigree on the setting would have been a work of art in its time.
While the craftsmanship is impressive, it’s the stone that draws the eye. The Bloodstone is a deep green Chalcedony, and is splattered with a burst of iron oxide spots, which run across its surface. The iron gives the appearance of bloodlines for which the stone is so aptly named.
“There’s not much to tell really. It’s a Bloodstone amulet that Aldo gave me. It belonged to his sister, Anastasia. It’s all he had left of her when she disappeared. It was important to Aldo, and so it’s important to me.”
“That’s a very special gift,” she comments.
“As I said, it’s important to Aldo, so it’s important to me,” I return haughtily. “Wearing it helps me feel closer to him.” I don’t tell her that Aldo has the matching ring or that it was a matched set given to brother and sister upon their birth. She might think it’s weird. Or creepy. The truth is, twins are an anomaly among our kind. They must’ve caused quite a stir in their time.